The Revenge of Fatso Anna

For my birthday, I was raped and blamed for it by everyone, and my rapist himself told me to consider it a birthday present.

Of course, I didn't know any of that when I woke up that morning.

Back then, I still believed Dickson Vanderbilt was the worst thing that could happen to me.

I walked into the lecture hall with my head down.

The seats near the front were already taken, so I moved toward the middle row and tried to squeeze past the knees and bags filling the space. My hip caught the edge of a chair, and the metal scraped loudly against the floor. Heads turned.

“Jesus, Fatso.”

I knew the voice before I looked.

Dickson Vanderbilt sat with his usual group two rows behind me, one arm draped over the back of his chair. He watched me like I had no right to exist in the same room as him, and heat crawled up my neck.

I forced myself forward until I found an empty seat.

“Careful,” one of his friends called. “Chair almost lost that fight.”

I opened my notebook, pretending not to hear the laughter. 

Then Dickson spoke. “I wouldn’t get comfortable if I were you, Fatso. Galeforge probably doesn’t insure furniture against natural disasters.”

My stomach pressed against the edge of the desk, and I immediately sucked it in.

“Look!” someone shouted. “She’s trying to make herself smaller.”

My face burned. I pulled my cardigan over my stomach and stared at my notebook, pretending to write even though my hand was shaking. I pressed the pen down too hard, and the tip tore through the paper. 

When I glanced over my shoulder, Dickson was staring at me. His gaze moved from my face to the cardigan stretched across my chest, then lower before returning to my eyes.

I pulled the fabric closed, and his jaw tightened before he finally turned back to his friends.

The professor arrived a few minutes later, and the room settled. I thought the worst was over until he checked his tablet and said, “Miss Bennett. Happy birthday.”

A few people clapped slowly, and behind me, Dickson spoke again. “It’s your birthday?”

I ignored him.

“Anna.”

My stomach twisted at the sound of my real name. He almost never called me that, but I turned anyway.

“How old are you?”

“Why do you care?”

His eyes narrowed. “I don’t.”

Then his mouth curved slightly. “But the birthday girl deserves a present.”

Before I could respond, a girl two seats away laughed. “Dickson can give her what she’s always wanted.”

Dickson turned toward her. “What?”

“She used to have a crush on you. Freshman year.”

My blood turned cold. I had barely admitted that to myself, but Dickson’s friends erupted immediately.

“Fatso likes Dickson?”

“Give the birthday girl a kiss!”

Within seconds, they were chanting, “Kiss her! Kiss her! Kiss her!”

I grabbed my bag and stood, desperate to get out of there, but Dickson’s voice stopped me.

“Wait.”

I looked at him. The usual mockery was gone, and he simply stared at me as the chanting grew louder around us.

Then Dickson stood and walked toward me. I backed away until a desk pressed against my hip.

“Is it true?”

I said nothing.

“You liked me?”

“Move.”

Instead, Dickson lifted a hand and brushed a strand of hair away from my glasses. The room fell quiet, and my breath caught. No one touched me like that, least of all Dickson.

His eyes stayed on mine without their usual disgust. 

Then someone behind him laughed. “Bro, you’re not actually considering it?”

Dickson’s face hardened immediately. He leaned closer and said, “You couldn’t seriously think I’d want you.”

His hand closed around my upper arm. He squeezed the soft flesh between his fingers, then jiggled it deliberately for everyone to see.

“Look at this.” His mouth twisted. “There’s enough fat hanging off you for two people, and you thought I wanted to kiss you?”

The room erupted.

My face burned as I ripped my arm out of his grip, but Dickson looked me over slowly, making sure everyone saw exactly what he was looking at.

“Lose half your body first, Anna. Then maybe you can start fantasizing about men wanting the rest.”

Laughter followed, and my eyes filled despite my efforts to stop the tears. 

“Anna—”

I slapped him.

The sound cracked through the lecture hall, silencing everyone. His head snapped to the side, and when he faced me again, a red mark was already forming across his cheek.

My hand shook as I stared at him. “What the hell did I ever do to you?”

Dickson held my gaze. “You really don’t know?”

“Know what?”

“Ask your father.”

Before I could demand an explanation, the professor ordered everyone back into their seats, and Dickson walked away without another word. 

By the time class ended, a video was already circulating with the caption: FATSO ANNA TRIES TO KISS DICKSON VANDERBILT.

The clip showed me standing in front of Dickson before he leaned toward me, making it look as though I had approached him. Whoever posted it had conveniently cut out the slap.

Phones lifted as I walked through the hallway.

“Birthday girl!”

“Where’s your birthday kiss?”

I kept my head down and hurried toward the quieter east-wing staircase, but footsteps followed me. When I glanced back, one of Dickson’s friends had his phone raised, filming me.

I turned too quickly and missed a step. Pain shot through my ankle as I pitched forward, but an arm caught me around the middle before I could tumble down the stairs.

Dickson.

His forearm pressed into the softness of my stomach as he hauled me upright, pushing my cardigan up and exposing the belly I spent half my life trying to hide. After everything he'd said about my body that morning, having his hands there was unbearable.

I sucked in my stomach and shoved him away, yanking my cardigan down. “Don't touch me.”

His friends appeared at the top of the staircase, one of them still filming. Dickson released me, but his gaze dropped briefly to my stomach before returning to my face.

My skin burned.

“Jesus, Anna.” His mouth twisted. “I nearly threw my back out catching you.”

His friends burst out laughing.

I gripped the railing, wishing I could disappear inside my clothes.

Dickson glanced at my body again. “Next time, warn someone before you fall. They might need backup.”

“Go to hell.”

I limped down the next step, refusing to let him see how badly my ankle hurt.

Behind me, Dickson laughed. “You’re welcome, by the way.”

I stopped and looked back at him. “For what? Catching me before I fell or humiliating me every chance you get?”

His amusement faded.

“You've made my life hell for months, Dickson.” I tightened my grip on the railing. “What did you mean when you told me to ask my father?”

“Forget it.”

“No. You obviously hate me for something, so tell me what it is.”

His jaw tightened. “Go home, Anastasia.”

“That's not an answer,” I retorted.

“It's the only one you're getting.” He turned and walked away, leaving me alone with the humiliation he'd caused.

I could still hear the laughter from the lecture hall. Of all the things she could have told him, why did it have to be that I liked him?

I'd spent months pretending Dickson's insults didn't matter, but for one stupid second when he'd touched my face, I'd thought he might kiss me. I'd wanted him to.

That was the part that hurt most.

I couldn't even go home and tell my parents. Dad would only ask what I'd done to invite the attention, then tell me to lose weight and stop giving people something to laugh at. Mom would stay quiet until he was finished.

So I would do what I always did. Go home, tell them university was fine and pretend I hadn't just been humiliated in front of half my class.

Ask your father.

Dickson's words still bothered me, but whatever history Dad had with the Vanderbilts could wait.

Right now, I just wanted to get through my birthday.

I found an unused corridor near the older lecture halls and leaned against a row of forgotten lockers. My ankle throbbed, my humiliation was still circulating across campus, and I had no one left to call.

Eight more months. Then I could graduate and leave Galeforge forever.

“Hey.”

I closed my eyes. “Go away, Dickson.”

“I’m not Dickson.”

I opened them.

Williams Vanderbilt stood a few feet away, holding out a folded tissue. He'd never so much as looked at me before.

I didn't take it. “If you're here to laugh, save it.”

“I'm not.” He lowered his hand. “What Dickson did this morning was fucked up. You didn't deserve that.”

I studied him, waiting for the joke. “He's your brother.”

“Doesn't mean I agree with him.” Williams glanced at me. “And for what it's worth, I don't think you're ugly.”

My throat tightened. After the morning I'd endured, I hated how badly I needed to hear that.

“You're still a Vanderbilt,” I reminded him.

Williams shrugged. “Unfortunately.”

A laugh escaped me before I could stop it.

“Let me buy you a birthday coffee,” he offered.

My guard returned. “No.”

“Fair enough.” He slipped the tissue into his pocket. “Happy birthday, Anna.”

Williams started walking away, leaving me with the choice I'd been avoiding all afternoon. Going home and pretending everything was fine.

Suddenly, coffee in a crowded place on campus didn't sound so terrible.

“Williams,” I called out.

He turned.

“Where's this coffee place?”

His smile returned. “Across campus.”

I stood. “Just coffee?”

“Just coffee. I'll walk you back afterward.”

Against my better judgment, I joined him.

I wish I'd gone home.