Page 4 of Rejected Plus-Size Mate

It’s where I belong. Amongst killer wolves, criminals, and liars.

Chapter 2 - Leslie

Sitting in Gladys’s diner, I watch raindrops scatter across the glass and run down the window. It’s very late, and dark. The lights from the bright flashing sign out front make the little drops sparkle and glow.

The steady, patient drumming of the rain seems to be speaking to me. The howling of the wind following the storm offers its full agreement—go back to bed and hibernate.

Stay there forever.

“Leslie, dear, are you okay?”

I jump a little. Gladys is calling me from the counter. I push myself up from the table, grab my cleaning rag, and head over to her.

“Yes, sorry. I was just a bit lost in thought.”

“I can see that, honey. Don’t worry about the storm. We’ve weathered far worse than this.”

“I know,” I mutter, thinking about the savagery of the weather, and the chaotic conditions of my heart.

“Really, sweetheart, are you okay?” Gladys asks, fixing me with her bright, warm blue eyes.

I smile, touched by her genuine warmth. I’ve been working in the diner since high school, and she treats me like I’m one of her kids.

“Just tired,” I say. I think I’ve been giving that answer to anyone who asks that question for about twelve months.

“How about you head home?” she asks. “There’s only a couple of regulars left, and I can close the shop.”

“But I was supposed to close. I don’t want you staying too late.”

“Nonsense, dear. I’ve been running this place for longer than you’ve been alive. I can take care of it. Get yourself home and warmed up. You look like you’re coming down with something nasty.”

Yes, it’s called persistent melancholy. No flavor of ice cream can cure it.

“Thanks,” I answer, hurrying to get my coat. “Maybe you’re right. I’ll just take it easy for a few days.”

I bolt from the diner to my car, and it’s not even because of the rain. If I didn’t get out of there quick, I was going to start crying.

While I fumble for my keys, I feel the drops on my cheeks, and it’s not all from the storm.

“Fuck!” I scream, slamming the steering wheel with my hands.

I’m so sick of feeling like this. It’s been a fucking year!

Almost a year to the day since Kyle dumped me. Maybe that’s why it hurts so much today.

As if it didn’t hurt yesterday, and the day before that.

I wipe my cheeks, sniffling as I start the car. I felt like I had to get out of the diner because my sadness was creeping up on me, but now I feel like I’m driving towards a den of loneliness and pain.

It’s always worse at home.

Well, sometimes it’s worse at work. It’s really hard to tell.

I drive home carefully, pulling into the driveway and parking in the garage. I can feel the emptiness of the placeechoing around me, spaces of silent darkness that somehow feel alive, as if they would taunt me if they could.

No one will ever want you, fatty.

“Ugh!” I can’t hold in a cry of frustration as I wrestle open the door. I flick on the light, revealing my very ordinary, sparsely furnished house. I don’t make a lot of money, and so long as I have what I need, I’ve never worried too much about having expensive items.

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