Page 1 of Beyond the Spotlight Discreet Version
Chapter 1 – Savannah
Fuckflyingwhilefat.
I don’t do it often, but this trip was unavoidable. This trip takes me to my new life. I pivot my thick body as I walk down the narrow aisle to find my seat, trying not to snarl at all the panicked faces as I approach.
They don’t want me sitting next to them.
I get it. Airplanes are the worst. They cram passengers in with little to no leg room, let alone ass room. If you’re not a size ten or smaller, you’re screwed.
I’ve been fat my entire life. My parents are big too. They raised me to love myself and my body, despite the world’s unrealistic standards for beauty. But despite my unwavering confidence, and not having any more fucks to give, the cruel world does not cater to big bodies.
So, I adapt the best I can: like booking a window seat where I can cuddle up to the plane’s wall—even though I’m scared of flying and keep the shade shut and try not to think about the vast nothingness beyond the wings.
Unfortunately, for this flight, I have an aisle seat, which I hate. My elbow always gets hit by people passing by. I learned the hard way to tuck my arm against my side when the snack and drink cart comes through. One killer bruise was one too many.
At least it’s not the middle.
I’m lucky there were even seats left on this flight. I bought the ticket last night.
Last night, I was shoving clothes and my most precious belongings into two suitcases and a shoulder bag.
Last night, I left Silo Springs, Arkansas and drove to Joe’s Used Car Dealership in Memphis, Tennessee where, ten minutes before closing, I sold my old 2005 Camry for $2,000 cash before taking an Uber to the airport.
Last night, I left my pathetic cheating boyfriend.
I’m not sure why I chose the most expensive city in the U.S. Maybe because New York City is the biggest and the opportunities are endless. Maybe it’s because I can be anyone there. Maybe it’s because I can hide easier. He’d never find me there, not that the loser would even try. He made it quite clear he’s not interested in me anymore.
We dated for seven years. I should have ended things years ago. I’m not even sad about breaking up with him. More like pissed. I’m furious that I wasted so much of my life with him. My rage is in control here and she’s making insane decisions.
Like moving to the most expensive city in the U.S. with no job and no place to live except the Airbnb I rented last minute.
My seat comes into view, and I breathe out a sigh of relief upon spotting an adorable little girl sitting in the middle seat. She has orangish red curls and freckles dotting her pale face. She’s tiny, too, meaning I won’t be crowding her space. My eyes roam to the man next to her and I nearly choke on the minty gum I popped into my mouth after downing a large latte to wake myself up.
Holy hell that man is fine. He takes off his baseball cap and runs his fingers through his light brown hair before securing the cap back in place. He tugs it down low enough as if he’s trying to hide his ocean blue eyes and gorgeous face.
My heart beats erratically as a blush snakes up my neck and spills onto my cheeks.
Is it hot in here?
I’m definitely sweating.
What the hell? I’ve never reacted this way towards a man. Is it because I’m single now? As if my body knows it’s relationship free and ready to be dicked?
The man glances up as I stop at their row and lift my shoulder bag to store in the overhead bin. Once done, I sneak a quick glimpse of him and notice he’s staring—at my stomach. My black crop top has crept up, showing a sliver of skin. His eyes move down the rest of my body, taking in my sloppy outfit: black sweats rolled at the waist and a pair of gray Crocs.
I pat my dark blonde hair I have piled on the top of my head and smile at him. He clears his throat and shakes himself from his searing gaze.
Did he like what he saw?
I never know with men. They either hate fat bodies, love them proudly, or love them secretly.
I force myself to look away to flag down a nearby flight attendant. “Hi, can I get a seatbelt extender?”
“Of course, sweetie.” She places a palm on my shoulder before walking away.
“You sound like my dad’s friends’ girlfriends,” the little girl says the moment I sit down.
“I do? Are your dad’s friends’ girlfriends from Arkansas like me?”
