Chapter 7
CHAPTER
SEVEN
AFTER
“Hey, Noah. Wait up!”
You’ve got to be fucking kidding me.
I stopped walking and waited for him to catch up. What was it with this guy? I’d been avoiding looking at him for the past two weeks, and he kept trying to start a conversation. Why couldn’t he just take the hint?
What in the actual fuck would he want to talk to me about? Did he want to compare and contrast our experiences having sex with my boyfriend?
“Yeah?” I kept my voice as neutral as I could under the circumstances.
Mathew jogged up beside me, his ever-present grin sliding into place. His cheeks were lightly flushed. He was attractive. Annoyingly so.
“I just thought we could chat for a bit. Clear the air? We still have weeks left of the course.”
Annoyingly levelheaded too.
“Look, Mathew, I’m perfectly fine letting the awkwardness fester. Why don’t we stick with that?”
His grin only widened.
He looked like the kind of guy you take home for Christmas. A straight-A student. Gets along with your dog. Probably volunteers at nursing homes. And to top it all off, he was infuriatingly lithe—like a fucking ballet dancer.
“I know you and Att are back together. I don’t want to get in the middle of that.”
But you did.
“I’m really happy for both of you. He was struggling last semester, with you being back. If you found a way to make it work, then I’m happy for him.”
If you found a way? What kind of passive-aggressive bullshit was that? I knew Atty was struggling—no one in the world knew it more than me. Where the hell did he get off telling me how Atty felt?
I closed my eyes and drew a slow, steady breath.
Stop it.
“Thanks,” I managed to grit out.
“So we’re good?” he asked, extending a hand. “I don’t want you thinking I’m going after him. Att knows I’m seeing someone.”
I reached for his hand but froze halfway.
Why? Why did Atty know he was seeing someone? Were they still talking?
Mathew didn’t flinch. He took my hand and gave it a firm shake.
“This is great. Good talk. I’ll see you around,” he said, letting my hand drop.
“See you around,” I echoed flatly.
I watched him walk away, jealousy and unease gnawing at me in equal measure.
Why was Atty still talking to that guy?
Wasn’t I enough? Or was Mathew just a backup plan? Just in case Noah fucks up again, Mathew’s right there to step back into the lineup.
Sounds pretty likely to me.
I shook my head.
Atty wasn’t like that.
I could just ask him. This didn’t have to turn into a thing.
It didn’t.
Two days later, I finally got the all-clear to work out again. I’d been feeling like an absolute slob, parked on the couch all day. Even with Atty visiting and Ezra and I inching toward something that resembled friendship, I still felt off.
That conversation with Mathew kept replaying in the back of my mind, gnawing at me like a loose thread. I didn’t want to bring it up with Atty. Not if it meant picking a fight. Not when I still couldn’t tell if I was being rational or just paranoid.
I’d spent the whole morning on the phone with Richard and a couple of other guys, hammering out a new maintenance plan for the boat.
It was a fucking money pit if I had ever seen one, but I couldn’t make myself sell it.
My dad had loved that thing. Just thinking about it had me in a foul mood already, and I had hoped exercise would help burn off the stress.
It didn’t.
And to make matters even worse, Steve had warned me not to check the scale, said it didn’t matter.
But the second I saw it, I stepped on before he could stop me.
The number staring back at me wasn’t just higher—it was foreign.
Too high. Higher than I’d ever seen. Steve noticed my wide-eyed stare and tried to smooth it over with talk about muscle mass and healthy gain. Said it was expected. Said it was fine.
But I knew better. I had mirrors.
Later that night, I stood in front of one of those mirrors, damp from the shower, the air foggy but not enough to blur what I saw. I didn’t need clarity to know what was wrong.
The softness clinging to my frame wasn’t supposed to be there. The curve of my stomach. The way my hips pushed at the towel. My reflection looked unfamiliar.
“Stop it,” I muttered.
It was just weight. That’s all. Weight came and went. I’d let myself slide, sure—but I could fix it. I could get back on track. It wasn’t permanent.
Not as quickly as before. Not now that your metabolism isn’t running on coke and stress.
But that wasn’t even the fucking point. Weight gain was good for me. I had always been on the underweight side of the spectrum. This was supposed to be a good thing.
I rubbed a hand down my face, then gripped my nose between my thumb and forefinger.
There’s always an easy way out.
I shook my head hard.
“Deal with the consequences. No easy way out. Work for it. Accept it, ” I whispered, barely audible over the roar of my thoughts.
I was fine. This was fine. One thought didn’t mean relapse. It was just a flicker. A habit. A reflex.
I patted my cheeks twice, sharp and fast, and reached for clothes. Atty would be here any minute, and tonight was supposed to be our first real date since I ditched the crutches and could walk on my own again.
I pulled on underwear, then reached for my jeans. They used to fit like a glove. Now they clung at the thighs, tight through the hips. I struggled with the button, sucked in, tried again. No dice.
My eyes flicked back to the mirror. They didn’t fit.
“Fuck,” I breathed.
My fingers trembled as they threaded through my damp hair. I shut my eyes tight and held my breath.
Your appearance doesn’t dictate your worth.
Your appearance doesn’t dictate your worth.
Your appearance doesn’t dictate your worth.
I repeated it like a mantra, over and over, until the sting behind my eyes dulled and I could breathe again.
“You’re fine,” I whispered to the empty space. “You have other clothes. Pick something else.”
See? Reasonable. I could be reasonable.
I stepped out of the bathroom—bare chest, jeans still open—and stopped cold.
Atty sat on my bed.
My stomach dropped. His eyes widened, then scanned down my body. Of course. Of fucking course.
“You scared me. I didn’t hear you come in.” I tried to force a smile.
Every inch of my insecurity was laid bare for the one person I only ever wanted to see the best parts of me.
His pale eyes lifted to meet mine. “Ezra let me in. Sorry.”
“Don’t be. Just—give me a sec, I need to change. Be right out.” I turned toward the closet, spine stiff, willing my hands to stop shaking as I flipped through hangers, desperate to find something that actually fit.
Behind me, the bed creaked. Atty’s presence drew closer, and then his hands landed gently on my shoulders. He leaned in, lips brushing just below my ear.
Not now. Please, not right now.
“We could stay in. If you’d like,” he murmured, voice low and careful. One hand drifted to my side. He stepped in close, his chest pressing against my back. Then his hand shifted like he meant to bring it over my stomach.
I flinched and caught his wrist mid-movement, pushing it away. “Don’t.”
He went still behind me, then stepped back slowly. I snatched the first shirt I saw and tugged it over my head.
When I turned, he was back on the edge of the bed, staring at the floor. His lips pulled into a quiet, disappointed frown.
Great. Fucked up again, didn’t you?
I stepped between his legs and cupped his jaw, guiding his face to mine. Before he could speak, I kissed him. He melted into it, but the hands on my hips weren’t pulling me closer—they were keeping me at arm’s length.
I pulled back just enough to rest my forehead on his. “I’m sorry, Atty. I just need a minute, okay? I’m having a shitty day over something stupid that has absolutely nothing to do with you, and I need a moment to sort through it. Once I do, I’ll tell you everything.”
It took a beat, but he nodded.
“Can you just…?” He hesitated. “Can you at least tell me what it’s about? Like, the general idea?”
I drew in a deep breath. “These jeans don’t fit.”
Silence.
Atty leaned back, brow lifted, staring up at me.
I let out a quiet laugh. Couldn’t help it.
“Are you serious?” he asked.
“Dead serious.”
His gaze dipped to my hips, scanning like he needed proof, and I gently tugged his chin back up.
“Don’t do that,” I said softly. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I’m struggling with it right now.”
“Why?” His tone was careful, never harsh—Atty didn’t have it in him. And because of that, I found myself leaning in.
I slid my fingers through his hair. “Because I’ve always had issues with this kind of stuff, and now I’m at the heaviest I’ve ever been. I just need a little time to come to terms with that.”
I didn’t mention how much of my identity had been wrapped up in staying thin—how easy it was to control that when I was using. Or how being praised for my body had felt like the only thing I had to offer. I didn’t say that gaining weight made me feel like I was losing something I couldn’t name.
But I think he heard it anyway.
He nodded, slowly at first. Then something shifted behind his eyes—understanding.
He hooked his fingers through the belt loops of my jeans and tugged me closer. “I know those thoughts live in here,” he said, tapping the side of his head. “But for what it’s worth, I think you look incredible. You know why?”
My chest tightened as I shook my head, waiting.
“Because you look healthy. And that, to me, is very fucking hot.”
A laugh burst out of me—startled but genuine. “Really? You don’t miss the abs?”
“Not even a little bit.”
I wrapped my arms around his neck, burying my nose in his hair. The smell of him settled over me—that comforting Atty scent.
“After you got back,” he said, voice muffled, “all I could think about was seeing you without a shirt again.”
I let out a breath of amusement. “I thought you were too busy hating me.”
“I multitasked.”