Sweet Fall (Sweet Home 2)

“Lexi! You feeling faint or something?” Lyle asked, pulling the attention from some of the other girls in the squad who began to eye me weird. I slowly shook my head and felt the hairs on the back of my neck stand on end.

It was like a pull, a magnetic force, as I found myself drawn to face the Tide players’ bench. And immediately, I wished I hadn’t. Austin Carillo, on seeing my horrified face, left the bench, only to stand on the sideline, glaring at me, dark-brown eyes narrowed and his fists clenching at his sides. He was big, muscled, imposing… He was fear and threat incarnate.

It was like Austin was communicating his warning just by his severe expression alone. Lyle’s hand froze on my arm, and he hissed, “Seriously, why does Carillo look like he wants to kill you? I’m getting real nervous.”

Austin was watching Lyle talk to me in worry and Austin slowly shook his head. I understood his warning. If you even speak a word of this to anyone, and I mean anyone, you won’t like the ton of f**kin’ bad shit that comes your way.

Pulling myself together, I turned to Lyle. “It’s nothing, Lyle.”

He scoffed. “It sure don’t look like noth—”

Gripping both of Lyle’s arms in my shaking hands, I snapped, “I said leave it!”

I instantly felt guilty. I’d hurt my only real friend on the squad. Lyle went to turn away, but I reached for his hand. He stopped and turned to me, his freckled face flushed. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to be so harsh. But—”

A whistle blew, signaling the end of the game, cutting me off.

Lyle’s shoulders slumped. “Lexi, I get that you don’t wanna say, but believe me when I say stay the hell away from that guy. He’s trouble with a capital T. Whatever you did, whatever got his attention, just pray he forgets it pretty damn quick.”

With that, Lyle ran into the throng of fans storming the field to celebrate the win. I turned to hightail it into the tunnel leading to the locker rooms. I needed space. But when I set off to run, I caught sight of Carillo still staring at me, his expression like stone, the rest of the players sprinting past him in victory.

Ducking my head and swallowing my fear, I weaved through the heaving mass of elated fans and headed to the locker room to hide out.

“Rome Prince is throwing a party tonight at the frat house. Ally just passed on the message,” I heard Tanya, vice-captain for the cheer squad, say to someone in the showers.

“Awesome! You tell the girls yet?” the second voice asked.

“Gonna do it now. I can’t wait to get my drink on! Rome’s parties are always awesome,” Tanya replied in a giddy voice, and she and whoever she was speaking to left the bathroom.

That is it, Lexington. Stay hidden. You cannot shower with the rest of the squad. You cannot let them see how imperfect you are. You think they will not see the fat? The cellulite? See how disgusting you are as they walk around unclothed with their perfect and tanned bodies.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I rocked back and forth on the bathroom stall’s cold tiled floor, covering my ears with my hands, trying in vain to block out the torment of the voice.

In the distance, I could hear my teammates laughing, making jokes, and discussing what to wear to the party. I envied them. They were so carefree.

I didn’t know how long I’d been in here, hiding from the squad. From the horror of having to be in the communal showers. From having to show my too-fat body. It could have been hours or merely minutes; I didn’t know.

Sitting up, I strained to try and catch any sounds of movement, of laughing.

It was now silent, and I allowed myself to exhale in relief.

Slowly standing, I unlocked the bathroom stall and peeked my head outside. They’d all gone, thank the Lord.

Walking into the empty locker room, the smell of hairspray, perfume, and fruit-scented body wash seemed to hang like a veil in the air. I moved to my locker, taking out my wash bag and pulling out my cosmetic remover wipes, made my way to a mirror.

For a moment, I just stared. My green eyes were rimmed with black, my face pale with my light powder, and my lips were bright red, as red as the freshest of drawn blood. This was me now. This dark makeup defined me. My mask. And removing it at night was the worst part of every day.

With each swipe of the cotton cloth, my inner strength waned. My white-and-black makeup gave way to the pink skin of my natural face. All of my insecurities came flooding back. They always did.

As I dropped the caked wipe into the small trashcan at my feet, I inhaled. My armor was gone.

My eyes were firmly focused on the bright-white porcelain of the basin, but I forced myself to look up. Dr. Lund had taught me this process was an important part of my recovery.

The instant I lifted my head and faced my reflection, I had the same reaction I’d had for too many years—my heart proceeded to plummet to my stomach and all I felt was disgust.

There she was. Lexington. Lexington Hart. The girl with too many imperfections to ever be pretty. Everything unattractive, from her less-than-flawless complexion to the ugly spray of freckles on her nose.

She was disgusting.

She was fat.

We can improve this, Lexington. Just let me in. We can reach perfection.

My hands balled to fists on the lip of the sink as I fought the demon lurking within.

Reaching behind me, my eyes dipped as I unzipped my skirt, slowly working it over my hips and my feet. Next came my top and my underwear, until I stood naked.

Until I was again weak.

Tears fell from my eyes as I stood rock still, gazing at the tiled floor. It was the hardest thing to do. Facing the real me.