Rosie

Jude and I had settled into a comfortable routine. Jude waited for me at the gate every morning, leaning against the brick wall with his hands in his pockets, that small smile appearing the moment he saw me. Then he’d fall into step beside me, walking me to my morning class before he went to practice. After practice, he’d find me again for lunch—always knew exactly where I’d be sitting—and then walk me to the café for my shift.

It became something between us. Neither of us questioned it or found it unusual. Being together, walking together, and being each other’s company—it felt so natural. Like breathing. As it had always been and would always be.

I tried not to think too hard about what it meant.

After class, we went to the library. The library became our place, our moment. Second floor, corner table by the window where the afternoon light came in golden and warm. Jude was an excellent tutor. Patient in a way I didn’t expect from someone so naturally smart. He was a clear teacher. What surprised me the most was that he was minoring in English and knew some courses that I struggled with sometimes. Discourse analysis, semantics, and psycholinguistics. It was surprising and he took his time to teach me, relating everything to real life to make it familiar.

God, Jude needed to be paid for being so good.

And Jude even bought me snacks whenever I did well. Little bags of chips, chocolate bars, those gummy bears I’d mentioned liking once in passing. He remembered everything.

And he patted my hair.

The first time he did that, both of us froze. His hand had just reached out automatically when I’d gotten a difficult problem right, ruffled my hair like I was a kid who’d done something good. Our eyes met and widened at the same time—his hand still on my head, my heart doing something strange in my chest.

“Sorry,” Jude said quickly, pulling his hand back. “I didn’t mean to—”

But my mouth moved faster. “I loved that,” I blurted out, then felt my face flame. “I mean, it was nice. You can... You can do it again. If you want.”

And Jude grinned—that boyish, wide grin that made my stomach flip—and continued with the patting of my head while my stomach sizzled with something I didn’t want to name.

After that, he did it all the time. Every right answer. Every completed problem. Every time I understood something that had been confusing me. Pat, pat, pat. Like he was proud of me.

I lived for those head pats. They became my favourite ritual between us.

Jude sat beside me during our study sessions. Close. So close that his thigh brushed mine under the table and I pretended not to notice, but every time it happened I felt warmth bloom in my stomach. Sometimes I wondered if he knew. If he noticed the way I held my breath. If he could hear my heartbeat speed up.

Probably not. He was just being friendly. Just being kind.

Right?

We were leaving the library one afternoon, the winter sun already setting even though it was barely five PM. I’d finally understood Error analysis and Jude had bought me a celebratory chocolate bar, and was walking beside me talking about some hockey game this weekend.

“Wait here,” Jude said suddenly, patting his pockets. “I forgot my charger. Be right back.”

He jogged back inside and I stood outside the library doors, hugging my coat tighter against the cold, smiling to myself about nothing. About everything.

That’s when I heard them.

A cluster of girls stood a few feet away, pretty girls with perfect hair and perfect bodies, the kind of girls who looked like they belonged in a magazine. I recognized one from our class—she sat in the front row, always raising her hand, always dressed impeccably.

“Oh my God, there’s that girl again,” one of them said, not bothering to lower her voice. “The one always with Jude Winters.”

And I winced when I heard Jude’s name.

“I know, right?” Another girl giggled. “He’s so hot. I wanted him first.”

“Well, you didn’t move fast enough. Though I don’t think you have to worry.” A third voice, sneering. “Don’t you see that ugly bitch always hanging off him? Like he’d actually be interested in someone like her.”

My stomach twisted, and I downcast my gaze, feeling the thought creeping in. The happiness earlier vanished and my smile dimmed.

“They don’t even fit together. Like, what does he even see in her?”

“Maybe he feels sorry for her. You know Jude, he’s too nice. Probably can’t tell her to fuck off.”

“Have you seen what she wears? Like, girl, a hoodie and jeans every day? Try harder.”

“She always looks like a sack of potatoes.” they snickered.

“And that body...” One of them made a disgusted sound. “I’d die before I let myself look like that.”

They kept talking among themselves, mocking me and each word was like a knife stabbing my heart.

This was the first time I was hearing this. People are talking about me. About us. About how wrong we looked together.

But it wasn’t the first time I’d thought of it.

I’d just been pretending not to. I had been letting myself live in a fantasy where someone like Jude could actually want someone like me.

What was I thinking? What was I even thinking?

Self-degradation started creeping in, familiar and vicious. I had freckles scattered across my nose and cheeks—not cute freckles, the kind that made me look childish. A double chin that appeared in every photo. A small nose that made my face look unbalanced. And ugly. God, I was so ugly. And my body, stretched marks on my skin like a second home, the jiggling on my stomach, arms...

Fat. Ugly. The word echoed in my head, in Josh’s voice, in Sophia’s voice, in my mother’s voice. In my own voice.

Jude was tall, athletic, and handsome. Captain of the hockey team. Genius with a 4.8 GPA. Could have had anyone he wanted.

And I was... me — a fatso

Of course, people would talk, they would be confused, that someone like me would be the superstar of Highland University.

My heart couldn’t take it anymore. Tears welled in my eyes, hot and shameful, and I couldn’t let him see. Couldn’t let Jude come back and see me crying like a pathetic fool who kept getting over herself.

So I did what I know best. Ran away.

I didn’t wait for Jude, I couldn’t see him now when the vicious voices were getting louder each time I ran, my bag banging against my hip, my breathing harsh and painful in my chest.

What was I thinking? I’d been so high on the attention Jude was giving me. So drunk on the way he looked at me, smiled at me, and touched my hair like I was something.

But maybe he was just pitying me. He had a savior complex, probably. Saw a pathetic girl and decided to help. That’s all this was.

That’s all this ever was.

When I got home to my little cottage, I went straight to the bathroom and sat on the cold tile floor. My back against the wall, my knees pulled to my chest. And I cried.

Cried for being stupid enough to hope. Cried for letting myself believe. Cried for every cruel word those girls had said, every cruel thought I’d had about myself, every moment I’d let myself forget what I was.

Fat. Ugly. Unworthy.

The malicious snarky voices in my head wouldn’t shut up, wouldn’t stop, just kept repeating everything—the girls’ words, Josh’s words, my parents’ words. You’re an embarrassment. You’re disgusting. You’re not good enough.

You’ll never be good enough.

I don’t know how long I sat there. Long enough that my legs went numb. Long enough that the tears dried on my cheeks, salt-sticky and tight.

Finally, I pulled myself up, splashed cold water on my face, and stumbled to my bed while grabbing my phone from where I’d thrown my bag.

The screen lit up with notifications. All from Jude.

Jude: Hey, where’d you go?

Jude: I didn’t see you outside

Jude: Rosie?

Jude: Where are you?

Jude: Are you okay?

Jude: What happened?

Jude: Did I do something wrong?

Jude: Please answer me

Jude: I’m sorry for anything I did

Jude: Just let me know you’re safe

The messages kept going, it was getting more worried and more frantic.

And I cried again, hugging my phone to my chest and crying because he hadn’t done anything wrong. Because he was worried. Because even now, he was being kind.

Because I didn’t deserve any of it.

I didn’t respond. I just turned my phone face down and curled into a ball, hugging myself until I finally cried myself to sleep