STORY OF THE CHUBBY

STORY OF THE CHUBBY 6

I hate crying. I always avoid situations where I have to cry and if I can’t avoid them I brave them. If I did feel tears prickling my eyes, I’d blast my ears with music from my iPod that were either full of beats or awesome electrical guitars.

It always made me feel weak when I cried. I felt like I was giving up and I was not one to give up. Especially since I’d come all this way without what I’d always craved from my parents; affection. That and also because I look really terrible when I cry. There’s a day I remember I was so upset I couldn’t help but cry. So I was on the floor bawling my eyes out until I turned and caught sight of myself in the mirror hanging in my closet. I stopped crying for three seconds then I started laughing because I looked ridiculous. I couldn’t help but remember that working with one of my neighbour’s babies who was crying until I showed him a mirror, after which he stopped crying.

So you can imagine the disappointment I’m feeling with myself as I cry quietly into my pillow in the darkness of my room.

When I came home in the evening, I closed all curtains in the house and locked myself up in my room with my last packet of Skittles, listening to 5 Seconds of Summer, purposefully skipping Amnesia and Beside you because it would just kill my reserve. Now I lay here Skittle-less and contemplating on what else to play, so that meant I was also music-less, too.

Friday night while most of people my age went partying, I was throwing my own little pity party like the pathetic girl I am. I seriously needed to improve my life, and if not now in college.

As I continued to torture myself with negative thoughts that I think will be downright embarrassing if I was to repeat them to you, the doorbell rang. I ignored. Clearly it looked like no one was home. If they ignored my car in the driveway.

It rang for about ten more times before it finally stopped. I let out a relieved breath thinking that whoever it was had finally come to their senses and left. Oh how wrong I was. Approximately eight seconds later, there was furious banging on the door. What the hell? I jumped out of bed and headed downstairs to find out who it was that was intent on knocking down my door. I grunted at the image I presented as I passed by the hallway mirror. I could scare away the person at the door with the way I looked. Red rimmed eyes slightly swollen, my hair, let’s not even talk about my hair, and my favourite purple Barney pyjamas. Whoever was banging my door, be prepared for an early Halloween show, I thought as I unlocked the door and threw it open.

Of course. Why I’m I even surprised.

‘What do you want Christian?’ I asked, not even bothering to narrow my eyes because they were already narrowed. He had had a scowl on his face when I’d opened the door but it quickly turned to one between shock and confusion. Happy Halloween!

When he had slightly recovered from his state, he asked, ‘Are you okay, Cecelia? Have you been crying?’

Now it was my turn to be shocked. Cecelia? He never calls me that apart from when Mrs Watson is with us. However I recovered from my shock easily and shrug, ‘Who cares? Do you want something or did you just want to knock my door down out of sheer pleasure?’

He studied me for a brief moment before extending his arms towards me, which I now notice hold a plastic container with food. I raise my eyebrow in question and he sighs, ‘Gran told me to drop this off for you. And she also said that you should turn the lights on and stop being-‘

I’d heard enough. ‘Okay. Say thank you for me. I’ll drop the container tomorrow. Goodnight!’ I said, taking the bowl from him and closing the door.

But he held back the door with his hand and looked at me. Albeit it was dark but I could make out his face and the concern in his eyes as I stepped back a little.