HIS PLUS SIZE BAD GIRL

Chapter 1

Layla’s POV

“You know what, Layla? I’m fucking ashamed of you now. Look at yourself. Those chubby cheeks, that face staring back at me every single day. It disgusts me. I’m done pretending this still works.”

The words hit me before I could even brace myself. Wyatt stood there in the middle of our living room, his hands shoved deep into his pockets like he was trying to keep them from shaking, and looked straight at me with that flat, tired stare I had started seeing more and more these last few months.

I stayed sitting on the edge of the old couch we had bought together right after graduation, the one with the faded blue fabric that used to smell like his cologne and my vanilla body spray.

My hands stayed folded tight in my lap, my fingers pressing into each other until the knuckles ached.

I didn’t trust myself to move.

If I did, I might reach for him, or I might start throwing things. Either way, it would end the same.

He kept going, his voice rising like he had been holding this in for way too long.

“I didn’t want to say it like this, but I can’t keep acting like I don’t see it. You got sick senior year, okay, that shit happens. But you never came back from it, Layla.” He paused, sighing out loud.

“The weight stayed. And it kept coming. I met you when you were fit, when you walked into any room and heads turned. Now? I have to stand next to you at every get-together with our old course mates and pretend I don’t hear what they’re whispering. I see how they look at me, like they’re wondering why I’m still here with… this.”

My throat closed up so fast it felt like I was choking. I swallowed hard, once, twice, trying to push the lump down, but it wouldn’t budge.

“This?”

The heat rushed up my neck and into my face, and my eyes started burning.

I blinked fast, staring at the floor between his feet instead of at him. I could still feel his eyes on me though, heavy and judging my body.

“S-So that’s what all of this has been about?” I finally asked, my voice coming out quieter than I wanted, almost shaky.

“All those months of you pulling away, canceling plans at the last minute, barely touching me even when we were alone… this is what you’ve been thinking the whole time?”

“Yeah. It is.” He ran a hand through his hair, the same quick, frustrated motion he used to do before big exams, except this time it wasn’t school stressing him. It was me.

“You don’t turn me on anymore, Layla. The way you look now, it just irritates me. I can’t even pretend when we’re in bed. I’m ashamed to be seen with you. I’m sure you noticed yourself. I’m tired of acting like I don’t care.”

The tears came whether I wanted them or not. They filled my eyes fast and spilled over, hot against my cheeks.

I wiped them away with the back of my hand quickly, feeling the softness there that he hated so much now.

My mind kept replaying the hospital days from senior year, the way the meds had saved my life but changed everything else.

I remembered how careful I had been afterward, counting every calorie, walking extra steps, but nothing stopped the scale from climbing.

And Wyatt had been there at the beginning, holding my hand, telling me it didn’t matter. Until one day it clearly did.

I thought knowing this breakup was coming would make it easier, but it didn’t. Not even a little, this shit hurts like hell.

“I kept waiting for you to just say it,” I whispered, more to myself than to him at first.

“The way you stopped reaching for me at night, the way your hand would pull back when I tried to touch you, the sex that just… stopped completely. I felt all of it, Wyatt. Every single day I felt it.”

He let out a short, bitter laugh that cut right through me.

“Well, now I’m saying it. I can’t do this anymore. You changed, and I didn’t sign up for this version of you.”

I sat there completely still, letting his words sink deeper. My chest hurt like someone had punched straight through it.

Part of me wanted to scream at him, to remind him of all the nights he used to pull me close, the way his hands would slide over my hips when they were smaller, the way he would kiss down my stomach and tell me I was perfect.

But the bigger part of me stayed frozen because I knew if I moved, I would break right there on that couch.

“You really think I wanted any of this?” I asked, my voice cracking but holding steady enough.

“I don’t! It affected me too! The job interviews where they looked me up and down like my degree didn’t matter if I wasn’t the right size? Or was it last year at our graduation party where I only stayed ten minutes because I heard people talking about how big I’d gotten? I felt every bit of that shame, Wyatt. Every single day. And I still stayed with you, hoping you would keep seeing me the way you used to.”

He shifted on his feet, his jaw tight, his eyes flicking away from mine for a second before coming back harder.

“I tried, Layla. I really did. But I’m not attracted to you like this. The face, the body, everything. It’s done for me.”

I could see the way his shoulders tensed, the slight clench in his fists at his sides.

He wasn’t just saying this to hurt me. He meant it.

That realization sat heavy in my stomach, colder than anything else he had said tonight.

My mind flashed back to the early days, when his touch used to light me up, when he would press me against the kitchen counter after class and kiss me like he couldn’t wait another second.

Those memories felt so far away now, like they belonged to two different people.

“I’m not attracted to this version of you,” he repeated, quieter this time but no less final.

“I’m ashamed to even post pictures anymore. I keep thinking about what people say when they see us together.”

I wiped my face again, the tears still coming even though I tried to stop them.

My hands felt heavy, my whole body felt heavy, like the couch was pulling me down. Inside my head, everything was loud.

Part of me kept hoping he would take it back, that this was just a bad night and tomorrow he would hold me again.

But another part, the part that had been watching him drift away for months, knew this was really the end.

He stood there a little longer, like he was waiting for me to say something else, to fight or beg or maybe even agree with him.

I didn’t do any of those, I just sat there, breathing slow and deeply, feeling the ache spread from my chest down into my stomach.

The man I had loved for years, the one who used to make me feel wanted and safe, was looking at me like I was someone he barely recognized anymore.

And for the first time, I started to wonder if I even recognized myself in his eyes.