1. Escape
Note: I want to clarify that I am not trying to be mean, body shame anyone, or make any racist remarks. This book is written from the perspective of someone who has experienced bullying due to their body shape. It is never my intention to hurt anyone's feelings or offend anyone, and I understand that many of us face challenges due to medical conditions or societal pressures that others may not understand. I personally know how it feels to be compared to others and how society tries to fit us into certain norms, which I completely oppose. I believe everyone has their own unique personality they should be proud of, and I've learned to embrace myself just the way I am.
Lastly, all characters in this book are purely fictional. Any resemblance to real individuals, living or dead, is purely coincidental. Please take this narrative for what it is: a work of fiction. Enjoy your reading! <3 :)
Ximara Lyris Adler stood before the fractured bedroom mirror, her reflection splintered across the glass like a shattered dream. The tight dress her mother had forced her into clung to her curvy frame, its seams straining against her hips and chest. She tugged at the fabric, her fingers trembling with a mix of frustration and defiance. Tonight wasn't just another evening under her parents' roof—it was a reckoning. Downstairs, the low hum of voices drifted up through the floorboards: her mother, Carin, haggling with a wealthy, gray-haired suitor whose leering gaze had made Ximara's skin prickle earlier that day. Her father, Ryan, chimed in with forced laughter, bartering her future like she was livestock at a county fair.
"You're lucky he'll take you, lookin' like that," Carin had snapped earlier, her voice a razor slicing through Ximara's fragile confidence. The words echoed in her mind as she clutched a crumpled sketch in her hand—a towering building, sharp lines and bold angles, her sanctuary etched in pencil strokes into the beautiful interiors. For years, that sketch had been her rebellion against their taunts about her weight, her shield against the world's cruel expectations. But tonight, it wasn't enough to just dream. Tonight, she had to act.
With a heavy sigh, Ximara turned from the mirror and grabbed her duffel bag from the closet. She moved quickly, stuffing it with essentials: a few changes of clothes, her sketchbook brimming with interior designs. Her hands shook as she zipped the bag shut, the sound sharp in the stillness of her room. She glanced at the window—the humid North Carolina night pressing against the glass like a conspirator urging her to flee. She didn't hesitate. Pushing the sash up, she swung one leg over the sill, then the other, dropping softly onto the dew-slick grass below.
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Downstairs, Carin perched on the edge of the floral sofa, her posture rigid as she faced the suitor, Remus. The man's silver hair gleamed under the chandelier's light, his thin lips curling into a smirk as he sipped his bourbon. Ryan stood by the fireplace, hands clasped behind his back, nodding along like a salesman closing a deal.
"She's got a good head on her shoulders," Carin said, her tone clipped but syrupy, the way it got when she was trying to impress someone. "Talented, too. Draws buildings like you wouldn't believe. She'd make a fine wife—keep your home in order, give you a family."
Mr. Hargrove's eyes glinted, predatory and cold. "I'm sure she's… delightful," he drawled, his voice dripping with something that made Ryan shift uncomfortably. "A sturdy girl like that oughta hold up well."
Ryan forced a chuckle, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Oh, she's a gem, alright. Just needs the right man to polish her up."
Carin's smile tightened. She'd already decided Ximara's fate—luxury over love, security over dignity. To her, this was a golden ticket out of middle-class mediocrity, a way to silence the neighbors' whispers about their "oversized" daughter. She excused herself and marched upstairs, her heels clicking like gunfire on the hardwood.
"Ximara!" she barked, shoving the bedroom door open. Her eyes narrowed at the empty room, the open window fluttering the curtains like a taunt. "That ungrateful little—" She cut herself off, storming back downstairs. "She's gone, Ryan. Packed up and ran off like some fool!" She whispered to him.
Ryan rubbed his temples, muttering, "She'll come crawlin' back when she realizes what she's thrown away."
But Ximara wasn't coming back.
The train station was a dim sprawl of concrete and flickering lights, its air thick with the scent of diesel and desperation. Ximara sat on a cold bench, her duffel bag hugged against her chest, waiting for the train that would whisk her away to New York City—not just a departure from her childhood home, but an escape she'd craved for years. She shifted on the bench, the metal creaking beneath her, and felt a prickle at the back of her neck—like eyes boring into her. She glanced around, but the platform was nearly deserted: just a ticket clerk slumped behind the counter and a lone traveler hunched over a newspaper. Nerves, she told herself, brushing it off.
She'd never imagined her life like this—cornered by her own family, bartered off to a man twice her age all because she didn't fit society's narrow mold of "beautiful." Shame had coiled in her gut earlier, standing before that mirror, but now it was morphing into something fiercer—anger, resolve, maybe even pride. For the first time, she wasn't just fleeing. She was chasing herself.
The blare of the train horn sliced through the stillness, pulling her from her reverie. She grabbed her bags—two small lifelines stuffed with clothes, documents, and keepsakes—and hurried to the platform. Her heart pounded a fierce rhythm as she boarded, weaving through the narrow aisle to a window seat. Settling in, she pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching the pines of North Carolina blur into streaks of green and shadow as the train lurched forward, carrying her north. Her parents had spent years chiseling away at her spirit, their criticism a relentless hammer against her self-worth. Her body, with its soft curves and stubborn weight, had become their favorite target—a flaw they couldn't forgive, a burden they'd tried to pawn off on Remus.
Ximara had a rare condition, one that made shedding pounds a perilous endeavor. Doctors had laid out her options: surgery, with its hefty cost and risks, or brutal diets that left her drained and hollow. She'd made peace with her shape—or tried to. In fleeting moments, she'd even admired her reflection, the way her hips swayed or her arms carried strength. But society's venomous standards had a way of seeping in, and her parents had drunk deeply from that poison. They couldn't handle the gossip, the sidelong glances, the cutting remarks about their "unacceptable" daughter. Instead of defending her, they'd tried to reshape her into something palatable, something sellable.
No more.
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Her thoughts drifted to Arthur Vance, the world-famous racer whose posters once lined her bedroom walls. A silly crush, she knew. He was a star, untouchable, and she was just a girl from nowhere. But he'd sparked something in her—a belief that passion could carve a path through any obstacle. She didn't dare dream of meeting him, not really. Life wasn't a fairy tale. Still, she whispered a vow to herself: if she couldn't have Arthur, she'd build a life that mirrored his spirit—one of courage, defiance, and pride.
The train's steady clack-clack beneath her was a comforting pulse against the chaos in her mind. She plugged in her earbuds, letting the music drown out the what-ifs clawing at her resolve. A soft melody filled her ears, and she hummed along, her voice barely a whisper:
"Dancing on the tables, city full of angels,Dreams of diamonds and gold.All the different faces, once I used to hate them,I miss them now that they're gone."
By dawn, she'd be in New York, far from the suffocating weight of her past. She knew exactly where to go—Alister, her rock, the one soul who'd never judged her. He'd understand why she'd fled, why she'd chosen herself over a life of chains. Leaning her head against the glass, Ximara closed her eyes, the skyline shimmering in her imagination like a beacon. Whatever lay ahead, she was ready.
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