◎ WIP: If She's Late

[Source]

After a three-month hiatus, I'm finally back and ready to write again. I had the inspiration for a Flowers When You're Dead spin-off at the gym last night, so I'm going to make it happen. (There's this super important yet minor character named Isabel from FWYD that has completely fascinated me ever since she showed up. What's her story? How do Daron's actions ultimately affect her? I got around to thinking these things through and realized that this book NEEDS TO BE WRITTEN, like, NOW.)

Without further ado:

...

I never listen to music when I run. My friend Glenda insists it makes the whole workout experience that much better, but she's wrong. I need to hear the thuds of feet, the whirring, the sounds of small but meaningful accomplishments zipping through the air as legs pump and joints flex. Hearing these sounds keeps me in line. I run to the beat, the collective sound of people  getting shit done. Music’s the reward. The after-party. The thing I listen to in the car once I’m dripping with sweat and feeling the aches start to settle in.

I joined this not-too-shabby gym six months ago after ditching my hometown for a clean break. Back there, everyone had it in their mind that I was still the fat girl, the tubster, the lazy bitch who ate too many twinkies. It took me seventeen years to gain the weight and four years to take it off. The thing they don’t tell you about weight loss is that even once the flab is gone, the reasons you gained it aren’t. The world doesn’t change. It, unlike you, doesn’t drop pant sizes or gain a fresh perspective on life. The only thing that changes is that instead of there being a fat girl perusing a broken world, there’s a skinny one in her place. When all was said and done, my boyfriend was still an asshole, the price of rent still ate straight through my stomach, and my brother was still dead from the cancer that killed him before the poor kid's balls could even drop. 

A clean break. I’m not kidding about that. I broke off everything. It was a split decision, something I promised myself that I'd follow through with after moping around a Starbucks with their cheapest cup of coffee. I would dump John’s sorry ass, quit my job, break my lease, sell my furniture to the first person who would buy it, and run. 

John didn’t handle it well. He didn’t handle it well the last time either, and I’d sure learned my lesson for that half-assed attempt at a breakup . If I wanted to get him out of my life, I needed to sever the connection completely. Pull the plug. Cut the rope. Give him the finger and walk out of that shit-ass apartment for the very last time.

THUD thud THUD thud. That’s the beat of my drum these days. I think I’ll keep it that way.

I don’t know why I chose this town. I think it chose me. Don’t be late, it told me one night as I lay comatose in some motel bed. I’m waiting. Maybe it was destiny. Anyway, I like it here. I blend in. No one remembers me as the fat girl turned skinny. I’m just the girl no one knows, and I think I’m a hell of a lot better off for it.

THUD thud THUD thud. Beep. My twenty-five minutes of fast-paced liberation have come to an end. Stop. Check results. Calories burned, looking good. Clear.