It was a Tuesday.
The worst Tuesday; that purple-haired thot came up to you in the middle of class on the first day of your transfer, stating openly how you've gained weight since you last met—fuckin' Elementary School, the cunt. Your face was red as hell then. Sort of red as hell now, too, but that's beside the point. Point is, she'd openly embarrassed the fuck outta you. Sure, you'd gained a few pounds since Junior High... maybe a tad more than a few, but still. You're not fat.
Kinda.
It wasn't even the next day when she spoke to you again at lunch. Not at all privately, might you add. However, from her words, you'd gathered she'd still considered you a friend. Even though you've both been incommunicado since way back when. You didn't, and still don't understand the woman. Especially considering you've never learned her name. She might have mentioned it a few times, then or recently, but you remember fuck all about any of that.
Hell, you're not even sure if you remember her from your childhood anyways. She could be making that shit up for all you know.
Anyway, it was Tuesday; midday when that white chick you barely knew invited you over for some yoga exercises. A night you'll not soon forget.
And not for any good reasons.
. . . . .
"Darling, it's been so long! How have you been?" A voice you don't recall draws your attention upwards. Purple fills your vision. And a lot of white. Like, unhealthily pale white. You wring your hands over your desk, unsure as to why this sickly looking stranger would be talking to you. Blue eyes disappear behind covered eyelids as she looks into your soul, unmoving. To be honest, it's kinda fucking creepy.
Your mouth opens slowly, lips parting, but not a word escapes you. She blinks again at your silence, but her smile only brightens. "Still the same Anonymous, I see! Shy as ever, but it looks like you've gained some weight on those bones of yours since we'd last met up." She speaks without hesitation. Several classmates look up; some snicker. You bite your inner cheek as her mouth continues to move. "You don't need to be so nervous, darling, we're friends after all! It's all in good fun, no?" Did she call you fat just now?
She totally did, didn't she!
At your lack of response, still, she shakes her head with several 'tsks'. "No, that simply won't do. We'll speak on this again in a more secluded setting dear. Momma R-" you sneeze into your elbow, "-can come up with something!"
You try to speak again, but alas, your voice continues to fail you. Who the fuck is this chick?
. . . . .
Sitting—thankfully alone—at a table, you pop one of your mom's famous fried bull testes into your mouth. Quite a big gay, but everyone assumes they're big ass fried popcorn chicken. They will never know the truth. Letting the flavor settle on your tongue, you swallow the foodstuffs with vigor. Your happiness dies when you see a certain shade of off-white in your vision. Approaching you.
'See, Anonymous? That right there," she points at the bull teste in your hand with a hand on her hip, "foods like that are exactly why you've gained so much weight, darling!" Trying to ignore her, you go to toss the seasoned goodness in your mouth. Only for her to grab it from midair. She smirks at you, popping the thing between her lips. She has no idea what the fuck she just ate.
Her eyes glimmer as the taste washes over her tongue, but you say nothing. Lips pursing, you sit quietly as she chews on mom's teste. "Ooh! These are just heavenly; why, I can almost understand how you've put on so much extra wei-" you drown her out, her voice carrying throughout half of the cafeteria. Bitch sure knows how to draw attention, that's for sure. You watch in silence as she continues to drone on and on about the taste of your testicles, assuming all the while they were some foreign poultry.
You let her believe that.
Finally, having enough, you find your voice—it was hiding behind your tongue the whole time, who knew. "I'm trying to eat, here." You mumble, just loud enough for her to hear. Her words stop flowing and her jaw drops. For whatever reason; you don't know. "In peace, preferably."
Thankfully, it takes her several blissful moments of silence to respond. "Anon, y-your voice... my word. You speak with the tongue of Horsecules, it's so eloquent!" Her sudden compliment causes you to reel back in your seat, red threatening to spill across your cheeks. "Now if-if only you'd the body, darling... oh! Ideeeeaa!" She squeals, finally taking a seat across from you. Her hand waves wildly, blowing imaginary steam from her face as she imagines something. "You," she points between the both of you, "me. Pilates, dear!"
Firstly: the fuck are pilates? Secondly: who. The fuck. Is this chick? You decide not to ask either, opting to stare at her in your accustomed silence. Sadly, she takes your silence as consideration. You wish you could speak your mind more often; maybe she'd finally leave you alone. "Anon, you've the voice of a Demi-God. Why not look it as well~," she sing-song says before continuing. "Tonight, drop by my place," she practically orders, writing down something on one of your napkins with eye-liner she pulled out of nowhere. "Fourth floor, room 309. I urge you to come, darling, this could be good for both of us. We can play catch-up!" She squeals again, folding the tissue. She leans over the table and places it in your flannel's pocket, patting it gently with a warm smile.
Pulling away, she grabs another one of your testicles before winking. She pops it into her mouth as she leaves you to yourself finally.
You feel like you need an adult. Did you just get coerced into some kind of [+] ugly_bastard, [+] non-consensual_workout thing?
God, you hope not. I mean, what else is there Tues-say about that?
Author's Note
If you're disappointed, know you're not alone.
I am too.
p.s. i'll edit this when i wake up from my caffeine crash.
