“You’re getting fat.”

What, does he think I don’t know? I haven’t been following my damn diet – so what? My skin is folding over and over… again. He’s the only one who seems to mind. Honestly, as long as I have a good book I don’t give a damn about how I look. Sitting on the couch and eating Cheetos will be the high point in my life.

Heaven forbid. I’m just going to ignore his comment.

Cough.

“Sorry, I mean you’re getting fatter.”

Mum says he does this out of love. He had to deal with obesity when he was younger and he doesn’t want anyone else to have to deal with harsh stares and rude, insensitive actions.

He’s coughing again.

“Elizabeth, answer me!”

…

“I know.”

There’s a silence. I don’t think he expected me to answer.

“Well, as long as you know…”

“I do know, John, and I don’t care.”

“But you should. It’s unhealthy and unappealing to be with a fat woman in pub – “ he stops.

“A fat women in public?”

“… Well, yeah.”

I nod, pretending to understand. But I don’t. I never saw my weight as a problem. Besides, it’s not like I’m even all that fat. I just like to eat chili cheese dogs and salt and vinegar potato chips.

Plus, I’m only two-hundred-and-ten pounds. Not too much, right? At least I don’t think so. At one point I was a measly 100 pounds. And do you want to know when that one point was? Two years ago, after I got so fed up with being bullied and literally puked myself into the hospital.

He’s fidgeting in his seat.

“… So you’re not going to continue your diet, then?”

I sigh.

“No John, I’m not.”

He stares for a moment.

“You’re going to die a fat woman, you know. Your casket will be more expensive because it’s so much bigger.”

I raise a brow. Really? That’s interesting.

“I’ll start saving now.”

He screams and stands up. “Lizzie! You’re being difficult!”

I blink.

“I know.”

“Why? You’re fat! You’re ugly! No one likes you! Don’t you want to change that?! The only person who loves you is me – even your parents are disgusted now. Your mom was a runway model. Why are you so fucking fat?”

I shrug.

“I don’t know. Maybe because that’s how I want to be.”

He stares.

“You want to be fat – “ he’s spitting, he only does that when he’s really mad “—and hated? Why do you want that?”

God, this is getting annoying. He cares more about my weight than I do. Someone remind me why I put up with this.

Oh, yes, because it’s true love. You put up with a whole shit load of stupid bullshit for the one you love. But isn’t that other part of that accepting the other person for who they are and who they want to be?

Maybe I’ve read one too many romance novels.

“Lizzie!”

God, so fucking annoying.

“John?”

“Hm?”

“If you don’t leave right now I’ll sit on you.” He looks shocked. Was what I said to over the top?

"I’m warning you; don’t make me get off my fat ass.”

He opens his mouth to speak but nothing comes out.

I yawn.

“You have ten seconds.”

He moves towards the door.

He turns around.

“Liz, baby, I want you to know that I still lo – “

“Don’t say it.”

He looks down at the floor. I pick a few Cheeto’s out of the bag.

His face scrunches up.

“Liz – “

“John!”

…

…

He opens the door.

“Okay.”

I put a Cheeto in my mouth.

He leaves.

&&&

Notes: This story is odd, it’s not like my usual depressing crap but it still deals with an issue I feel strongly about. I meant to have John portrayed as someone with good intentions who’s losing all his morals to this small (excuse the pun), meaningless obsession. Anyway, enjoy. Criticism welcomed and loved.