The story of Peter Santiago and Ouran Hayes.
The broken, bullied and desperate, willing to change himself even if it kills him.
The exalted, shamed and objectified. Too torn up to care anymore.
The story of two impossibly different bo...
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On the seventh of March, Peter Stantiago managed to lose weight.
He stared at the scale, barely believing what he saw, the numbers blaring back at him infinitely smaller than his previous weight. Infinitely smaller to him.
It was impossible.
Itwasimpossible.
His weight had always been a stagnant, adamant thing in his life. A burden weighing down his conscious, a mark branding him for life. Every single one of his actions were controlled by his weight. A dark cloud ruling over his head. A snide, gelid voice in back of of his mind, reminding him he was never good enough, that he was trash.
Pig
Slow
Fat
Fat
Fat
But now he had lost weight. The very thought it seemed impossible. But it was, it was possible.
When his family saw they were ecstatic, especially Peter's dad. He clapped Peter on the back and ruffled his hair, eyes shining with pride.
"God job Pete, I knew you could do it!"
That night Peter went to sleep happy. All the different diets he researched, all the different meals plans he made, the strenuous work sessions at the gym he managed to sneak into. All the sacrifices and and setbacks were finally paying off. Every single tear and drop of sweat was worth somethingafterall.
Peter wiped the tears from the corners of his eyes and grinned up at the ceiling.
He was getting somewhere.
***
Monday mornings were never a pleasant thing for Peter.
Everyone was fresh from the weekend and after two days of peaceful leisure they wanted a little excitement.
A fervent, buzzing energy infected the halls that morning, growing louder and more restless as Peter shuffled to his locker, determined to ignore the leers as mocking giggles that accompanied the journey. He was not going to let anyone ruin this. He was happy, happy with himself. Something he thought he would hate until he died.
He undid the lock and shoved his bag into his locker, suddenly someone grabbed him roughly from behind. He was being spun around and all too soon was faced with cracked glasses and a crooked smile.
It was Alfred Kirkland.
Another one of the bitches that seemed to get high off his suffering, all gassy eyed and manic grinned.
With out a single utterance Alfred punched Peter in the gut, slamming him into his locker.
Peter kneeled forward, coughing and gasping for air, bile rising up his throat. He couldn't breathe.
"What's wrong fat fuck, did that hurt?"
His words pierced through Peters heart like a shard of glass, a frigid wave seeping into his chest, constricting his throat.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
A knee to the stomach and Peter was on the ground, hacking up bloody spit as a crowd of people surrounded them, chanting and cheering, hoping to see some good shit.
It didn't matter how much weight Peter lost. He'd still fat. He'd still be a pig. He'd still be shit.
It's was a brand, a mark, a pemernat label reminding him that he'd always still be Peter; a fat piece of shit that was too busy stuffing his face to do anything worthy. Too fucking stupid to do anything except eat. Cause that's the only thing people like him did.
"Look at him wail, fucking gross"
"Man, he's so fucking fat, I feel kinda sorry for him."
"I'm surprised he even felt that"
He was just Peter Santiago, the fat ugly fuck. Nothing more, nothing less.
