Skinny Boy ✔

Chapter 3: to prove them wrong

I'm not really into skinny guys. 

Skinny guys. The words echoed in my head that night. It hurt more than I wanted to admit. 

But no matter how much I wanted to just forget about it, I was reminded of Alysha's words when I took my shirt off. My arms were too small and dainty, my shoulder bones poking out without any visible muscle attached. 

Skinny guys. I'm a skinny guy. I swallowed a lump I didn't realize was forming in my throat. It wasn't anything new to me, but that night when I studied myself in the mirror, shirtless and in saggy pajama pants that hung low on my belt line, the words suddenly took on so much more meaning. So much more weight. So much more weight that I couldn't carry because I wasn't strong enough. 

Such a scrawny guy. A weak dude. 

Skinny boy, that's what I am. 

The sound of floorboards moaning outside my bedroom snapped me out of my thoughts. I wasn't sure how long I was standing in front of my mirror studying myself, but I wasn't ready to be walked in on looking like a self-centered, look-obsessed boy. I gently swung the closet door shut, leaving just a crack so it didn't make noise, and squirmed into bed, throwing my arms carelessly to make myself look as though I'd sleeping. 

The bedroom door creaked open, and I heard my mother let out a tired sigh and walk over to turn off the bedside lamp beside me. Even after I heard the door handle click shut, I kept my eyes closed for a moment longer, just for safe measure. 

It's an odd thing, listening to the sounds and echoes of a house late at night. Listening to the mundane actions and routines that people do when they think the rest of the world has fallen asleep--or at least the world directly surrounding them. The sounds of mothers who check to make sure their children are safe and sound, of toilet seats being lifted a little louder than intended during the half-awake bathroom trips in the middle of the night. 

There's a sort of rawness to it. It's nothing deep or cutting or emotional, but it's something natural. Natural things that people do without the worries of peoples opinions, only the worries of waking them from their slumbers. 

It felt so safe. So comfortable. So real. 

I wanted to feel that way about myself. 

~ 

It was a normal Monday at school, but in the pit of my stomach, the atmosphere had an air of difference; a sense of monachopsis, if you will. As vain as it sounds, I felt like people were looking at me. Each time someone looked me in the eye, I was tempted to look away, like if I let them stare for too long, they could reach into my mind, and pull my thoughts right out from my mouth. 

Maybe if they look long enough, they'll know how long I spent at the gym. 

I didn't want anyone to know that. I was one part proud of how long I managed to work out, and another part ashamed at how many hours I'd spent sweating over something stupid a girl said. But while I exhausted myself over the course of a whole day I kept reminding myself that I wasn't letting myself be bothered by something someone said--I was acting on an epiphany. I could either mope around over being rejected, or I could take her words as a wake up call, and choose to work harder. 

In the gym, surrounded by people who shared similar goals and mindsets, it was easier to believe that. It was easier to feel accomplished for striving toward my goals, and pushing myself to reach them, rather than ashamed for lying to my parents that I was going to the gym for an hour, and that Garret's mom would pick me up from there so we could hang out late into the afternoon. At the time I had managed to convince myself that the means would be made up for by the ends. 

School was a stark contrast from the gym. Suddenly my striving seemed like vain attempts, and my goals looked a little self-centered. Guilt settled in and decided to make my stomach its temporary home, constantly reminding me that I never really used that extra change of clothes I took for Garret's house, I only put it on to walk home in and give off an illusion of truth. 

But what else could I do? My father's a strong believer in things only being healthy in moderation, and I knew he would have mistaken my dedication for obsession. I didn't really feel like having to listen to him explain why I shouldn't overdo it when I could be spending more time just doing it. 

"You never messaged me back last night," Sandra complained when we sat down at lunch. 

I was thankful that she distracted me from my thoughts of Are they looking at me? Or maybe it's someone behind me, but the topic at hand was enough to diminish my gratitude. 

"I thought you might have died!" she said, feigning worry. "Come on, Nate, you know I'm a needy person who needs to be responded to within minutes! At least an lol would do." 

I brought my phone out, read the message she sent, and typed a quick response. I looked up at her with a smirk when she looked at her phone, only to roll her eyes. "Really?"

"I gave you your lol," I grinned. "You're welcome." 

A feeling of victory washed over me when she flipped me the bird. "No, but seriously, what were you doing all day?" 

The blood in my face both drained from it, and poured into my cheeks. 

She took my silence as an opportunity to throw guesses. "Please tell me you weren't, like, watching porn all day long. You weren't, right?" 

It was my turn now to roll my eyes. "No, I wasn't." 

"You totally were!" she cried. She turned to Garret now. "Nate spent all day yesterday watching porn!" 

He scrunched his nose up, looking between the both of us. "Why did I need to know that?" 

"I wasn't! I was at the gym." 

"All day?" 

"Most of the day, yes." That's an under-exaggeration. 

"Yeah right," Garret snickered. 

I narrowed my eyes at him. "What's that supposed to mean?" I asked lowly. 

"I don't care what you were doing yesterday, I just know that you're not the kind of person to spend a while at the gym." 

Once again I was left with the question of What's that supposed to mean? But this time, I didn't feel like asking. 

I think I already know the answer to that. You don't expect a scrawny guy to spend a bunch of the day at the gym. 

I know my friends, and I know that Garret didn't mean any offense by what he said. But in the back of my mind, there was this persistent voice that kept repeating a single lingering thought, no matter how small or how quiet. 

Prove them wrong. 

Quite frankly, it didn't seem like too bad of an idea.