Page 44 of Bewitch

“You love this, don’t you?” I snap, yanking the book out of his hand.

“I love what?”

“You delight in my pain.”

“I wouldn’t dream of mocking it.”

I narrow my eyes at him. The Princess Bride is my all-time favorite movies, and there’s a line from it—You mock my pain—hat he seems to be hinting at.

But he’s no Westley, that’s for damn sure, because he might say he wouldn’t mock my pain, but he definitely seems happy about it.

I hug the book to my chest because if I don’t, I’ll drop it. “How am I supposed to go this again tomorrow?” I mumble, more to myself than to him.

“No pain, no gain. Do you want to turn your fat into muscle? Or do you just want to be fat?”

“I want to be skinny.”

“Fuck being skinny. Be strong.”

“Strong. Not a lot of girls have that as their goal.”

“They should. Do you want to settle? Because settling… You shouldn’t have a trainer if you don’t want to be pushed and pushed and pushed.”

“You’re going to end up pushing me out the door,” I mumble.

“If you let me.”

And he walks away, not talking to Pamela this time.

I turn to watch him go. If I don’t let him push me away, how far can I take this? How far will he let me? Will I be able to have my revenge for his comments? I hate that he calls me Fattie, but I have been giving him shit back already, and he’s taking it like there’s no sweat off his back.

There’s a line somewhere, and I might’ve crossed it already. There’s no going back now.

Tomorrow, I’ll return. My body is bruised all over, including my heart. I need a cage to keep my heart away from him. He’s hot, yes, and I’ll kiss him, tease him, torment him, but I will not fall for him. I will not become bewitched.

If anything, I’ll bewitch him.

See, Lucas? I can think positively, and if I can will anything into happening, it’s this.

CHAPTER13

The next day, I’m so slow-moving it’s not even funny. A snail could move faster than me. Getting out of bed is an effort, and I have to sit to put on my leggings for underneath my dress. I can’t bend down all the way to do it. I opt for a different pair of boots than the ones I originally intended just because I don’t want to have to zip them. It’s ridiculous to have to change my clothes and let my sore muscles dictate my outfit, but that’s where I’m at.

Because of how slow I’m going, I don’t have time for breakfast. Brooke spent last night at Declan’s. I’m not sure what his roommate did overnight, but I am sure that I don’t have time to run over to Skylar’s apartment. The three of us finished up the last of the breakfast casserole we had made. I shove a few bananas on top of my books and hope they won’t get too bruised.

I hate, hate, hate that I’m in such a rush. I have no choice but to try to hurry along to class, but my legs really don’t want to cooperate. I’m doing what I can, but the building where my class is still a five-minute walk away yet, and I have only two minutes to make it and be there on time. I should’ve driven over, but I thought that, with commuters, I would’ve had to park a decent distance away. I would’ve had to walk regardless.

Up ahead, there’s a tree right by a bend in the path leading to various buildings on campus. As I turn that corner, I pick up the pace at precisely the wrong time and bump hard into a rock wall. A jock. I stumble backward, away from him, and promptly fall onto my ass hard.

The jock appears unfazed, but a slow, cruel smirk curls his lips. “Why don’t you watch where you’re going, Pig?”

I try to scramble to my feet, but my bookbag is heavy, and I’m mindful of the bananas in my bag, and I end up stumbling.

“She can’t even stand. Too busy thinking about your next meal to see what’s in front of you?” he mocks. “What’s your name? Kenya Swallow?”

As I finally stand, I realize a crowd has started to form.

“Of course she can swallow,” another guy says. “Look at her. All she does is swallow.”

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