His Curvy Muse

The blaring sound of my alarm jolted me awake. I groaned, slapping at my phone until the noise stopped. Another day, another round of exhaustion. I rolled onto my back and stared at the ceiling for a moment, wishing I could stay in bed for just a little longer. But that wasn’t an option not with bills piling up and Mom needing me. 

Dragging myself out of bed, I shuffled to the bathroom, splashing cold water on my face to wake up. My reflection in the mirror stared back at me, tired and worn. My thick brown hair was a mess, sticking out in every direction. Dark circles underlined my hazel eyes, and my pale skin looked dull. I sighed and tied my hair into a bun. No time to care about appearances. 

In my small closet, I grabbed my usual loose blouse and black pants. They were comfortable and, more importantly, they hid my curves. I didn’t like the way people looked at me when I wore anything that fit too snugly. Loose clothes were my armor. 

By the time I was ready, I barely had time to eat. I grabbed a slice of toast, stuffing it into my mouth as I slipped on my sneakers. My phone buzzed with a text reminder about my mom’s medical bill payment. Anxiety clawed at my chest. I shoved the phone into my bag and hurried out the door, heading to the boutique where I worked. 

The boutique was already bustling with early customers when I arrived. “You’re late,” my supervisor, Carla, snapped as I walked in. She didn’t even wait for me to respond before turning away. 

I bit my lip, swallowing the apology I wanted to say. It didn’t matter. She wouldn’t care. I clocked in and headed to the back to start folding clothes. 

The shop was filled with laughter and chatter, but none of it was directed at me. My coworkers leaned against the counter, whispering and giggling as they watched me work. Their glances in my direction were subtle but unmistakable. 

“She should really try working out,” one of them murmured, loud enough for me to hear. 

“Or stop eating junk,” another added, laughing softly. 

My cheeks burned, but I kept my head down, pretending not to hear. It wasn’t anything new. I’d learned to let their words slide off me, or at least I tried to. 

“Hey, Sofia,” one of them called out. I looked up, surprised. She smirked. “Can you grab the bags from the back? They’re too heavy for us.” 

I nodded silently, walking to the storage room. My hands clenched into fists as I hauled the heavy bags of stock to the front. My arms ached, but I didn’t complain. Complaining never got me anywhere. 

By the time my shift ended, my feet were killing me, and my back throbbed. I grabbed my bag and left quickly, eager to escape the suffocating environment. 

The hospital was my next stop. As I entered, the smell of disinfectant hit me like it always did. It was sharp and unpleasant, but I’d gotten used to it. I walked down the familiar hallways, past patients and nurses, until I reached Mom’s room. 

“Hi, Mom,” I greeted softly as I stepped inside. 

Her face lit up when she saw me, and for a moment, I felt lighter. “Sofia, my darling,” she said weakly. 

I sat beside her, holding her hand. It was frail and cold, a stark reminder of how sick she was. “How are you feeling today?” I asked, forcing a smile. 

“Better now that you’re here,” she replied. But her eyes betrayed her words; they were tired and filled with pain. 

We talked about little things the nurse who had been kind to her, the flowers a volunteer had left in her room. I told her about my day, leaving out the parts that would upset her. She didn’t need to know about Carla or the whispers at work. 

When the nurse came in to check on her, I took it as my cue to leave. “I’ll come back tomorrow, okay?” I said, squeezing her hand. 

“Take care of yourself, Sofia,” Mom said. “You work too hard.” 

I smiled again, even though her words stung. She didn’t know the half of it. 

Walking out of the hospital, the weight of the day hit me all at once. My chest felt tight, and my legs felt like lead. I wanted to cry, but I held it in. Not here. Not now. 

The bus ride home was quiet. I leaned my head against the window, staring out at the city lights. People walked hand in hand, laughing and smiling. Couples shared drinks at outdoor cafés. I used to dream about moments like that, about having someone to share my life with. But those dreams felt so far away now. 

By the time I got home, it was almost midnight. My tiny apartment was dark and quiet, just the way I’d left it. I dropped my bag on the floor and kicked off my shoes, collapsing onto the couch. 

I stared at the ceiling, my mind racing with thoughts I didn’t want to think. The overdue bills, the rent, Mom’s treatments it was all too much. 

I closed my eyes and took a deep breath, trying to push the thoughts away. One day at a time, I told myself. Just get through one day at a time. 

But as I lay there in the silence, the loneliness crept in. It wrapped around me like a heavy blanket, suffocating and inescapable. 

I wished for something anything to change. But I was too afraid to even dream of it.