I didn’t even look at my reflection.
I couldn’t. Not when I was kneeling over the toilet, sweat sticking my shirt to my back, throat burning from dry heaves that wouldn’t end. I gripped the porcelain seat with both hands, trying not to fall over, trying not to cry. My stomach twisted hard, even though there was barely anything in it. Just water and shame.
I wanted to disappear. To physically unzip myself and crawl out of my skin. Maybe then, finally, I wouldn’t feel like this—like my body was betraying me every time I moved, sat, breathed.
I hated how my clothes clung to me. The way my jeans pinched when I leaned forward, cutting into the soft fold of my belly. I hated the way my shirt rolled up in the back when I sat. I hated my arms, how thick they looked from every angle. My thighs chafed when I walked. My chest that made every bra an enemy and every mirror a reminder.
And my face—I couldn’t even describe the hate I had for my face. It looked like it didn’t belong to someone who deserved anything soft. Anything beautiful. Definitely not someone like Marcus Mitchell.
What the hell had I been thinking?
That someone like him—hot, popular, carved out of marble—could actually want me? Really want me?
Maybe I was just desperate. Or delusional. Maybe I wanted to believe that fairy tales weren’t just for thin girls. That there was a world where I got chosen. That he saw something in me besides numbers on a scale and extra layers to hide under.
But I’d been wrong.
Stacey made sure I knew that.
And worse—I believed her.
I curled tighter around myself on the bathroom floor, cheek pressed to the cold tile. I didn’t know how long I stayed there before I heard the bathroom door creak open.
Shit.
I didn’t move. Maybe if I stayed completely still, whoever it was would just pee and leave.
Then footsteps. Soft ones. Not hurrying.
Kate.
Of course it was Kate.
I wanted to sink through the floor. My mouth still tasted like acid. I wiped it with the back of my sleeve and turned my face away, but it was too late. She saw me.
She stopped just a few feet away, not saying anything at first. Then she knelt down slowly. Not close enough to scare me. Just close enough that I knew she wasn’t walking away.
“You okay?” she asked softly.
I stared at the grout line between the tiles. “Do I look okay?”
“No,” she said, her voice honest. “You look like you’ve been through hell.”
I didn’t answer. I felt disgusted. Humiliated. I was sure she was waiting to snap a photo or laugh or tell Stacey. That this would be another thing passed around behind my back.
But she didn’t move.
“I saw Stacey earlier,” Kate said. “She thinks she’s being clever, but honestly? She’s just cruel. And she’s bored.”
Still, I said nothing.
Kate’s voice got quieter. “I don’t think she even sees you. She just sees a target.”
I turned to her finally. My voice came out flat, scraped raw. “Why are you here?”
She looked at me like the question surprised her. “Because I like you, Betty. And I’m done pretending I don’t.”
I blinked. My eyes burned. I wanted to believe her. But I didn’t.
“How could you?” I asked. “I’m disgusting. I know what I look like. You don’t have to—”
“Stop.” She cut me off, voice firmer now. “Don’t say that. I’m not going to let you say that.”
I laughed, bitter and hollow. “It’s true.”
“No, it’s not. You’ve been told that so many times, you believe it. But it’s not.”
I stared at her. “You’ve heard what they said. You probably laughed.”
“I didn’t. Not once.”
That shut me up.
“I’m going shopping this weekend,” she said, standing slowly, brushing dust from her jeans. “For the gala. I’m not going with Stacey. She sucks. I’m going alone.”
I stared at the tile.
Kate took a breath. “Want to come with?”
I didn’t answer right away. I wanted to say no. I wanted to hide for another week, pretend I could just skip the entire event and no one would notice.
But for some reason, I nodded.
Just once.
She smiled softly. “Cool. I’ll text you.”