"Swept" Chapter 4

“Dammit,” Michelle uttered under her breath. “Dammit, dammit...”

Jason was going to be there in a few minutes. She was proud of herself—for once, she was actually going to be on time for something. Provided she could get this fucking dress buttoned.

With one final, mighty tug, she gave up, and let her hands slump to her sides. He said it was going to be a casual thing. Maybe she could just wear a T shirt, or something.

No, that wasn’t going to work. Of course it wasn’t the reason she had decided on this dress, earlier that day, was because she could get by without any support underneath, without looking like it. But that wasn’t going to work.

She let out a gusty sigh as she sat on the bed to collect her thoughts. There was no way around it. She had been letting herself go, and as a result, her available wardrobe was dwindling, seemingly, by the day. Her promises to return to her regular workout hadn’t worked out like she’d thought. If anything, her and Jason’s dates had been picking up in frequency.

Yeah, she thought. Good job, Michelle. Every time you outgrow another dress, what do you do? Agree to hop in his car, and head off to some barbeque joint to stuff your face with pulled pork. Nice job.

But shit. it was fun. And Jason certainly didn’t seem to mind at all that she had been filling out up top.

Still… the same insecurities she had carried in high school had been slowly creeping back in. She didn’t know why. She didn’t even want to feel that way. But with each garment that became too small, she was reminded of the same teenaged horror show. Having her mom take her to a special seamstress to get a custom bra. Having to endure an undergarment that was built more like a bridge than the lacey, light, fun counterparts her few friends got to wear. Opting for bulky sweaters and oversized flannel shirts to hide her top-heavy shape as much as she could.

And the catty bullshit. Super-sized Shelly; Massive Michelle; Soup Bowls. The list went on. Looking back, she had the feeling the bitches were just jealous. But back then, it hurt.

She shook it off. That was a decade ago. And she had worked hard to get her body the way she wanted it—the way she was comfortable with. Was she unraveling all of that? She didn’t know. All she could think was that she wished she hadn’t thrown out all her old bras when she finally got in shape, toward the end of her senior year.

She didn’t want to go out. She was fed up. She needed a new outlook, and a new perspective, she knew, but for the time being, she felt pissy.

She heard Jason’s car pull up in the driveway. She struggled to hold back tears. Maybe he could think of something.