CHAPTER 1: I AM FAT

KEVAH'S POV

JULY 9TH, 2016

Let me tell you something about myself; I am fat, there I said it.

I am a 300lbs, dark skin beauty.

You don't have to remind me; you don't have to gawk at my huge ass or frown at my Pudge. It's just not nice.

I know I'm motherfucking big, and guess what? I don't motherfucking care what a motherfucker has to say about me.

I embrace the way I look, and I'm not one of those big girls who hide beneath blankets of clothes or is hesitant to confront their crush because I think he won't accept me because of my weight.

Nope, not this lady.

Not Kevah.

I spent most of my teenage years cowering from boney-ass mean girls. I've been bullied to the extent that I couldn't look at my reflection in the mirror. Not only that, but I was called many names; Landwhale, Fatso, Porky, and my all-time favourite; Miss Piggy.

My mother, who couldn't bear to watch me cry myself to sleep any more signed me up for fat camp when I was 16, but those camp directors only took our parents' money and didn't do Jack shit in helping us teens shed weight.

In fact, I came home with 7 extra pounds and a nasty case of the crabs after I squandered my virginity to Paolo Vermont, a 19-year-old camp assistant.

He's my dirty mistake, number one. I should have recognized he had hot crotch. He kept itching in all the wrong places, but my 16-year-old naïve self thought a condom was enough to keep me safe, but boy was I wrong.

It has been 6 years and my vagina still has not forgiven me.

“Earth to Kevah,"Alana snaps her fingers, gaining my attention.

“Sorry sis, what were you saying?”

“She was saying mama's asking about you. She misses you,” Adella, Alana's twin, answers.

“Ella, I miss mama too, but every time I'm around her, she's always commenting on my weight and how I will not find a husband if I don't shed some pounds. I keep telling her I'm fine. I don't need a husband to dictate my happiness.”

“We know Eva, but it's mama, that's just how she operates. Just, please at least come to our birthday dinner tonight. She and papa will be delighted to see you,” Lana replies.

“How is Adrian these days? Is he taking his vitamins?”

Adrian Brown is my stepfather. My father died on duty in Iraq when I was 1-year-old. My brother Kevin Jr, or KJ as we call him, was 5.

Mama remarried by the time I was 3, welcoming the twins a year later.

“Papa's OK Eva, he misses you immensely,” Lana chuckles and I smile.

“OK, where the hell is our food?” I hoot. We have been sitting here for what seems like forever, and I see the server attending to the table next to us, whose occupants have just arrived. “Waiter, is our order ready?”

The curly haired boy hustles to our table.

“Miss, I'm sorry, but the chef says the pizza will be another ten minutes. I will bring out the salads and the wine shortly,” he bows, twirling awkwardly as he scrambles to the kitchen.

“Damn sis, you turn into Godzilla when you're hungry," Ella giggles, and then her beady eyes trail behind me, glistening with lust as she notices something or someone she likes. “Look at that hunk-a-dunk.”

Lana and I spin around.

“Sweet Baby Jesus—who is that?” Lana bites her lip and passes a finger gently between her cleavage.

The man is around 35, his biceps are on full exhibit, causing my horny twin sisters to ogle him with fascination. My sisters are squirming in their chairs, literally riding out their orgasms by the crazy looks in their eyes.

He sits in one of the VIP booths and a waitress immediately flies to take his order. I roll my eyes, unable to fathom why women behave like beheaded chickens around hot men.

The gentleman takes a menu and perches his right foot on his left. I can see his ankles from here, and I sneer. I hate it when men refuse to wear socks with sneakers, especially while sporting an outfit like the one he has on; dark blue jeans and a plain white t-shirt that is complimenting his deep chocolate skin tone faultlessly.

The bubbly server with her long blonde tresses is giggling like a gobbling turkey at a compliment the man throws her way after she places his order on the table.

Where the fuck is our food?

I observe as she takes out a lipstick from her pouch and scribbles something, maybe her number, on a piece of napkin and tugs it into his palm. She leans down and whispers something in his ear. He applies a hand on her posterior and laughs against her neck, liking whatever it is she just told him.

I could never behave like these mindless -

“Here Eva, you're drooling,” Ella hands me a napkin.

Fuck!

I clear my throat and lift the napkin from her fingers. I use it to dry the corners of my mouth. “I'm just drooling because of how famished I am.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ella rolls her eyes.

“You're hungry alright, but not for food—but for some dick,” Lana chuckles and my eyes widen in alarm.

“Alana Brown, I don't care if you're 18 today. I will still whoop that ass of yours—watch your language girl,” I warn her and the three of us erupt in a fit of laughter.

More tables are being served and here we are still not receiving any service.

“This place is getting on my fucking nerves. We'll be skin and bones by the time they decide to serve us,” I complain.

“A little fasting could do her some good. She has a pretty face, but she's too fat.”

My head jerks around to where the remark came from. I notice two skinny black girls sitting in their expensive outfits, showing their flat bellies and their toned legs.

They're looking directly towards our table, turning up their noses, presumably thinking they're better than me.

Two years ago, I would have pounced on them bitches and break them like the scrawny twigs they are, but not today. I've grown.

“Finally!” I exclaim as the waiter appears with our food.

He places the pizza in front of me, and he puts the bowl of fruit salad in front of Alana and the veggie salad in front of Adella.

This motherfucker!

I know he didn't just give me the wrong order.

He sets a bottle of expensive Latour wine and says. “Compliments of the owner. We're sorry to keep you waiting,” he bows, and we watch him scuttle away with his knocked knees playing an endless game of Tag, You're It.

Again, two years ago, I would have clutched this asshole by his collar and beat him senseless, but as I mentioned before, I've grown.

So, because I'm not slim, he thinks I eat pizza, but the truth is I haven't touched the stuff in over four years.

People always believe that if a person is on the heavier side, the reason is that they overeat or eat unhealthily. But that is not the case for me.

I suffer from hypothyroidism, plus I'm big-boned.

My sisters are both size twos, and they don't know the meaning of healthy eating.

They can eat the entire Mount Everest of burgers and fries and not gain a single pound.

Life's an unfair bitch.

The twins push their salads over to me and grab the pizza.

I gape at how quickly they made the slices disappear.

“Fuck, are you guys magicians, cuz the entire pizza just vanished,” I shake my head in amusement, laughing while Lana wipes the sauce from her lips and Ella licks her fingers delightfully.

“Abracadabra bitch,” the twins say in unison, and then they both take a sip of their alcohol-free wines.

“Soon they'll be as big as her.”

“Yeah, they're disgusting.”

“Are those bitches serious?” Lana inquires.

“It's like they have death wishes,” Ella adds.

I continue eating my salads.

“If only she ate salads as a child, she wouldn't look this awful now.”

“Hell Nah, hold my fucking earrings,” Ella takes out her hoops and arrays them on the table while Lana rolls up her sleeves and tightens her shoelaces.

Shit! Here we go.