Status: Completed
Sometimes: A Rose
1/2
“Um I think you’re really beautiful, and you don’t have a rose, so…yeah.” A awkward boy stutters out, his caramel orbs anywhere but the girl his shaking hand is holding a tightly furled rose out to.
She was joke in elementary school. She was laughed at, scorned…shunned. And even when they seemed to let her in, it was only so she’d have somewhere to fall from. You can only kick someone so many times when they’re down…but there’s no limit to how many times you can bring someone up and knock them down. No limit until they learn distrust.
The girl’s eyes peer at the boys over her books, the shy yet delighted blush spreading over her face as she takes the rose, takes the boy’s hand…and they live happily ever after. Well…that’s what was supposed to happen. What was supposed to happen to nice, normal ordinary boys and girls who grew up together in perfect harmony.
Demi Lovato was what her parents wrote on the birth certificate…fat girl was her name. Forget her tumbling chocolate locks, forget the cute half smile, forget the adorable glasses squint…chubby is what she was, and fat is what she was known as. Known as…until the summer she changed. The summer she stopped eating, taught herself to see food as just another object in her life. Something that made up the variety that surrounded her…but not something that was necessary. She could bring a piece of cake to her lips, stain her lips with icing as they pressed against it, breathing the enticing scent in and out evenly…and set it back down, untouched. The urge to eat; the urge that centuries of human evolution fostered in her had been suppressed.
Instead, the girl bit her lip and closed her eyes, that familiar feeling closing in. The feeling where you know that every smirk on every face that passes by, is aimed at you. Every laugh, every chuckle, is about you. Where you are targeted…and there’s nowhere to run.
As the food went away, so did the weight. So did the taunts, the laughs. She began to be known as skinny girl. She began to be known as pretty, as an object of desire rather than a object of mockery.
The girl hates this feeling. The girl thought she had left it behind, back with the fat, back with the plus size clothes. And now this boy…this beautiful, shy boy, is bringing it back. The scent of the rose is cloying to her. It’s a whiff of normal…it’s a whiff of the high ground that she was brought up on so many times, only to be pushed back down. His smile is anathema to her. It creeps inside her brain where years of distrust distort it…distort it to the point where it seems mocking and cruel.
She was joke in elementary school. She was laughed at, scorned…shunned. And even when they seemed to let her in, it was only so she’d have somewhere to fall from. You can only kick someone so many times when they’re down…but there’s no limit to how many times you can bring someone up and knock them down. No limit until they learn distrust.
The girl’s eyes peer at the boys over her books, the shy yet delighted blush spreading over her face as she takes the rose, takes the boy’s hand…and they live happily ever after. Well…that’s what was supposed to happen. What was supposed to happen to nice, normal ordinary boys and girls who grew up together in perfect harmony.
Demi Lovato was what her parents wrote on the birth certificate…fat girl was her name. Forget her tumbling chocolate locks, forget the cute half smile, forget the adorable glasses squint…chubby is what she was, and fat is what she was known as. Known as…until the summer she changed. The summer she stopped eating, taught herself to see food as just another object in her life. Something that made up the variety that surrounded her…but not something that was necessary. She could bring a piece of cake to her lips, stain her lips with icing as they pressed against it, breathing the enticing scent in and out evenly…and set it back down, untouched. The urge to eat; the urge that centuries of human evolution fostered in her had been suppressed.
Instead, the girl bit her lip and closed her eyes, that familiar feeling closing in. The feeling where you know that every smirk on every face that passes by, is aimed at you. Every laugh, every chuckle, is about you. Where you are targeted…and there’s nowhere to run.
As the food went away, so did the weight. So did the taunts, the laughs. She began to be known as skinny girl. She began to be known as pretty, as an object of desire rather than a object of mockery.
The girl hates this feeling. The girl thought she had left it behind, back with the fat, back with the plus size clothes. And now this boy…this beautiful, shy boy, is bringing it back. The scent of the rose is cloying to her. It’s a whiff of normal…it’s a whiff of the high ground that she was brought up on so many times, only to be pushed back down. His smile is anathema to her. It creeps inside her brain where years of distrust distort it…distort it to the point where it seems mocking and cruel.
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