chapter two

MY STOMACH IN knots when I walked into the house, the unsettling nerve to storm into the kitchen and throw all the food away was overwhelming. To get even the smallest temptations out of my reach, out of my life completely. So that's what I did.

I was still crying, or at least I think I was. I wasn't sure at that point, self-hate and disgust clouding my mind. I opened the top cupboard where the junk food was kept, snatching out honeybuns and brownies and chips. I tossed them on the floor, wanting to scream just to let out the conflicted feeling swelling in the pit of my stomach. My overly flabby, gross stomach.

At that point, I wasn't processing anything anymore. If my eyes locked onto any sort of food, my hands pushed it away and my feet crushed it. I was at that weird state where I was mad for crying, but whenever I tried to stop, I just cried harder. My body ached from all the tears I've shed, all the groceries I'd ruined.

The sound of the front door clicked open, my sobs instantly coming to a pause.

Justin was home.

God, why had I been so stupid?

If Justin saw this mess...

I scrambled on my hands and knees to begin cleaning, but I was too late. His voice was practically booming through the neighborhood. "What the hell, Delilah?"

Rubbing my cheeks to try and rid the tears, I dared to look up at him. "I'm sorry," I whispered. "I hadn't meant to--"

"This," he shouted, pointing at the clutter on the floor, "is my hard-earned money. What made you think it was okay to destroy all of it?"

"I'm sorry," I repeated. "I was just upset and--"

He let out a humorless laugh, dragging his hand down his face. "Just because you can't control what you eat doesn't make it okay for you to act like this. I'm sorry you're fat, Delilah, but I enjoy these foods just as much as you do. Except I know how to limit how much I eat." He narrowed his eyes, belittling me.

I almost choked on the lump in my throat. "Justin, I'm trying." I hated how small I sounded, so weak and pathetic.

For some reason, that tiny sentence sent him over the edge. He kicked the pile of snack boxes, one of them even reached my face, the corner hitting just below my eye, thankfully not hard enough to leave a mark. I went to cover it with my hand, but Justin had gripped my wrist and was hauling me to my feet. He squeezed, and kept squeezing even when I started wincing.

"You're going to make back all the money you just wasted, understand? I want this kitchen stocked like it was before by the end of the week. Do I make myself clear?"

My mouth was sputtering for words, and I'm sure I looked like a fish. "B-but I don't make that much."

His hand striking me across the face was enough of a clue that I should've kept my mouth shut.

"Then get another shift, Delilah! Get another job! You're not going to get away with acting like a brat," he said, pushing me away. He motioned down at the floor again. "When I get out of the shower, this all better be cleaned up."

And he kicked another box on his way to the bathroom.

***

The next day I had gone out scavenging for another job. As of now, I'm a sales associate at a clothing store in the mall on Tuesdays and Thursdays. Occasionally a Saturday or Sunday shift is offered but not often. I had gone to college, but concluded it wasn't working out within the first four months. I was majoring in law, however nothing really stuck with me.

Justin was still in college. He planned on being a pro football star. He was an athlete in high school and he was determined to pursue his dream. I had always supported him. Back in school, I was captain of the cheerleading team, rooting him on. Hard to believe, I know, but I was never always this... unpleasant.

I managed to score an interview with the local grocery store. They were willing to work around my schedule, in other words, my trips to the gym. Yes, surprisingly, I was going to keep pushing through the mud. It was glued to the back of my mind, my need for change. A constant reminder that I'm simply not good enough. Not yet, anyways.

After I exited the grocery store, I was opening my car door when my phone rang. I glanced down and noticed it was the gym's number, my chest constricting. Should I answer it? Should I walk in tomorrow and say I'd never recieved a phonecall? What did they want? What would they say? The options were strenuous to think about.

Fear getting the better of me, I let it go to voicemail. If it was important, they'd leave a message. And they did.

I pulled into our driveway before sitting in my car, staring at my phone. I boldly unlocked it, clicking on the voicemail before I could scare myself out of doing it.

"Hello, Delilah. It's Harry. I was hoping you'd answer so I could get confirmation on whether or not you'll return, but I surely hope you do. Remember that change is going to take hard work, and it's nothing to be ashamed of. If you are interested in returning, meet me at the park tomorrow at our normal session time. I think you'll be more open-minded in a different atmosphere. Anyways, have a great night. I hope I see you tomorrow."

He sounded so nice, it was almost sickening. I should've deleted the voicemail, but for some reason I hadn't. I tucked my phone back in my pocket, unlocking the front door, and stepping inside the fresh air conditioning.

Going to a park did not appeal to me. Exercising in front of utter strangers, exposing my insecurities for all to see. It was bad enough that Harry had to be a witness. His poor, pretty eyes can never unsee what he saw yesterday.

Later that evening, I went to sleep with a jumbled mind. Whether I was doing the right or wrong thing by continuing with a trainer. Would it actually work or was I wasting my time. But one question really struck me in the head and heart: Why hadn't Justin come home?

***

Harry was laying on a bench when I arrived, his arm draped across his forehead and one knee bent. I clasped my hands in front of me, a sudden nervousness settling in. He had suffered the scene of one of my breakdowns, yet still "hoped" I wished to keep trying. I wanted to believe that was sincere, but a part of me couldn't.

"Sorry I'm late," I said quietly.

Harry moved his forearm, angling his head back to look at me while he squinted against the sweltering sun. I thought I saw him smile, but it was probably just the expression his face made from narrowing his eyes. "You're not late," he commented, then held a hand to his forehead so he could check his phone. "Unless you want to be exact, then you're two minutes late."

Funny. I had been two minutes late meeting Justin at the diner and he appeared as if he wanted to strangle me. I'm two minutes late to a training session and Harry was laughing.

"Do you plan on laying on the bench all day? Because I'm pretty good at laying down," I attempted to joke.

I guess it worked because he smiled before sitting up, running a hand through his hair. "Tell you what. You get through this session with me--without ditching me--and then we can have a brief moment of weakness."

My cheeks flushed, and I hoped he thought it had been the sun making my face red. "Weakness meaning laziness."

"Technicalities," he said, waving his hand dismissively. "I know the answer is probably a negative, but ready to exercise?"

"No."

"Wonderful."

He got to his feet, a good foot taller than me. I had to look away to keep myself from feeling so small. "So why are we at the park? In the heat?"

"Look around you, Delilah. What do you see?"

I folded my arms across my chest, a bit confused as to how this had to do with anything. But I did as he said.

There was a yoga club not too far away near the pond getting interrupted by a team of ducks. To the right of them was a man in a suit on a bench, a newspaper held in front of his face and a middle-aged woman sitting opposite of him, looking to be in the middle of a heated conversation on the phone. A father and a daughter feeding the ducks floating in the pond. Two college boys throwing a football.

"I see people," I told him finally, shrugging.

He gave me a look. "Very observant of you."

"I don't know what you want me to see."

"Try again."

I prepared to argue, but he genuinely appeared to be persistent on the matter. Something around here he wanted me to see, and he probably won't say unless I find it on my own.

So I sent my eyes searching again.

A girl sitting in the grass, books spread out in front of her. Another chasing papers that had flown away. An elder man passed out at a picnic table, a half-finished sandwich in front of him. I was just about to give up and say screw it when I saw something else.

A hefty man looking about my age, headphones perched on his head. He wore a large shirt that practically went down to his knees, his shorts even longer. He was drenched in sweat from head to toe, and yet he was still running down the sidewalk, stopping only at water fountains for a quick drink. He looked as if he could collapse and never get up again, though his determination was evident and inspiring.

"He's been here for two hours," Harry said, pulling my gaze back to him. "Running around the park, just like that. He left for a bit and came back with a salad. He ate, had a lot more water, then started running again. You can tell he's wearing himself out. Why do you think he's pushing himself so hard, Delilah?"

"He wants to change," I said, my voice barely above a whisper. "He's tired of looking in the mirror and hating what he sees."

Harry was staring at me, but I was back to watching the man run. "I told him he should rest, not too long before you showed up. He told me that if he sat down any longer than he had to eat, he wouldn't get up again. He just started a diet, hardly a week ago. That was all he had time to tell me before he took off."

"So you knew he'd be at the park?"

"He was here the other day when I stopped by for my niece's picnic," he told me. "He came up to us and asked if we had any water, so we gave him a couple of bottles. He said he usually brings his own but forgot. So I just made the assumption that he comes here regularly, and I was right." He smiled a little proudly at that.

"But I did think a different atmosphere would be more motivating for you. A gym can be stuffy and intimidating, what with other people, generally well fit, milling about. Don't you think?"

"I hate gyms," I admitted. "Specifically for that reason. They can be pretty judgemental."

"That's the thing, Delilah. You think all these people are judging you, calling you mean names, but that's only yourself saying those things. Majority of the time, these people--" He spread his arms out to emphasize "--these people are more interested in their own life. They hardly even pass you a second glance, if a glance at all. They don't care, Delilah. You're a stranger to them."

I had never thought of it that way. However, I knew what I felt, and I felt those taunting stares. I felt the mocking words. It couldn't be my imagination. People don't like other people that aren't skinny. You become a nuisance to those around you; a fat obstacle they simply can't jump over.

"Do you see anyone staring at you right now?"

Pursing my lips, I turned this way and that. "No."

"Exactly."

I couldn't deny that his little speech made me feel a bit better. But I wasn't fully convinced. I had lived this life too long to be swayed so easily.

Harry clapped his hands. "Now, about those exercises. You're up for it, right?"

I hesitated only a moment before nodding.

He smiled. "What do you say for a jog around the park? A warm up, so to speak."

Not particularly looking forward to it, I obliged. Harry led the way at a generous pace, making it easy for me to keep up. Typically, a jog for me was a full workout in and of itself. A "warm up" was mustering the strength to haul myself out of bed in the morning. Cleaning the house would occasionally be the workout of the day. Sometimes I'd even walk outside and get the mail, if Justin had forgotten to do so. Harry didn't need to know all the petty details, though.

"You don't even find this the least bit relaxing?" asked Harry.

"Honestly, no. I actually kind of hate this."

He laughed, and I wondered how he had the breath to do so. Well, obvious because his stomach wasn't sticking out five feet in front of him, unlike myself. Still, I couldn't help but smile just the faintest. I was getting along with him, and that was more than I could've asked for. I could've been stuck with a priss who thought she was on the highest pedestal of them all. Or a jerk who paid more attention to developing muscles on his muscles than he did his client. But no, I had been blessed enough to get a very caring human being.

Harry was true to his word, too. As soon as we finished a lap around the park, some stretches, and then the basics we had done last time (I actually managed to try my best without breaking down), we laid down in the grass. I was on my stomach, my face buried in my arms while he was on his back, much like he had on the bench earlier this morning.

"You're acting like I made you run five miles and do four hundred push ups," he remarked, though in a playful tone.

"It felt like it."

"You're being dramatic."

"No, I'm expressing myself."

"What a way to put it."

I lifted my head and turned my face to him. He had his eyes closed, a smile on his lips. He must've sensed me staring because he was alert within seconds, his gaze locking with mine. My cheeks flushed, so I blamed it on the heat.

"I should hate you for putting my life in danger by bring me outdoors."

He smirked teasingly. "Oh, the horror!"

I rolled my eyes just as my phone alarm went off. I pushed myself up, reading the alarm and wanting to smack myself. I had totally forgotten about the interview at the grocery store. I still had to go home and take a shower, and it started in an hour.

"I've gotta go," I told him, standing up. "We're done, right?"

Harry propped himself up with his elbows, eyebrows furrowing. "Yeah, you're good. Everything alright?"

I nodded. "I have an interview to get to."

The corners of his mouth turned. "Best of luck."

"Thanks."

"See you Friday, yeah?"

I smiled, nodding again. "Yep. See you Friday." 

(just a quick note, the gif attached is how I picture Harry for this book. Like late 2013, early 2014. of course you can picture him however, but that's how he looks in my mind when I write. thank you so much for all the massive support this book has gained so quickly <3)