Any Means Necessary

by Lila Herron

To my fellow fat babes who wish they could see themselves in the books they read. You’re hot. This is your main character moment.

I open the fridge to reach for the can that’s been calling to me since I finished my matcha. I’m the first person to admit that I’m attached, but calling it an addiction would mean there’s something wrong with it. I prefer the term simple pleasure. The can pops with a hiss when I press down the tab. The first sip feels so comforting, the carbonation greeting me like an old friend. I know one sip isn’t enough to start feeling the effects of the caffeine, but I swear some of the exhaustion weighing me down eases from my shoulders. Twelve ounces can’t make up for the fact that I haven’t slept more than a few hours a night for the last two weeks, but it definitely helps.

“Do you drink anything else?” Callum’s eyes move pointedly to the can of soda in my hand. I shrug as I take a sip of my Mountain Dew. “Energy drinks. Oh, and Margaritas.” I smile prettily when he scowls in disapproval. “But it’s too early for that.” “It eats you from the inside out,” he grates. I look down at my soft, curvy body. “You’re right, I’m practically wasting away here.” There’s a healthy dose of sarcasm in my voice accompanying the nonchalant smile. Hazel eyes narrow at me, unamused. “That stuff will kill you.” Callum is glaring at the can I’m holding like it personally insulted his family. I bite back a smile, doing my best not to laugh in his face. He’s so serious. “So I’ve heard.” I lift the can to my lips and take an exaggerated sip. “But until then, it’ll keep me happy and caffeinated.”

“Whatever you say, Dewdrop,” his response has me pausing to actually look at him. “Dewdrop,” I repeat. “Isn’t that a flower?” Callum’s broad shoulders shrug as if it’s the most natural thing in the world to compare me to a plant. “Seems fitting. Dewdrops are toxic when ingested, just like that poison you’re so addicted to.” He’s referring to Mountain Dew.

I’m right, as usual—this chocolatey milk hits different. So good. Callum really doesn’t know what he’s missing. What’s the point in living longer if it means you can’t enjoy a bowl of sugary chocolate cereal once in a while?

The periwinkle bottoms are high-waisted, with enough coverage for my stomach and thigh brows. But they’re also high cut on the sides, sitting high on my hips and creating a cheeky fit on my ass—and I’ve got a decently sized ass. My boobs look fantastic, large and propped up in this top. The bottoms make my defined waist look snatched, my thighs look thick, my legs look long, and my ass voluptuous. The pastel colors perfectly complement the rosy hue of my fair skin and long blonde hair. I look hot. Giving my best angles and face, I snap a few pics in the mirror with my cellphone. These might not end up being posted anywhere on social media, but I want them for myself either way. It’s important for me to capture this moment when I’m feeling sexy. An assignment from my therapist, Julie, to destigmatize embracing anything that brings me joy. I’ll decide later what I want to do with them. Damn, I look good. Until I turn and catch the reflection of my side profile. Then I see how my soft stomach slightly overhangs a fupa, and the back of my thick thighs are decorated in cellulite and the faint silver silhouettes of stretch marks. I have more curves than I know what to do with; cellulite, stretch marks, and all. But to hell if I’m not going to wear what I want to wear. Stay straight on, Lexie. How you look from the side is something to think about another day. You look good from any angle.

“Sometimes it’s better to observe quietly. Don’t mistake my silence for disinterest.” There’s no missing his interest in me now. “But now that you know, there’s no reason to keep it quiet anymore. Is there, Dewdrop?” “I—” The man has made my brain glitch, and I’m at a loss for what to say. “I thought you didn’t like me.” “Wanting to fuck you has nothing to do with whether or not I like you.” “True.” Heat pools between my legs. “You want to fuck me?” “I want to bury myself in those gorgeous tits of yours while I pound into your pussy until I’m balls deep and you’re screaming my name.” He’s inching closer. “Yes, I want to fuck you.”

“Do you want a cinnamon roll? Roscoe said they’re his favorite, so I made a bunch.” “No, I don’t want a cinnamon roll,” I grate, frustration brewing inside me. Sal’s incompetence has me grasping at straws, getting in the way of my meticulous work. I can’t do my job if people can’t follow through on their end, and it’s my results that suffer. “What’s your problem? I was just being nice.” Lexie’s tone turns assertive, her arms crossing under her breasts. She wants to be friends. We’re not fucking friends. With Lexie, it’s either more or nothing. And we can’t be more.

“What people think about me is none of my business. I’m not gonna try to take up less space just because other people feel small.” Something flashes in her eyes, something deeper and more fierce than I’ve ever seen in her. I’ve struck a nerve, one I wasn’t looking for. One I’m starting to regret poking at. “How you’re feeling right now is your problem, it has nothing to do with me.”

She couldn’t be more wrong. What I’m feeling right now has everything to do with her.

“What I said at dinner was wrong.” Some of the tension eases when she finally turns from the window to look at me. “I’m sorry.” As a man in my position, I don’t often find myself having to apologize. But with Lexie, it doesn’t just feel necessary, it feels right. “Thank you,” she replies, her eyes steady on mine. “Don’t ever talk to me like that again.” Even as she says it, in the deepest most visceral part of me, I know I never will. I can’t.

“Don’t test me, Dewdrop. You’re an investment now, and I take care of what’s mine.”

As much as I love my therapist Julie, some days retail therapy is the best kind. The instant serotonin I feel when I receive a package or open a shopping bag—it can’t be beat.

“If your dick is too small to get past my ass, that’s all you had to say.”

“Give me the fucking phone, Lexie.” Before I know what I’m doing, her phone is in one of my hands and the other takes a possessive hold of her throat, pinning her against the wall. “Get on a dating app again, and I’ll leave a trail of asshats with their throats slit across the city leading to your door.” I tower over her, fury radiating from every tensed muscle. Her breath hitches against my hand on her neck, eyes glittering with satisfaction.

“I want to hear everything—every moan, every gasp, every sound of pleasure. I want fucking all of it. It’s mine. I earned it.”

“Is this a new car?” I ask, looking around at the dashboard and into the back seat. I feel like I’m missing something. Callum shakes his head and glances over at me. “No, why?” “The seats are different. I thought they were leather.” My fingers run over the fabric covering the seats. It’s smooth as butter and feels expensive. “They were. I had them reupholstered.” “You did? Why?” I ask, surprised. Callum’s eyes look pointedly at my bare thighs. “Do you like your little dresses?” “Yes, I love them.” “So do I. Now you don’t have to stop wearing your short skirts.”

And little by little, I created the life I’ve always dreamed of. Pretty dresses, skincare, karaoke nights, houseplants. As long as I’m financially responsible, I can have whatever brings me joy. I can be as colorful and extra as I want to be, and no one can ever tell me it’s a waste ever again.” There’s not an ounce of apology in her voice. “I worked really hard on my self image too. Hours and hours of therapy sessions healing the fractured part of me that saw myself as unlovable. I still have good days and bad days, like everyone else. But I’m fucking hot.”

“You are what I care about, Lexie. I’ll do anything for you.” Tugging on my sheet, I let him pull me in to meet his lips sensually. My hand lifts to caress his cheek and play with his beard. “Anything?” My tone turns teasing. “Even watch reality tv?” “If that’s what you really want.” “What about drinking Mountain Dew?” “Don’t push it,”

He can pretend to hate reality tv all he wants, but I know he’s into it. Every time he says one episode, it easily turns into three without any protest.

“You’ve been mine since you signed the contract. But I’ve been yours from the moment you demanded to see my ID. That ink sealed your fate and now this ink seals mine.”