Ximena's POV
The mirror across my bedroom waits like a silent judge.
Most evenings, I manage to avoid its verdict entirely. I slip out of my clothes with my back turned, pull on whatever pajamas are closest, and dive under my blankets before the glass can catch me. Tonight feels different though. Tonight, Ezekiel's voice won't stop echoing in my skull.
Thick thighs. The laughter that followed. Anton joining in like it meant nothing.
My feet carry me forward before I can think better of it.
I stand there, tugging at my shirt. Pulling it loose, then tight, then loose again. The girl staring back at me looks defeated already. I grab handfuls of flesh around my waist, my hips, anywhere I can find something to hate.
"Why me?" The question comes out broken. "Why couldn't I be different?"
The silence that follows feels crushing.
