But a body is just a vessel. And Austin’s vessel was carrying a war.
“You have everything,” her best friend, Maya, had said last week, after finding Austin crying in the locker room, pinching the soft skin of her hip until it bruised. “Austin, you literally have the body of a goddess. Why can’t you see it?” austin taylor body of a goddess
Just in time for her to walk away, whole and human, into the rest of her life. But a body is just a vessel
“What are you doing?” Maya asked. “That’s a compliment.” “Austin, you literally have the body of a goddess
At the end of the school year, someone spray-painted “BODY OF A GODDESS” on her usual parking spot as a senior prank. Austin stared at it for a long time.
Recovery wasn't a montage. It was ugly. It was crying over a single piece of toast. It was gaining weight and feeling like a traitor. It was Maya sitting with her in the cafeteria, eating french fries one by one, saying, “We’ll do this slow. One fry at a time.”