Inside each of us is a little voice that tells us what we can and cannot say out loud. Even the cruelest sadist and the most
obeisant masochist drew lines they would never cross in speech. Secrets of the soul that were swept into shadows of doubt
and fear, truths that could never be revealed, longings that could never be externalized. But sometimes, the hidden cravings
of a human heart emerged fully, not because we intentionally reveal them but in the ways we play.
Rosalie almost killed herself walking up the stairs. The wet palm of her hand slid on the handrail and she almost lost her grip. She panicked. Why the fuck was she here? She knew the minute she saw the building that she didn’t want to go inside, but her phone beeped and told her to press the buzzer, so she did.
He was waiting. She had to go to him. It was now or never and she couldn’t live with the idea of never. She paused and steadied herself. He was up there. Waiting.She had to go. She walked mechanically, up a step and then, another, like a robot. Why was it so hard to walk up four flights of stairs? Oh yeah, because she was fat. Fat, fat, fat.
Would he think she was fat? Of course, he would. Everyone thought she was fat. Because she was. The mirror does not lie. Though sometimes she liked to tell herself that she exaggerated the flaws when...