I run. Run and run. My breath heavy as I pant, my heart pounding against my chest as I feel my body burning on fire. It's a treadmill.
"You need to do this, Iris- the more you run, the more calories you'll lose." I speak to my inner self, my sweat flooding me like a river as I run, my eyes stuck to the numbers on the machine. 127 calories lost, only. I need to lose more. I need to look better.
I pant, my throat as dry as a reply from a fucking boy you meet online, my skin is sweaty and hot, does that mean my running is working?
I finally pause, my knees weak as I stumble off the treadmill, my exhausted hand wrapping around the water bottle I carry around, the water soothing my throat like a mother soothing a child. I kneel against the wall, my hands on my knees as I catch my breath, before my eyes drift down to my body. My thighs, my stomach, why do I look like this?
My mother would call me "beautiful" or an "angel" but I never really understood why. Did she call me that because I'm her daughter? Or did she call me that because she's my mother and she needs to be "nice"?
I lift my head up to see the girls in the gym. Sport bra and tight leggings. Their legs are thin and their stomach is flat. Oh how I wish I was in their place. A sigh escapes my throat before I sit up from against the wall and grab my small towel, patting it against my forehead and neck to remove the sweat, before I make my way to the changing rooms of the gym.
I stare at myself in the room, remembering my innocent self in high school. I remember when I had sports and I would be laughed at. For being the fat and weird girl. I remember the stares, the whispers, the giggling and the laughter, every night I would cry myself to sleep, wishing I was a perfect girl with a perfect body.
I rub my face with my hands before I quickly change to a hoodie and sweatpants, my hair up in a low messy bun that's too messy for it to be cute. I make my way out of the gym, my eyes darting around to look for my mother's car. She was supposed to pick me up, gosh, it's her dementia.
I sigh before I notice a car with a guy.. a very handsome guy, sitting at the front. I raise my eyebrow before I quickly look away as the guy turns his head to stare back at me. God, you're so stupid, Iris. I watch the guy step out of the car with my peripheral vision, my heartbeat quickening as I hear the footsteps coming directly to him. Why the fuck is a handsome stranger walking to me? ME?!
"You must be Iris?.. your mother sent me to.. pick you up, I'm her friend's son." The guy says with a handsome downturned smile, his dimple evident as he smiles warmly at me, his dark brown hair blowing against his face as the wind hits us, his eyes matching the colour of his hair, dark brown and long lashes. Damn...
