At a little over thirty-nine years of age, John Mahon was a handsome man to look at. A little over six feet tall, he was built well, toned from years on the police force, with little fat on his body. He looked like a dark god with his hair shaved against his scalp so that only the dark stubble remained and his dark eyes which seemed to hint at erotic desires whenever women looked his way.
It was all a farce though. Molly knew that well. She remembered the images her mother had shown her of the nice officer she chatted with online for hours shortly after her father left, slamming the door behind him. She remembered how she’d stared at the man with a dreamy look in her own eyes, wishing every once in a while that the man was interested in her rather than her mother.
Now she wished she’d never convinced her mother to see him. He’d been a perfect gentleman when her mother was alive, taking her on dates and sometimes even bringing a gift or two for Molly to enjoy, making both Molly and her mother fall deeper in love with the man.
Then John had asked her mother to marry him, and he’d become Molly’s stepfather. It wasn’t bad at first, but shortly after the wedding, her mother became ill. The doctors claimed it was cancer. Molly couldn’t believe it. Her mother? Cancer? There was just no way. She was a wonderful woman who worked full time and cared for Molly despite the lack of a man in her life for six years.
After her mother’s death, John changed. It wasn’t an overnight change, but it was as if he became bitter being left with a daughter that wasn’t his and took it out on everyone around him.
At first, he only took it out on their dog, Bruno, kicking and yelling at it over and over again, as if Bruno had any control over what had happened to Molly’s mother. When Molly couldn’t take it anymore though, she released Bruno outside without leash or collar, hoping he’d find a family who could love him and care for him.
That was when John turned on her. He never hit her. He wasn’t dumb enough to do that, but he did yell at her. Over and over again. Each day seemed to be worse than the last until she wasn’t sure what was real and what wasn’t.
Already, she believed half the things he said about her.
“You’re so fat, you can’t even get a boyfriend. No one would even want to fuck you, much less marry you, so I’m stuck with you for the rest of my miserable life.”
Molly didn’t think his life was so miserable. He was a police officer. He had respect in his field, the gratitude of his men as well as the families he’d helped over the years.
That changed after her mother’s death too. Shortly after, he started coughing and wheezing. Three doctor’s appointments later he was diagnosed with emphysema. He was put off work at the station and sent home on disability.
“It’s all your fault!” he snarled at her between fits of coughing. “If you weren’t so fat and lazy and got a job, I wouldn’t be working my ass into an early grave!”
There were days when John didn’t even leave his room. Molly had no idea what he did when he didn’t come out and she didn’t care. Those were the days she lived for. It was the only time she didn’t feel like she had to hide and cower from him, hoping he didn’t notice her and start another round of insults aimed her way.
It was no secret she was overweight. She knew it. She didn’t need John’s constant and angry reminders to tell her what she already knew. The mirror told her enough times.
She slouched her shoulders as she looked at her naked form in the mirror. She combed her fingers through her bright red hair. Once upon her time, her hair had been blond, but over the years it had darkened until it was the bright red it was now. If it was anything like her mother’s hair, it was just another phase it was going through. Next it would turn brown before it darkened to black and then lightened to grey or white.
The thought of it made her a little sad. She liked having red hair. The thick locks were dark and luscious. The ends curled into springs. Wet, her hair fell down to the middle of her back and thick enough that she could cover her face and pretend to be Cousin It for a while. On more than one occasion, she had considered the possibility of dressing as Cousin It for Halloween, but that had been a long time before when her mother was still alive and she was young enough to go trick-or-treating.
She looked in the mirror again. Her hair was long and thick enough to hide most of her upper torso when she pulled it over her shoulders to the front, but she wanted a clearer view of herself. With that in mind, she grabbed a fistful of locks and tossed it over her shoulder behind her.
Molly cupped her breasts in her hands. They weren’t like those of most girls her age: small and perky. They were large, overflowing out of her palms on either side. She frowned at them. No one liked boobs the size of hers. It was another thing John liked to yell at her. She would never be anyone’s lover because she was too big, too fat. The breasts in her hands attested to that fact. She wore a double D size bra and even that felt too small sometimes.
Sighing, her hands drifted down over the folds of her body. She wasn’t small in the rest of her body either. She had rolls and folds all over. Thick arms. Thick thighs. Thick everything. Her gaze fell upon her navel. Unless she was looking in the mirror, she couldn’t see it. Nor could she see her toes, which she wriggled now just to watch them. There was a reason she only wore flip flops as soon as it warmed up.
Winter was hard for her. She struggled to put socks on sometimes, more-so if John had just spent the last half hour berating her for her looks.
Her best feature, in her opinion, was her eyes. Big and blue, they didn’t need any makeup to enhance them, so she didn’t wear any. Where would she get some anyway? John didn’t buy anything for her but food—and clothes when she desperately needed them. Even then, he complained that her clothes cost twice as much as his did because of her larger size. It was hard to find a pair of jeans that fit correctly. Even some of the big chain stores didn’t have the sizes she needed, which was one of John’s biggest complaints when they went to buy clothes for her.
Molly leaned closer to the mirror, looking at her eyes. Her face was free of blemishes for once, which pleased her. At least she wouldn’t have to listen to John’s complaints about her having a pizza for a face. What did that even mean anyway? What did it mean if someone was pizza-faced? She’d never had a real big issue with pimples or blackheads, but every time she got a single zit, John roared about it.
Turning away from the full-length mirror, a present from her mother when she turned thirteen, Molly looked over the outfit she’d chosen for that day. Before she went to bed each night, she would carefully pick the outfit she’d wear the next day.
To finish Molly’s story, visit Amazon.com and search for Too Hot Too Bear