I Dare You (Pheacker)

Part IV - Distraught

I'm back in my dorm room, not sure how I feel about classes starting up again tomorrow. I already miss my family, other than Frances, who's only a courtyard away.

I've decided to weigh myself again, to see how much I actually gained recently, hoping for some good news. But I'm not pleased with the results on the scale.

"171.5..." I mumble to myself as I read it off the scale for the third time. I can't believe I've gained almost sixty pounds since starting college. And that's almost ten whole pounds just from the holiday break and the week after it. What a wonderful birthday gift. I groan and get off the scale, not wanting to see the number a fourth time. I look at myself, dressed only in my underwear, in the mirror. My torso doesn't even cave in on the sides anymore. My sides are practically flat, making my torso look like a square from the front.

A square is better than a circle, though, which is what my belly looks like when I turn to look at myself from the side. It's not a perfect circle, granted, but it does stick out quite a bit, at least more than I want it to. I've even been trying to work out every day, although I did miss a few days, and I've managed to stop myself from eating two or three extra servings for almost every meal.

I put my clothes back on, discouraged. I should've expected I wouldn't see results right away. And the shirts I have don't help my confidence any, either. I need to get bigger sizes soon, or they're going to start riding up and exposing my belly without me even lifting my arms. I also need to get something other than sweatpants to wear, because that doesn't look good to wear in class.

When I walk out of my bathroom, however, there's a knock on the door. I open it to see George standing there with a box in his hands. "Hey, Philip. I hope I didn't come at a bad time, but I know it's your birthday, and I wanted to bring you this cake so that maybe we all could share it later."

I look through the clear lid of the box to see the cake and smile. "Thank you, George. It's beautiful. I didn't even think to get myself a cake." I take it from him and set it down on my desk. "We can definitely all get together later and share it." George smiles at that, a rare sight, and then leaves.

I sigh and leave the dorms, deciding I'd better go get some new clothes now, before the shops all close for the day. I go to a store on campus and look around for some jeans and other types of pants that might look more presentable than the ones I have on now.

It's really busy right now, for some reason. Maybe everyone has the same idea of buying new clothes in the beginning of the new semester. I go into the men's section and find some plain blue jeans, picking up a few pairs that are a size larger than my current size. I look around for a changing room to try them on, but the only changing rooms I see have a line that looks way too long to be worth trying on some blue jeans. I go to the register and buy the jeans and a few shirts that seem like they'll fit better, hoping with all my might that one size up is enough.

When I get back to my dorm, I go into my bathroom to try on a set of clothes to see how it'll look on me before tomorrow. The shirt fits. But, to my horror, the jeans are still too tight to wear. I feel my eyes tear up. I can't believe I went up more than one jean size in just one semester of college.

I leave the bathroom, resorting back to my normal sweatpants, and go over to my desk, sitting down. My dad always taught me, much to my mother's disapproval, that if I'm feeling upset, I should distract myself by doing something else, like working. So I open up my laptop and start typing, doing some schoolwork that isn't due until Friday but needs to get done eventually anyway.

After a few hours, I look up to see that it's dark outside. I check my phone, which I'd set on silent, and see that I have a missed call from George, and a few text messages. The texts ask, basically, when I want everyone to hang out and have the cake.

Suddenly, all the weight of my suppressed emotions falls down on me, and I burst into tears, clutching my phone in my hand and just staring at it. I slowly close my laptop and go sit in my beanbag chair, where I like to sit when I'm upset or need some comfort. I text George that I'm not feeling up to it tonight, and then I remember the cake.

I glance up at my desk, my eyes falling on the box containing the delicious dessert. I stand up and go over to it, opening it up to get a better look at it. It comforts me to look at the cake because it reminds me that, although I kind of hate myself right now, there are people out there who don't.

I glance at my phone when I get a text from George, asking if I'm okay and if I want him to come over. I forget to type a response, through, instead picking up the cake box and carrying it over to the window of my dorm before sitting down against the wall underneath it and just staring at the cake. The letters are so intricately written, forming the words, "Happy 19th Birthday, Philip!" in beautiful cursive. It reminds me of George's handwriting. Did he write it himself?

Now that I think about it, the way that the cake is iced and decorated is a bit off, like it's homemade. It almost looks professional, but I can't help but smile slightly as I notice the small details, like the slightly different-shaped decorative icing balloons and the way some of the red-balloon-icing is somehow on the side of the cake as well. It's a very well-made cake, don't get me wrong. But it has that little homemade feel to it that just makes it... even more special.

I bet it tastes delicious, too. I decide to just try a little bit of the icing, swiping my finger along the side of the cake. My eyes widen at how delicious it tastes. It tastes homemade. He made the icing himself, too.

Why did he go through all this effort for me...? I don't think I deserve it. I start to tear up again as I try a bit of the cake itself. It's definitely homemade. And it's so good. As I start sobbing more, letting my emotions take over, I take some more bits and pieces off the cake, eating them. Soon, I start taking handfuls as I wallow in my self-pity and tears. Eventually, I stop crying, just genuinely enjoying the cake, and I get lost in the sweet deliciousness of it.

I snap back to reality when I hear a knock at the door. I look down and see that the cake box is entirely empty, aside from a few tiny crumbs and some smears of icing that didn't make it onto my fingers. There's another knock. I quickly get up and set down the box, heading to the door. As I pass the bathroom, though, I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror and freeze. My face is smeared with chocolate, all around my mouth and on my cheeks. I look down at my hands and realize that they're also covered in chocolate goop and sticky crumbs.

Before I have the chance to clean myself up, the door to the hallway opens, and a very worried George appears. "Philip...?" he asks, looking me over. "Are you... okay?"

I instantly burst into tears again, and he comes in, closing the door behind him. He ignores the chocolate all over my face, hands, and shirt, and just pulls me into a hug. I cry into his shoulder for a while, finally just letting it all out.

Eventually, I start to feel a lot better, just being there in George's embrace. He's such a good friend, and so sweet, too. I pull away and look at him, and he asks me, "What's wrong?"

I just shake my head, so he brings me into the bathroom, to the sink, and turns it on. He takes his finger and starts rubbing the chocolate off my face with it, using the water from the sink. I just stand there until he's done, and then I wash my hands.

"You want to go ahead and change your shirt?" he asks, and I look at myself in the mirror.

My new shirt is covered in chocolate icing and cake crumbs. I hope, for all it's worth, that it'll wash out. I shake my head and just take the shirt off. He's seen me shirtless plenty of times. Then I see myself in the mirror again and remember why all these emotions started in the first place. Right. "...I'm fat," I say out loud. "And... and I just ate an entire cake by myself..." I realize, starting to tear up again.

George quickly hugs me again, although he seems a bit disgruntled. "Hey, it's okay. Don't worry about the cake. It's gonna be okay..."

I lean into him and bury my face in his neck as I hug back, grateful for the comfort.

"Do you need me to rub your belly so you can sleep tonight?" he asks genuinely.

I nod, burying my face into his neck even more, even though I don't really need belly rubs tonight because my stomach doesn't hurt. I just think it would... feel nice.