Artemis pats my shoulder as he pulls out a chair and joins us at the table. “I’ve got it.”
“I believe you.” And I do. “I just wanted to break someone’s face.” The honesty is raw, coming straight from the depths of my soul. I want to hurt someone like I’m hurting, like Penelope is probably hurting, but she’s too practiced at hiding it to let anyone see.
The sentence hangs in the air like a toxic cloud until Pitstop clears her throat. “While I appreciate the chivalry, and the death threats.” She glares at me. “I don’t need y’all to fight my battles for me. I’ve been the fat kid most of my life. It’s nothing new.”
Does she not hear the words coming out of her mouth? She’s almost defending fat shaming, just ‘cause she’s so used to it.
“You know,” she says. “An overwhelming number of Americans are fat. Overwhelming. And yet our world is designed for skinny people. Airplane seats are the best example, restroom stalls, turnstiles... the list is endless. Most of us are fat, yet forced to live in shame in a world created by skinny people for skinny people.” She snorts. “And don’t get me started on the patriarchy. Skinny, white, dudes.” She pauses. “With tiny dicks.”
She’s not wrong. I’ve never in my life not been able to fit in an airplane seat. I’ve never needed an extender for my seatbelt. But I have seen a fat person sitting in the seat next to me and made a judgment about their size.
Just because I don’t fat shame my girlfriend doesn’t mean I don’t fat shame at all. From the looks across my teammate’s faces, they’re thinking similar thoughts.
Shit.
We really don’t know our own privilege until it smacks us in our fucking faces.
“I’m used to being the butt of jokes. Of being stared at while I’m in a bathing suit. Huh. Of not going swimming at all because I don’t want to be seen in a swimsuit. I’m used to being told what to eat, judged for what I eat, and assumptions being made about me spending all my waking days consuming nothing but junk food.” She looks at me with a sadness in her eyes that makes me want to kill my teammates all over again. “I’m not saying it’s okay, just that I’m used to it. You definitely don’t need to go to jail for assault because of it.”
All of my friends start arguing at once which only makes her roll her eyes harder, but they’re brimming with tears at their rebuttals, her face is red, and she’s nibbling on her lower lip.
She might not have wanted to find herself a bunch of new, overprotective big brothers. But that’s exactly what she’s done. Welcome to the Raccoons’ family, She Devil. You’re one of us now.
CHAPTER 22
Penelope
What the fuck was that?
I was giving them an out from having to defend my honor every time someone makes a snide comment, explaining it’s something I’ve lived with forever, and they just... erupted.
We’ve just made it upstairs back into Tate’s room, and if I’m not mistaken, the fucker’s smirking at me.
“What?”
He shrugs. Not sure if he’s trying to drive me to smack him or whether his mouth hurts, and he doesn’t want to speak, but he’s medicated so it shouldn’t be the latter.
“They like you.” His speech is still slurred, but I can still make it out.
“I like them too.” I stare around Tate’s sparsely decorated, temporary bedroom. Navy walls, navy carpet, navy bedding, it’s dark, and moody, and the only decor around the room is the bedside lamp.
Maybe I should bring him a giant, cardboard cut-out of my face to cheer up this blue room. That said, I’ve seen his dorm room, it’s not much better, either.
“They have something of an aggressive love.” Maybe I should introduce them to Karlya, she has an aggressive kinda love, too.
His chuckle is like warm cocoa. “They do. They’re good people.”
I pick up my bag and set it on the end of the bed to take out my pjs and toothbrush. “You still want me to stay?”
He nods, his eyes already closing as he slides into bed and pulls open the covers on my side. “Don’t go.”
He’s still fighting sleep when I get done in the bathroom like he’s afraid I’ll slip out when he’s asleep. “I like your pjs.”
It’s a Care Bears nightgown. I’m not sure what Eloise was thinking when she picked this thing, but we both know it’s going to ride up my body overnight, and I’ll wake up with it around my neck like a scarf.
I do a little twirl. “Thanks. Not sure it’s the best night wear for a sleepover, but we’ll make it work.”
When I climb into bed, it takes a fraction of a second for me to feel his hard length pressing against me as he pulls me toward him. “Just ignore it,” he mumbles. “It’ll go away. Can’t help it. You’re so pretty.”
