I was willing to let my insecurities go, to let him see me in a way only one other person had ever seen me, and he left without a second thought.
Like it meant nothing. Like Iwasnothing.
I’m being a little selfish. Because, of course, he’s out there saving lives or whatever.
But it still hurts.
Never being chosen reallyfuckinghurts.
I get off his bed, grab my stuff, and head to my room. I grab a fresh change of clothes and hop into the shower.
I guess this just solidifies what I’d been thinking earlier; my day hadn’t been great. I’d been rejected from one of the brands I’d been trying to secure a deal with for months.Sorry, we’re not looking for models in your size right now,the email said. Whichall but means,you’re not a size 00, therefore we don’t want you to rep our clothing. You’re also not plus-sized, so inclusivity doesn’t include you.And then, paired with my stupidly reading some of the hateful things said about my body in the comment sections of yesterday’s workout video I posted, I had no self-esteem left.
He made me feel special. He kissed me and touched me like I was his whole world, and then he walked away like I was nothing.
I stand in the shower, feeling the water raining down on me, and I feel empty. I wish we’d stayed outside. I wish I weren’t so easily swayed by his influence. I wish I were someone worth choosing.
My heart aches as my brain whispers things that I can never seem to escape, no matter how small I get. It’s not until I start to shave my legs that I finally allow myself to cry.
I start off by crying about what just happened, and next thing I know, I’m crying about every little thing that’s wrong in my life, and about everything that I could possibly be sad about.
It’s not fair.
I realized a long time ago that life isn’t fair. Because if it were, I wouldn’t feel this way all the time. I wouldn’t feel like I wasn’t worth anything. I wouldn’t feel like such a disappointment or a failure all the time. If life were fair, I’d have parents who cared.
But life’s not fair.
And no one in my life really gives a shit about me.
I’ll always just be the fat girl who never really had anything going for her. Because even though I might not look like that girl on the outside anymore. I will always be the girl whom no one ever looked twice at.
I slide down the shower wall and curl up in a ball, making myself feel as small as possible. My body wracks with silent sobs as I let it all out.
When I’m all out of tears, I pick myself up off the floor and finish my shower. I get dressed in the baggiest clothes I own and curl up in bed, because I don’t want to do anything else other than feel sorry for myself.
The next morning, I still feel like shit. My eyes are red as I stare at myself in the mirror. My hair is a mess from tossing and turning all night long. I tip my head to the side and wonder what he ever saw in me, or if he just wanted my body. Maybe I’m just not enough. Maybe I’m not what he thought. Maybe he was expecting more.
I can’t look in the mirror too long, so I splash cold water onto my face and run a brush through my hair before pulling it up out of my face.
I go downstairs to make breakfast, and there’s a mason jar filled with pink, heart-shaped suckers. The jar is sitting on top of a note.
I should throw them in the trash. He isn’t allowed to make me feel special, then throw me away, just to do something like this.
I deserve better than this. I deserve someone who will choose me no matter what. Not someone who will only ever be married to their job.
But looking at the stupid pink suckers, I can’t help but smile the smallest smile that graces my face.
Besides, it would be a waste to throw away all these perfectly good suckers. They didn’t do anything wrong.
On Sunday, I take my car, and I go for a long drive. I drive and drive, one tank of gas, then another to get myself home.
When I get into my room, there’s a new piece of furniture pushed up against the wall, under the window.
A desk.He built me a desk.He’d even arranged it with my makeup, a few books, pens, my laptop, iPad, and tripod.
I run my finger over the wood top. Dark brown with black metal legs, it matches the rest of the furniture in the room.
I don’t go find him; not immediately, anyway. I’m still mad and feeling sorry for myself.
