Water Under The Bridge: Deleted Scenes 1/10

“You aren’t like most girls. You weren’t easy to find, and I’ve been looking for one version or another of you for as long as I can remember. You don’t splash the details of your life all over the internet, and you aren’t on social media, cataloging your every move for strangers you call friends. You don’t post staged pictures of what you’re having for dinner, and you don’t take pictures of yourself working out to ‘show how healthy you are.’ I like this. I’ll learn your desires, slowly, the way it’s meant to be.” — Britney King, Water Under The Bridge

Remember when I whined about scrapping a ton of words (60k, to be exact;) and how I wrote the novel over again using a different narrative?

Well, I figure those words don’t have to completely go to waste… and so I’ve decided to share some of them over the next ten weeks—counting down to release day.

Silver linings. 🙂

July 5th

I spent most of the night tossing and turning, and it’s so humid that everything is sticky, and now that I am planning on going, it all seems so pointless being here. Not to mention I can already hear people outside frolicking on the beach. The sun is barely up, and already I’m contemplating pulling my eyelashes out, one by one.

You would think that they would know better than to make so much noise, and I want to open a window and tell them as much, but I have other matters that need attending to. Today is day one of my new diet and further research confirmed that I’m supposed to drink nothing but a combination of lemonade, cayenne pepper, and maple syrup. Of course, none of this I actually had on hand.

To remedy the situation, I was up late. Last night, in preparation, I had to trek to the tiny grocery store, and the entire way there, all I could think about was how this all seems very high maintenance. But hey, if it worked for Beyoncé, I figure it will work for me, and I might as well stay committed. No point in quitting before you’ve even gotten started.

But today, I’m even less optimistic. Not to mention, I’m starting out behind the curve, sleepy and ever so grouchy. In fact, I’m still stewing over the incident that happened last night in the store. As if I wasn’t already over the moon about the whole diet/weight loss situation, as I was checking out, this skinny little Eastern European clerk just about did me in when she surveyed my wares and was all, “Oh, hey, you’re doing that Beyoncé cleanse, right?”

“Maybe,” I told her with a shrug. I hate nosey people. Also, small talk.

Only she didn’t take the hint and instead, told me all about a friend of a friend who did the cleanse and lost like forty pounds.

“Good to know.” I sighed while motioning for her to hurry. She went on.

“But then, after all that work, in the end, she gained it all back,” she informed me with a smile. Only she didn’t stop there. “It’s really too bad… She has a nice face.”

I grabbed my bag and told her to fuck off.

Twice, actually.

Once for me.

And then in honor of the fat friend of her friend, I held up my middle finger the whole way out the door.



July 7th

All of this lemon water and spicy pepper crap is killing me. Literally. I still haven’t slept, the moon is full, and I can just barely make out a sliver of it beneath the blinds of my bedroom window. I can’t even force myself to sit up and take it all in. Once upon a time, this bed was my solace—but now it feels like I’m lying on nails. I’m sweating profusely. Everything hurts.

I can’t take it. I’m tired of feeling like I have the flu, and I know I’m going to give up.

Also, the planning has begun. Hunger feels like such a universal term at this point.

Maybe it’s the silver lining in all of this. Maybe it was inevitable. But I’ve come to understand, as I’m lying here, the only thing that could possibly make me feel better now is the thrill of a new kill.

Someone has to pay for all of this suffering— and I think it’s going to be that smug little grocery clerk.

After all, it’s not like the world couldn’t do without one less fat-shamer.





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