That made me go stiff immediately, cheeks flushing with shame. Because I’m not fat, not really. Curvy is a better word, but the thing is, the world saw me as fat. The world saw a big girl, and Loretta’s words rang in my ears again. Diet pills, laxatives, I got all the best stuff if you want it!
My heart curdled with shame, cheeks flaming as I pretended not to hear, busy doling out drinks. Oh god, I just wanted to go home. Twenty minutes into my first night on the job, and all I wanted was to curl up and hide in a corner.
But then Grammy’s words sounded in my head.
Keep your chin up, she commanded sternly. Chin up, shoulders straight, chest out.
No matter that back then, Grammy had been talking about my posture. I’d looked like a wilted asparagus some days, and Grammy is a stickler for girls standing up straight.
But all the same, my mom’s mom is a fighter. Grammy grew up poor during the Depression but never took a cent from anyone. She raised my mom and uncle on her own, doing peoples’ laundry during the day and sewing pieces at night. It was a hard living, and her eyesight’s shot now, hands permanently chapped and red from the stinging detergent. But still, Grammy is a proud woman, and her work ethic and determination to survive were instilled in me from a young age.
So taking a deep breath, tears prickling in my eyes, I straightened my spine. Tilting my chin upwards, I set my jaw into a determined jut, and forced another bright smile onto my face.
“More drinks?” I cooed, pretending I hadn’t heard. “More drinks boys?”
“Yeah,” grunted the bachelor himself. “Pour it on me hard.”
“Fuck yeah,” laughed Friend One harshly. “But it doesn’t taste as good coming from a fat girl.”
Again, my soul almost broke. Their words hurt so bad, like stabs to the heart, and it just got worse.
“Girl looks like a cow,” muttered one.
“More like a hippo,” grunted another
And the one that hurt me the most:
“How much does it cost to switch to a skinny one?”
I fled then, tears stinging my eyes. Oh god, oh god. I’ve always been big. Even before I started developing, I was a chubby child who liked cake. The problem was that I never stopped liking cake and when my curves popped out, it just added to the mess. So yeah, my thighs jiggle and my butt wiggles, and there’s nothing I can do about it.
Grabbing my silver tray, I rushed off, brushing away at tears. Stay calm Kitty, my inner voice went. They’re just a bunch of losers, stay calm.
But the thing is I was crying under my breath already, short, mewling gasps escaping my lungs. It sounded terrible and I ran then, but not before bumping into a wall, about as solid and dense as you can get. Drinks went flying, glass broke and immediately I was on my knees, trying to clean it up. Hopefully I wouldn’t slice open a finger picking up glass shards, I had no health insurance, it’d be the emergency room for me.
But it wasn’t a wall I’d bumped into. Because as I crouched hands and knees on the floor, a deep chuckle rang out above me.
“No need,” the voice rumbled. “We’ve got people to do this. No need, pretty girl.”
I sniffled, keeping my head down. This was such a shitty first day and all I wanted to do was to get back in bed and burrow my head under the covers. But only an hour had passed and the night was young. There were still another five hours before my shift ended, and besides, I didn’t want to go back to the table. So I kept trying to pick up the glass shards.
“No it’s fine,” I mumbled, keeping my head down. “I got it, I got it.”
It was so awkward being a big girl on my hands and knees, trying to clean this mess up. But a job is a job, and I needed money. So sniffling, I crawled a little to the right, peering under a table. Got it. A big piece of glass was stuck there, and I gingerly picked it up with my hand.
But the voice came again.
“No need, little girl,” it rumbled. “No
need to get on your hands and knees, unless that pretty pussy is flashing.”
I stiffened. How could this asshole talk about my private parts? How rude! I was mad, but kept my head down. A job is a job, I reminded myself again. No need to get mad, just keep going.
But this time, a pair of wingtips appeared in my sightline. Even in the darkness of the club, I could tell they were expensive. Soft, Italian leather, shiny without being gaudy, the kind that only rich guys wore.
So I took a deep breath, preparing to be insulted once more. Rich guys really were the worst, they felt like their money let them say whatever they wanted. I gulped, preparing myself for some nasty words, but instead, I was gripped by my waist and lifted into the air.
The air whooshed from my chest. Holy shit, I’m a big girl and not everyone can lift me up. It takes a lot of muscle, but this guy managed it like it was no problem. I was a feather in his arms, as light as a down pillow and an involuntary sigh escaped from my lungs.