Baby Fat

twenty-two

Fat.

That's all Bradley can see when he looks in the mirror, or steps on the scale, or when his mom looks at him. He's just fat.

It's like there's nothing but fat to him. His fat is his defining factor. Nothing else matters to other people, as soon as they see fat it's game over. They don't have to know his personality, or how funny he can be. It's all looks that matter, the appearance, the perfection. If he's not perfect, he's nobody.

"Bradley!" Cassandra calls from downstairs. Bradley looks at his complexion in the mirror. He hates the way he looks.

He's overweight, he has acne, sometimes his hair is a mess, and he's not perfect. He has too many flaws for his taste. He's not the perfect son his mother should have, and he's not the person people deserve in their lives. Nothing about him is perfect—and it sucks.

"Bradley!" Cassandra shouts again. Bradley wipes his tears and puts his black t-shirt back on. He checks his face and notices how streaky is cheeks look.

He sighs. Taking a wet towel, he pats his face down with warm water in hopes of looking less, well, like he was sobbing his heart out. He pats his face dry with a nearby towel and looks at himself again. He's still blotchy, but it will have to do. He cannot keep his impatient mother waiting for long. The bathroom door creaks when Bradley opens it. He heads downstairs to the kitchen where his mother is predictably making a smoothie.

"What did you call for?" Bradley asks her with a forced smile. He takes a seat at an island chair across from the blending machine.

"There's something we need to talk about," her voice is grim. She looks him in the eyes.

"What happened?" Bradley plays with his fingers in order to distract him. Maybe she knows . That's all that races Bradley's mind. He feels like she can see right through him. Right through the façade he swore to perfect. He silently prays that she doesn't. It'd be the downfall of them all.

"It's about Corrie."

Bradley breathes in release, his eyes closing. And then it all registers. His eyes open like greased lightning.

"Oh, God," he heaves. He already has the worst floating through his thoughts. "Please dear lord tell me he's not dead. Please tell me he didn't—"

Cassandra interrupts, "Bradley, Corrie didn't die." Bradley takes a moment to calm his pounding heart down.

"Then what happened?"

"Corrie's dad called, he was looking for Ophelia. Not sure why he called here but anyway, we started to talk and he told me about what happened when he went to the doctor with Corrie," she explains. Afterwards she chops up kale and strawberries for her smoothie.

"And...?" Bradley's utterly confused now. If Corrie's not dead, he's not sure how bad things can go in the rehab center. Sure, they're not the best place to be, but how harmful can someone be towards them-self. Especially because Corrie's still being monitored carefully.

Cassandra takes thirty seconds to blend the ingredients. After, she pours it into two cups. She takes one for herself and gives the other to Bradley. She takes a long gulp as does Bradley. Bradley grimaces at the drink, wiping his mouth afterwards. When he sees his mother looking his way he takes another.

"Bradley, I don't want you to take this to heart," Cassandra looks him in the eyes, a soft expression falling over her face.

"Just tell me, please." Bradley sighs impatiently. He takes a gulp of his smoothie once again, and once cringes at the poor taste.

"Corrie was diagnosed with depression."

That was it. Hearing those words, they crushed him. His heart felt like it literally cracked in half.