Lies, Blue Eyes and Thunder Thighs

Chapter 1: Fat

 I by no means want to harm anyone with the materials here. Do not continue from this point on if you are one of the following: homophobic, sensitive to crude insults, uncomfortable with swearing, or expressions of sexuality. Please enjoy your read! I hope you turn to love Layla as I do.

P. S. I'm currently writing this on an Android tablet and the keyboard is hell, so chapters will take a while, and I'm probably prone to typos galore.

♥

'Beauty comes in all shapes and sizes. Grow to love yourself and others will love you too.'

Bullshit. I scoff, flicking to the next page in this month's issue of the over-romanticized 'Teeny-trend' magazine.

"Human beings are automatically predisposed to be attracted to fitter people. It's the circle of life, dammit." I hiss, closing the pages in agitation.

Brendan looks up at me with a "what-the-hell-are-you-talking-about" glare. His soft brunette hair dances in the wind of a nearby fan, reminding me of just how aesthetically gorgeous he is. We lay strung out on my bed, Brendan's fingers gliding across laptop keys as I let out an exasperated sigh.

"You need to stop worrying about it. Go out, get drunk, meet boys. It's about time you find someone, Layla." He mumbles, his attention partly on something other than me.

I can tell my sour mood is annoying him and bite my tongue on whatever snarky point I was about to make. In reality, I want to bury myself in an online persona and forget that the real world exists, but virtual realities don't make a proper substitute for life.

Marina and the Diamonds plays in the background, and I close my eyes and imagine I'm a thin, platinum blonde with an admirable taste in fashion.

Prima Donna girl.. All I ever wanted was the world.

I grin at the thought of my toned, tan arms locked around the muscular necks of two cute boys. My high heels hiked up on the seat in front of me, hair blowing in the wind as we drive 60 miles per hour down a dirt rode. Some jealous bimbo does the driving of course. I just sit on my throne of men in the back seat, enjoying the breeze and the sweet sent of masculinity.

"I gotta go. Damien wants to take me out for a movie tonight." Brendan snaps his laptop closed, waking me from my euphoric dream. I'm back in my stubby, chubby, shit-shell of a body.

"Right,  a 'movie'." My voice spews with sarcasm as I made an obscene oral gesture with my hand.

"Shut up!" He laughs, slinging his bag over his shoulder. "Pobably, though."

He blows me a dainty kiss before leaving me alone to Marina. Her voice puts me in a calming trance and I drift away from reality.

My name is Layla Lilly Blue. As you can probably tell by the name, my parents were major hippies. But I am an only child,  so I've got that going for me. I'm a chubby hunk of low self esteem and anti social, to hoot. Brendan is my best friend and has been since we were the two biggest losers in middle school. I honestly don't know what I'd do without him around.

Up until now, life has been an onslaught of harsh words and shallow giggles from the CheerNazi and just about every perfect, punctual face at school. The CheerNazi: a group of about 8 dipsy blonde-headed rich girls who exile anyone who isn't exactly like them. They also form the cheer squad at WestWoods - my god awful high school. They consider themselves the queen bees, and wear their title proudly. Especially the leader of the squad, Erica.

I remember when I first met Erica. She was wearing a tiny pencil skirt and it was obvious by her lack of panty lines that no underwear was present. I scoffed to myself, stuffing my generic black backpack into the tiny lockers that they supplied us with. My locker was 302, and unfortunately, Erica was just 4 lockers down, at 306. So maybe I scoffed a little too loud, but the girl was practically screaming "daddy issues". I'm not sure exactly how she knew what I was thinking, but thus began the infinite rein of terror from Adolf Titler and her ponytail brigade.

"Can I help you?" She said with the bitchiest of tones, tossing her generic yellow hair over her shoulder.

"No. " I mumbled. The first day of school probably wasn't the best time to make a huge scene. I knew blowing my chance at popularity could threaten my entire high school existance, and that's exactly what happened.

"Good." She smirked. "You look famished. Cafeteria's that ways." She pointed a long acrylic nail in my direction. "Ohh." She gasped with a fake 'just remembered' expression. "I forgot, they only serve normal sized people meals. Maybe the lunch lady will give you two servings out of sympathy." She giggled a laugh that made me want to rip off her head and shit down her neck. her ponytail bounced as she returned her attention to her fellow barbies.

"Maybe you can help me with something." I piped up, causing her to turn from her posse. "Maybe you could ease up on that skunk spray you call perfume, yeah? You smell like a damn cupcake factory."

Silent gasps filled the air, and people quickly swarmed around us to see what all of the commotion was about.

"Maybe you're right." She smacked her lips, rolling her eyes back. "Wouldn't want you to try and take a bite out of me, now would I?"

"Contrary to popular belief, I don't eat trash." I slammed my locker shut, just as the warning bell had sounded. She yelled something obscene at me, but I couldn't hear it past the hooting and cheering. Probably something like 'We-well.. You look like you do!'

It didn't matter. I came out victorious and I was smug as hell about it. But my prideful reputation didn't last long. Erica spread rumors about me faster than she spread gonorrhea. I became the laughing stock of the school and it's been that way ever since. I took refuge in the back of classrooms for years, but finally I take my place as a senior and in 9 months, I'll be free of this suffrage.

My cell phone rings and Arctic Monkeys blast through the shitty speakers. "Hello?" I groan, wishing people would stop interrupting my daydream of riches and fame. And men, so many men.

"Hi, honey!" My mom chimes, her Canadian accent bellowing through my speakers. I have to hold the phone away from my ears.

"Hi, mom."

"I'm in the drive through. What do you want for dinner?" She's always so damn happy.

"Just a salad." I say, a little disappointed. I miss carbs.

"Are you sure, honey?"

"Yeah, not feeling like burgers." I lie.

"Alright,  baby. I'll be home soon!"

"K, mom. Love you." I hang up before she can say it back. Love you's are aways so awkward.

At my age, I should be saying them to boyfriends. Who am I kidding, though. I don't know what love is, and I probably never will. The closest thing I came to was holding hands with Tim Elmer in elementary school. My crush for him came to a staggering hault when he called me sausage fingers in 7th grade band class. I've never wanted to hits someone upside the head with a saxophone so much in my life. I didn't of course, I just went home and cried because my only romantic connection ever had just called me sausage fingers.

Honestly, I don't think I can be loved. I don't have an appealing personality or face. All I have going for me is this ridiculously long, curly chestnut hair, and if the stress goes on I'll be bald by graduation anyways. Then what will I have?

No, girls like me can't be loved. We can be cared about, adored. Maybe we can even be loved on a best-friend sort of level. But I don't think I can be really loved.

Real love is for skinny girls.