butterflies ઇଓ matt sturniolo imagines

𝘴𝘦𝘭𝘧-𝘤𝘰𝘯𝘴𝘤𝘪𝘰𝘶𝘴 ***

content warning:
negative self-image.
fat-shaming speech is used,
but not excessively.
please be kind and mindful.

ॱ⋅.˳˳.⋅˙ॱᐧ.˳˳.⋅ઇଓ

it wasn't a mystery to you why people stared. you were a magnet to the eye, and typically not in a good way.
it's been this way for a long time. being overweight- whether it be by your own standards or society's- drew the attention of strangers. people found themselves staring at the way your back rolled beneath your bra, or how your chin folded when you looked down. they were off put by the size of your arms in a tank top. they didn't know what to think when you sat down and every piece of you seemed to fold or curve. people like it when girls look the same sitting as they do standing; when bones are so sharp and skin is so thin it's hard to tell if you're genetically gifted or emaciated. if you're not a skeleton, they don't want you. you were none of those things. you were softer, and bigger, and people refused to appreciate that.

well, everyone except matt.

matt adored you. matt put you on the world's highest pedestal, and you could never fathom how; he did nothing but treasure you and the way you look. there wasn't a place on your chin that he hasn't peppered with kisses, or a spot on your arms that hasn't been squeezed. you feel the ghost of his palms dancing across your hips and thighs whenever you move. you remember every time he hugged you, and squeezed your big body like you were the teddy bear he never had as a child. nobody loved you more than matt, and he refused to let you forget it. that love was enough to block the rest of the world out for the most part. when his passion was bright enough to blind you, it was difficult to see anything but him, or think anything other than what he thinks.

that's why when you get reminded of the way people really see you, it's like a sucker punch in the stomach. especially when it comes out of nowhere- like in the middle of the grocery store.

there you were, standing in front of the ice cream freezers. matt was an aisle away in the frozen goods after you sent him on a search for bags of broccoli and one fried food of his choice (to make up for forcing him to eat broccoli, obviously.) he was too far to hear the exchange, but you did.

"you think she needs any more ice cream?"

you felt your entire body go cold, as if you'd just dropped yourself into a bathtub of ice water. cold. stiff. mortified. you didn't look for the culprits because you knew they were behind you. two voices were proudly sniggering on the other side of the aisle.

"i bet she eats it for breakfast!" one voice half-whispered. you could see the twisted smile behind it; you pictured a pair of eyes wide with joy from joking about something very unfunny. you'd seen those eyes too many times.

"for real. like, save some for the rest of us."

     "fucking whale, right?"

     every bone in your body ached as you listened to the wheels of a grocery cart squeak their way to the end of the freezers and turn the corner. it was only then that you looked up and caught a glimpse of the voices. they belonged to two girls, both seeming a bit younger than you- twiggy and tall, with mean eyes and bony grimaces. it was as if your high school bullies were copied and pasted into the grocery store just to torment you.
     you opened the freezer and plucked matt's favorite flavor right off the shelf, and you tossed it into your cart, feeling like your lungs were shrinking beneath your ribs. and when you tried to push the cart, you found you couldn't. whether it was lead feet or some immovable force, you couldn't walk. it took every ounce of your willpower to try and collect yourself, and remember manually that you had to breathe in before you could breathe out again; but you felt that control slipping away. standing in that aisle, you could feel every inch of your skin. you felt the way your arms hung heavy, and how your stomach curled over the waistband of your jeans. the feeling of your thighs pressing against each other, and the weight with which your body held to the ground was consuming. every hair, every roll, every curve of you was crawling with hypersensitivity, and you felt so unsafe in your own body you wished you could rip yourself out of it. you nearly started clawing at skin when a familiar hand laid itself on your shoulder.