I hold my breath, too afraid to look down, but I know I have to do this quick. Reluctantly, I look down, absolute dread washing over me, tightening my stomach and my throat.
Forty-two.
I knew it was going to be bad, I just didn't think it was going to be this bad.
The door to the back room bursts open and I quickly scramble, nearly tripping over my own two feet to get my shoes back on.
"What are you doing, Claire?" Eli, my boyfriend-of-two-and-a-half-years-turned-fiancé, asks. Hands on his hips, he tries to regain his breath, swiping at the sweat peppered across his brow with the hem of his shirt.
"N-nothing," I stutter.
He rips off his sweat drenched shirt and kicks off his shoes, stepping up to the scale I just stood on moments ago. I'm absolutely mortified as he blatantly glances at the number on the screen that hasn't disappeared yet, displaying my weight.
When the screen finally clears, he steps onto the scale and anxiously awaits for the numbers to settle on the screen. After five seconds the numbers still, blinking twice to show his official weight.
Eli curses under his breath. Frustrated, he steps off the scale and sheds his gym shorts and even his socks. When he's down to just his boxers, he steps back onto the scale once it clears.
"Fuck!" he seethes, stepping off the scale and tugging back on his clothes. From his reaction I can tell he hasn't cut as much weight as he wanted to for the meet.
For the past five weeks, Eli has been obsessed with losing fifteen pounds to drop a weight class to compete with Rhodes York, one of the best power lifters in the area. Eli has been fixated on beating him for years now, ever since I started dating him. Apparently, he's had a rivalry with Rhodes since high school when they were on the wrestling team together. Then they both started powerlifting after high school and have kept up since. I personally don't understand why Eli is busting his ass to drop a weight class to compete with him anyway. Since he's a cheater.
Early on, when they first started competing and before I was even in the picture, Rhodes failed a drug test before one of their biggest competitions and it's been rumored he's been using steroids ever since. Apparently, he has connections to cover it up so he can still compete.
As Eli finishes tugging on his clothes, I sneak a quick peek at the scale to see that he's point two pounds off. He slips his shoes back on and exits the back room of the gym to go run some more laps around the building in the blistering heat and spit into a cup every ten seconds to try to shed that point two ponds before the competition this afternoon.
Once he's gone, I close the door, taking off my shoes one more time and stepping on the scale. The numbers take forever to load, but I'm still as disappointed as the first time.
Forty-two pounds. In the course of just over a year, I've gained forty-two pounds. Disgust, horror, and utter humiliation coils my stomach and I feel sick.
I step off the scale and take a few steps over to view myself in the full length mirror, feeling even more disgusted with myself. I haven't truly looked at myself in the mirror in a long time, and I'm shocked at the huge difference I notice. I twist and turn, looking at my body at different angles, hating the way it looks every time. Especially my stomach.
Once upon a time, I had abs. I had a flat stomach, toned arms and legs, and one chin instead of two. Emphasis on the word had. Before the accident.
A little over a year ago, I was in a car wreck. With the number of bruises and broken bones I sustained, I was unable to hit the gym for a few months—a place I frequented at least once a day with Eli—due to doctors' orders. I know during those early months of having to be a couch potato I lost some muscle, since I had no other choice but to rest, but I didn't realize how much fat I gained.
In the beginning, once I was healed and cleared by doctors to get back to normal activities, I sort of lost all motivation to go back to the gym. I think a part of me was scared I wasn't healed all the way, and another part of me became so used to the sedentary lifestyle—the comfort of it—that I didn't want to go back. I got so used to working from home and being a homebody that I didn't want to leave that little bubble of comfort and sustainability. Eli tried to get me back into the gym, but I always seemed to find an excuse. Work, pain, exhaustion. Anything, really.
I always told myself I'd get back to the gym within a month's time, but then that month turned into the next month, then the following month, and so on. Now we're up to forty-two pounds worth of months lost by not going to the gym.
Completely discouraged, I put my shoes back on and make to exit the back room, but not before seeing the BMI poster taped to the back of the door. To make matters worse, I match up my current weight to my height on the chart, finding myself in the yellow zone: overweight.
My heart sinks and my pudgy stomach tightens in knots. Thoroughly embarrassed and ashamed, I walk out of the back room like a dog with its tail between its legs.
Forty-two.
The biggest reality slap in the face.
I walk outside to find Eli still running laps, spitting whenever he can, looking like he's about to keel over. This torture continues until two hours before competition when we have to pack up and head to the gym its being held at. It's a thirty minute drive, but as soon as we're out of the car Eli is back to exercising.
An hour before competition, all competitors are signed in and their official weight is taken. Eli just makes it into the weight class he wanted to compete with Rhodes, but I still think it was a dumb move, if you ask me.
In the zone, as he likes to say, Eli completely ignores me and goes off with his trainer for a few minutes before breaking off to go chat with some old gym buddies that are competing today as well. It's as if I'm not even here and he doesn't want to introduce me—his fiancé—to them, but I guess I can't complain too much. I don't know if I necessarily want them seeing me like this anyway. I'm too self-conscious now. Maybe four hours ago I wouldn't have been so, but after seeing that number on the scale I want to crawl out of my skin.
Forty-two.
I take note of the two incredibly fit and beautiful women chatting in the small circle Eli is conversing with. I try not to analyze his lingering gaze and too friendly of a smile while chatting with them.
At this point, I'm used to girls flirting with Eli. He is super hot and muscular, after all. His strong jaw and facial features allow him to rock a buzz cut flawlessly, accentuating his handsome features further. Normally, before the accident, when girls blatantly flirted with him I would have no problem sauntering up to him and making of show of how I was his girlfriend and then fiancé, flashing my ring. But now, I'm embarrassed to even have them look at me.
Suddenly feeling crowded, this being one of the very few outings I've been to in the past year, I walk outside to take a breather. The sun is almost blinding, blasting its rays in the late afternoon sky. Too hot to be standing outside, I opt to sit in Eli's truck, blasting the AC.
I take a deep breath, closing my eyes and bracing my hands on the wheel. I count to ten before exhaling, slowly opening my eyes, and the first thing they catch on is my bare left hand.
At the hospital, right after the car accident, my hands swelled and the ring was cutting off circulation to my finger. The medical team ended up having to cut it off in order to save my finger and Eli never got me another one.
Instinctively, I rub my finger where a ring should be.
What does it say that Eli never bought me another ring? Don't get me wrong, I know engagement rings are a pretty penny, but Eli definitely isn't strapped for cash. He's a high end real estate agent, only needing to sell a house or two a month to live comfortably, and a total trust fund baby. He hardly ever has to work with the inheritance from his beyond rich mommy and daddy, leaving him to spend even more time at the gym.
Before I let my mind spiral out of control, I cut the engine and hop out of the truck, opening the back seat to find one of Eli's hoodies. I throw on the thick material, despite it being ninety degrees, to try to hide my body. With the seven inch height difference between me and Eli, I'm glad to see the hoodie still fits oversized on me.
Feeling a bit more comfortable (but not really all that comfortable) in the hoodie, I decide to go back inside, the competition about to start.
Walking through the back entrance, through the doorway, I'm nearly plowed over by not one, but two large men. The first one tries to squeeze through the doorframe the same time as me, clearly not seeing me as he has his neck snapped backwards, talking to the other guy with him. His shoulder roughly slams into mine, jostling me. Just before the second blow, the second guy notices my presence. Stumbling to a halt, he firmly but gently grabs my elbow to sable the both of us as I pivot, my back jutting into the doorframe as I turn sideways and flush against it, trying to stay out of the way, not wanting to get plowed into twice.
"Sorry," the guy utters softly, his voice genuine, but I can tell he's distracted, in a rush, the guy who plowed into me telling him to hurry his ass up because the competition is about to start.
His hand on my elbow gives a soft squeeze, and I look up at him, my heart slamming into my rib cage as I glance into Rhodes York's piercing gray eyes. I've never been this close to him before, only seeing him briefly at a handful of other competitions. He's tall, maybe a couple inches taller than Eli, but he has a smaller build. Rhodes has more of an athletic build whereas Eli is bulky—hence why Eli had to drop a number of pounds to be in the same weight class.
Rhodes's dark hair is damp with sweat, sticking to his forehead. His surprisingly kind eyes give me a once over, lingering before locking on mine, and I can tell he's torn between hurrying his ass up and making sure I'm okay.
"Man, let's go," the other guy with him urges, annoyed.
Rhodes's eyes give me another once over, making me more self-conscious than I already am. Before letting go of my elbow, his fingers graze my arm, sending a chill down my spine, and he follows the guy he's with outside. He glances back at me once with guilt filled eyes, making my stomach flip.
I slump back against doorframe, processing what just happened and relieved I wasn't pulverized to a pulp. By Rhodes York no less. The way he grabbed my elbow was so... gentle. Surprisingly so. And he almost looked apologetic for running into me.
Weird.
Every time I've seen him before he's always looked so cold and intimidating, with his sleeve of tattoos and seemingly permanent scowl. I wouldn't be surprised if he ran me over and didn't even think twice about it.
A loud, booming voice brings me out of my shock, announcing the competition is to begin in ten minutes.
I take a seat on one of the folding chairs set up on the gym floor in front of a small stage, all the equipment usually dotting the floor pushed along the walls to make room for spectators. The competition starts and one by one each competitor completes a series of lifts, the weight going up each round until the lifters max out.
The competition consists of squats, bench presses, and deadlifts, and Rhodes crushes all of them. He's lifted the most weight each round, except for bench press where one guy beat him by three pounds. It's clear he's going to win, but final results won't be posted until late tonight. It's also clear Eli won't be placing today, unable to lift as much as he's generally capable of after dropping fifteen pounds so quick and fasting for the past 24 hours. He's exhausted, dehydrated, and starving, so it's no wonder why he wasn't on his A-game today.
And I know I'm going to get an earful of it later.
✨
"Fuck!" Eli curses for the umpteenth time today.
In the bedroom, lying in bed, curled up with a book, I lean over onto my elbow to spot him through the doorway in the kitchen.
"What place did you get," I ask cautiously, already knowing his outburst is over the scoring for the competition today. It's around 10:00 p.m., when results are expected to be posted.
He marches into the bedroom, eyes glued to his phone that's tightly grasped in his hand, teeth grinding together. "Fucking seventh," he seethes, and I don't even have to prompt him to say who took home first place. "Fucking York got first."
Ah.
And if only I had a swear jar.
I just hum sympathetically in response, not really knowing what to say, not wanting to piss him off further.
Eli's jaw ticks, his eyes hard, nostrils flaring the longer he stares at the scores. After several seconds, he roughly shoves his phone into his gym shorts, turning and swiping his keys off the dresser, the metal sharply scraping against the wood. "I'm going to the gym," he mutters, not even looking at me once, before disappearing out the door.
I watch him leave, trying my best to ignore the unease in my stomach.
The gym is Eli's outlet, always has been. I try not to take him storming off personally, but I can't lie and say it doesn't sting.
But the gym is Eli's life.
Before the accident, Eli was a gym rat, putting in hours a day, seven days a week. But after the accident, he seemed to start spending even more time at the gym. I thought maybe it only seemed that way because I was bored out of my mind, unable to leave the couch, but he really was spending more time there—hence why he got so big, needing to drop fifteen pounds to compete with Rhodes.
I guess I was a little hurt in the beginning, because he was spending so much time at the gym instead of taking care of me—his fiancé. It's not that I wanted to be babied or have him wait on me hand and foot, but it would have been nice to just have someone be there. But I guess we all process in different ways. I'd like to think Eli was just being the distraught boyfriend that couldn't bear to see me hurt, needing not to see me like that, but his gym time never decreased after I healed. So I'm not sure about my initial hypothesis anymore.
Ever since the accident, Eli has been distant. But then again, maybe I've changed. That accident really messed me up mentally and physically. Forty-two pounds to be precise.
I set my book down on the nightstand and lie back, staring up at the ceiling. The image of the number on the scale and the way I looked in the mirror swamps my thoughts, and another wave of shame and disgust floods my stomach.
Forty-two.
As if possessed, I crawl out of bed and walk into the attached bathroom, flicking on the light and wandering over to the full length mirror. I pull the hem of my oversized sleep shirt up to glance at my stomach, realizing I look nearly four months pregnant. Except I'm not. It's all fat.
Maybe this is why Eli never replaced my engagement ring or ever brought up wedding stuff—granted I didn't bring it up much either. But is he embarrassed to be with me? Is that why he didn't bother to show me off to his friends today? Why he hasn't really invited me out since the accident? We used to go out all the time before the accident, always meeting up with his friends for drinks at the bar after hectic work weeks. He still goes, but I stay at home. At first I couldn't really go, then I didn't necessarily want to go, but now he never even invites me to go.
Am I just being paranoid or is Eli ashamed to be with me anymore?
✨
I feel the bed shift, and I blink my tired eyes open to stare blearily at the clock on the night stand that reads 1:09 a.m.
In the dark, I find Eli crawling into bed, the light from his phone screen lighting up his troubled face.
"Hi," I whisper, rolling over to face him.
He immediately locks his phone, the room going completely dark. "Hey," he says gruffly, getting settled under the sheets.
Silence envelopes us with the darkness, and I take the opportunity to say something that's been weighing heavily on my mind. "I was thinking... what if we picked back up on wedding planning soon?"
He hums noncommittedly, as if he didn't even hear what I just said.
"I was thinking of possibly going wedding dress shopping this week or next," I try again.
A beat of tense silence floats between us.
"Are you sure you want to go dress shopping now?" he asks, but there's a lilt to his voice. A condescending one.
I hold my breath before replying, my voice whisper soft. "Did you... did you see my weight today?" I ask outright. I know he did, but some sick part of me wants him to confirm it.
He lets out a slow breath, and I can hear him scrubbing a hand over his face. "Yes."
My stomach knots and my throat tightens. "Oh."
"Yeah."
Such strained silence floats between us I can hardly bare it. "Yeah," I repeat, just to break the silence. "I didn't know it was that bad," I confess.
He only hums in reply.
"I guess... I guess it's time for me to get back to the gym," I admit.
"You can do that," he agrees. "They just opened up a new gym down the street you can sign up at."
"What about your gym?" I ask.
"My gym is more for powerlifting. Plus, it's not really taking new members right now."
I frown. "But I used to go all the time."
"I know, but the owner only wants serious members signing up right now. Competitors. Why don't you start off slow? We'll sign you up with a trainer at the new gym and you can work your way back up."
I continue to frown but comply. "Yeah, I guess."
"Good," he says, a smile in his voice. He props himself up on his elbow, leaning over to press a kiss to my cheek. "Don't worry, baby. We'll get you back into shape in no time," he promises, placing a hand on my stomach and squeezing the fat there before rolling over to his side of the bed, peacefully falling asleep.
My throat clogs with emotion and I struggle to keep the tears that threaten to fall from my eyes at bay after having him squeeze my stomach like that, the gesture making me feel so wildly uncomfortable and disgusted with myself.
I wipe away a stray tear rolling down my cheek before rolling over, curling myself up into a tight ball before trying my best to fall asleep, failing miserably.
✨
AUTHOR'S NOTE: Hi friends! Welcome to the first chapter of Bad Rep! I'm so excited and nervous to start this journey with this new set of characters, but mostly excited! Hopefully you'll love this story and these characters as much as I do🤍
I wasn't planning on posting this first chapter until the end of the month but decided to just say F*%K it and post it today. lol Idk when I'll post chapter 2 but I do want to hopefully get to a point where I post once a week, and I was curious what day of the week you think would be the best to post? Lmk in the comments!