Like every morning for the past three months, Jean won the battle against her alarm clock. She jumped out of bed... well, almost... and went to the kitchen to prepare her special breakfast. The Trinity. Delicious, low in calories and easy to prepare.
She sat at the table, ready to enjoy it, when suddenly, her cell phone rang. The screen read Mom, but her mother hadn't called her since their last argument. She held her breath and took the call, expecting the worst.
“Jean...? JEAN?!”
Jean felt relieved, but also a bit embarrassed. Her mother appeared to be more composed than she had anticipated. "Mom... I have to go to work. Could we talk in the afternoon?"
"No! Wait! It'll just be a sec! I heard you're doing really well with your diet, so I wanted to know if you bought the dress yet!"
Three months had passed since her last call and she had already stepped on two mines. She didn't know if her mother had a gift for screwing up or if she didn't know how to apologize. But that wasn't the point right now. How did her mother know she was on a diet? She had only told her older sister, and she knew perfectly well how to keep a secret. Something was fishy.
The phone abruptly changed hands. "I'll handle this, Mom! Please, talk to the caterer! They pay more attention to you than to me!"
That was definitely the voice of her younger sister, the Cocksucker. No, that wasn't her name. However, it cannot be denied that everything she had accomplished was done while she was on her knees.
"Sorry, Mom! I can't hear her! Must be the network. I'll go out for a minute!"
Jean took a bite of her breakfast, but the sound of her little sister's voice made it taste like bile. Their relationship had been strained from the beginning and had turned entirely negative over the past 15 years. "I thought it was weird that Mom called me, but… This is your doing, you lying bitch!"
Sensing that she was up to something. As usual. "Don't waste my time! What do you want?"
Speaking rapidly, with no desire to waste valuable time conversing with her. "I don't want you at my wedding, you fucking freak! Do you hear me? I don't want your disgusting presence ruining my wedding!"
Her heart sank, but only for a moment. It was true that she was not at her best weight, was a bit of a freak and could be unsociable at times, so avoiding the wedding was good news. However, discovering that she was persona non grata was on another level. She was aware that most of the family considered her the black sheep, but they had never said it to her directly. If someone had ever told her that she was adopted, she would have believed it.
"What did Mom say?"
"Text mom and tell her you don't want to go to the wedding because I'm not inviting any of your weird friends, because you're pathetic, or whatever nonsense your amoeba brain comes up with. Are we clear?"
Rage took over Jean. "Really?! Then I'll go dressed like a goth and appear in every photo to screw up your day, bitch!"
Her sister's voice was one of genuine terror. "Don't you dare, goddamn fatso..."
Jean hung up. She wasn't going to dress like a goth at a wedding. It wasn't her thing, and she didn't want to embarrass herself like that. But one thing was clear; that bitch would live in fear until the last moment.
The phone rang again. It was obvious it was her little sister, even though it said Mom on the screen. Without thinking twice, she turned the phone off. She'd had enough of her for the year.
"I hope you have an anxiety attack and have to cancel it!"
*********
Having finished her morning routine, Jean jumped into her new BH and pedaled her way to her job at the supermarket. There, another jerk was waiting for her. Unfortunately, she couldn't ignore this one. The manager. A short-tempered orc from Mordor who showered people in saliva and food while speaking. There was even a bet among the workers as to when that huge vein in his forehead would burst.
Without delay, she locked her bike and headed to the locker room. On the way, she ran into a large group of female co-workers talking. Their chatter gradually stopped until the last of them became aware of her presence.
Jean ignored them and went straight to her locker. Inside, she found the words written by the last bitch who was fired because of her. Well, in theory. The manager asked, and she pointed. Just like the others had done to her. To Jean, it was fighting fire with fire. To everyone else, she was a traitor and a jealous bitch. Those were the most common of the many exaggerations that had little to do with reality.
Many of them watched as she put on the new uniform one size smaller than normal. Courtesy of the warehouse manager. They had probably changed the size on purpose and now her prominent bust and belly barely fit where they should.
If she had bothered to look at their faces, she would have noticed what she saw every day. Complicit looks and silent mockery. Not from all of them. The few who had once been her friends, no longer showed themselves as such when she became an outcast.
Once she was far enough away from the locker room, she heard laughter, but that didn't affect her anymore. Or at least that's what she tried hard to pretend.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
*********
“JEAN!!”
"On my way, Mr. Dawson!"
"Where the heck were you?"
Jean's body stiffened. She wanted to yell at him that it was ten minutes until her shift started, but that was Jean's problem. It had been years since she had set limits and everyone had gotten used to walking all over her.
From trying to suffocate the obvious frustration came the overweight from dinners of popcorn and ice cream with cookies and nuts. All seasoned with some action movie, decent anime, fun series or game. The perfect plan for weirdos according to her little sister. She didn't see herself that way though.
Jean did not consider herself a weirdo, despite what Cocksucker may have thought. She loved playing video games, especially MMOs and RPGs. Thanks to those games, she had met like-minded people. Even though she had never met them in person.
As best she could, Jean hid her resentment behind a smile. "Which cash register will I be working at today, Mr Dawson?"
"No, no, no! Grab a mop and go to aisle 5! Some stupid kid threw up his damn breakfast there."
"Delightful, can't be someone else? It always has to be me!"
"What's with the shit face?! Move! Then go to number 16!"
"Fucking orc!"
At a fast pace, she made her way to the warehouse. She crossed the aisles without looking at anything or anyone. With each step, her stomach churned more and more. It made her so sick to imagine the mop rolling around in the kid's damn breakfast, that she didn't even notice that a shopping cart, filled to overflowing, was approaching like a bus without brakes. It hit her from the right, and despite her efforts to keep her balance, she found herself kissing the floor. She fell onto her left hand, making a disturbing crunch.
A manly voice that sounded like Thor's startled her. "Sorry! Are you OK?!"
Pretending to be fine, she grabbed her wrist and tried to stand up. After almost kissing the ground two more times, she clumsily managed to stand up on her third attempt.
Red with shame. "Y-yes, yes! Don't worry!"
When Jean mustered the courage to look at him, her breath caught in her throat. He looked distracted and restless, but that wasn't what caught her attention. He was as tall as a mountain. Muscular. Dark hair. Eyes? She didn't know, he wore a cap that hid them. She pictured them as amber-colored though. Overall, he looked like Henry Cavill in Man of Steel, except for the black hair that reached down to the middle of his back.
"Sorry! I was looking for... Shit, who cares! I'm in a hurry and the shopping cart did the rest. Are you sure you're okay?"
Jean stared at him and then lowered her gaze. She had never been so close to a man who could easily be on the cover of Men's Health. She discreetly sniffed the air as she imagined him wrapping those strong arms around her. His masculine scent with a hint of perfume took her back to her teenage wet dreams, even though she was in her 30s. As she came back to her senses, she realized she was looking at his privates.
"Ahem! Yes, yes! Don't worry! Keep going!"
The man could barely keep a smile from appearing on his face. He seemed to enjoy the situation. "Shall I be your escort? Someone should take a look at that wrist. It doesn't look good at all!"
About to explode with shame. "Huh?! No, no! I'm fine, really!"
"Jean! What the fuck is going on?"
When she turned around, the manager was a few steps away. It was as if he could teleport. Always ready to humiliate her.
Dawson looked at the tall man, trying to hide his short temper. "Excuse her! She's a clumsy good-for-nothing who should be cleaning aisle 5! Try not to go there for now! Sorry for the inconvenience!"
The man gave him an icy stare. He went from looking like Clark Kent to Guts on a bad day.
"Your parents must have treated you like shit your whole life! Huh, asshole? I've met a lot of people like you. People who think that a higher position makes them superior to others! Maybe someone should teach you a lesson!”
The tall man slowly pushed the shopping cart in Dawson's direction. "Pray that someone isn't me, you piece of shit!"
He got very close to the manager and whispered something in his ear. Something that Jean couldn't hear. Then, he took the pen from Dawson's shirt pocket and approached Jean. She didn't offer the slightest resistance as he took her right hand and wrote a number on her palm.
"Like I said, I'm in a hurry! I'm in the business of... solving problems! You know what I mean. If one day something bothers you too much, call and ask for Ian. I'll give you a good price!"
Slowly, he returned the pen back to where he had picked it up. Then, he left just as he had come. In a hurry to the chemical aisle. Seeing the large plastic laundry tubs on the shopping cart, Jean couldn't help but imagine that he was looking for something to dissolve a body with, Breaking Bad style.
For a moment, she wished she could be like him. Not because she wanted to dissolve her manager, her little sister, or many of her co-workers. Well... maybe a little. She just wanted to be like him because of the arrogance, the courage and the confidence that she had once let die within her.
Jean sighed deeply and stared into the past. What did she have now? Shyness? Clumsiness? Tendency to gain weight? Big breasts? The latter was worthless if it came with the complete package.
As she regained her composure, her eyes met Dawson's for a brief moment. Long enough to see him pale and drenched in sweat.
"C-can you p-please hurry up? C-customers are c-complaining about the smell!"
"Yes, Mr. Dawson!"
"Thanks, Jean! And... s-sorry for what I said!"
"When?! Every day before this one, or this one in particular?!"
Jean didn't say anything, but if that jerk thought an apology solved everything, he was high. Afraid that he could read her expression, she lowered her head and hurried to the warehouse.
Clutching her bruised wrist and sweating profusely, she looked alarmingly at the numbers on her hand. She had to write them down before they disappeared, but not in front of Dawson. She didn't want him to know about the crazy idea that had just popped into her head.