Your Rival Saw Me Naked

Chapter 34

The book club room feels smaller today, like the walls shifted inward while I wasn’t looking. I take a seat near the middle of the table, notebook tucked under my arm, pen aligned carefully on top. Order helps. Structure helps. I tell myself that’s why I’m here.

Amber arrives late.

She always does, like punctuality is a rule for other people. The door opens and her presence ripples through the room—chairs adjust, conversations dip. She slides into the empty chair across from me, crossing her legs slowly, deliberately. Her eyes flick up, meet mine for half a second, then drift down in a way that makes my stomach tighten.

“Sorry,” she says lightly. “Traffic.”

Someone laughs. No one questions it.

We start discussing the assigned chapters. I speak twice, carefully. Once about theme. Once about structure. People nod. I feel a small, quiet spark of relief. Maybe this can just be normal. Maybe I can exist here without being watched.

Amber taps her pen against the table. “Interesting,” she says, smiling at me. “You always explain things so… earnestly.”

I blink. “Is that bad?”

“Oh no,” she replies. “It’s just… refreshing. Some people don’t try that hard.”

A few people chuckle. Heat creeps up my neck.

We move on. Another girl talks about symbolism. I focus on my notes, on keeping my breathing steady. When the discussion circles back to me, Amber leans forward.

“I mean,” she says casually, “you’ve changed a lot, Zoey. Like—physically.”

The room goes quiet in that way that isn’t silence, but anticipation.

I force a smile. “People do that.”

“Totally,” Amber agrees. “I just wonder if it’s sustainable.”

“Sustainable?” I repeat.

She tilts her head. “All the pressure. The ambition. Trying to be everything at once.” Her eyes flick, quick and sharp, to my waist, then back to my face. “It can’t be healthy.”

I laugh softly, because I don’t know what else to do. “I’m fine.”

“Of course you are,” she says. “You always look so put together.”

The meeting ends ten minutes later. People stand, gather their things, chatter resumes like nothing happened. Amber brushes past me on her way out, her shoulder bumping mine lightly.

“Don’t overdo it,” she murmurs. “It’s okay to relax.”

I stay seated long after everyone leaves.

When I finally stand, my legs feel unsteady. I make it to the bathroom before the tears come, gripping the sink as I stare at my reflection. My face looks pale. My eyes too big. I turn sideways, then immediately hate myself for doing it.

Too soft. Too much. Not enough.

I tug my sweater down, then up again. My hands won’t stop moving.

By the time I get home, my head is buzzing. I drop my bag on the floor and head straight to the kitchen. The fridge hums quietly. I open it, stare inside without really seeing anything.

I close it again.

In my room, I change clothes twice, then a third time. Nothing looks right. Everything feels wrong. I pinch at my stomach, then my thighs, then slap my hand away like it’s done something unforgivable.

My phone buzzes.

Chase: Where are you?

Me: Home.

Chase: Coming over.

I don’t reply fast enough. He knocks twenty minutes later.

“You look tense,” he says as soon as he steps inside.

“Long day.”

He drops onto my bed, scrolling on his phone. “What happened?”

I sit on the edge of the chair, wrapping my arms around myself. “Amber.”

He snorts. “Of course.”

“She said things.”

“Like what?”

I hesitate. Saying it out loud makes it feel real. “About my body. About me trying too hard.”

Chase looks up, frowning. “You’re overthinking.”

“I’m not,” I say. “She did it on purpose.”

“She messes with everyone,” he replies. “That’s her thing.”

“It works,” I whisper.

He sighs. “Zoey, you can’t let her live in your head.”

“She already does.”

He sets his phone down, irritation flashing across his face. “Why do you care so much what she thinks?”

Because she sees me, I want to say. Because she knows where to look. Instead, I shrug.

“She made me feel… gross.”

Chase scoffs. “That’s ridiculous.”

My chest tightens. “So I’m ridiculous?”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s what it sounded like.”

He runs a hand through his hair. “You’re spiraling.”

“Maybe,” I say quietly. “But it’s real to me.”

He leans back, arms crossed. “You’re fine, Zoey. You look fine. You always do.”

“That’s not the same as feeling fine.”

“Then stop picking yourself apart,” he snaps.

Silence drops between us.

“I just wanted you to listen,” I say.

“I am listening.”

“You’re dismissing me.”

“I’m trying to help.”

“It doesn’t feel like help.”

He exhales sharply. “Everything turns into a problem with you lately.”

The words hit harder than Amber’s ever could.

“Can you just—” I stop, swallowing. “Can you just say you get why it hurt?”

Chase looks away. “I get that you’re sensitive.”

I stare at him. “That’s not what I asked.”

He grabs his jacket. “I can’t do this right now.”

“Do what?”

“This,” he gestures vaguely. “The emotional autopsy.”

The door closes louder than necessary behind him.

I sit there long after he’s gone, my chest aching, my thoughts racing. Amber’s voice loops in my head. Chase’s words stack on top of it, heavier, more permanent.

I change into pajamas and crawl into bed early, pulling the blanket up to my chin like armor. My phone lights up once.

Chase: I didn’t mean it like that.

I don’t reply.

In the dark, I replay the meeting again and again, wondering how someone can dismantle you with a smile, and how the person who’s supposed to protect you can make it worse without even trying.

I press my palm flat against my stomach, breathing slowly, reminding myself that this body has carried me through worse than this. That I am allowed to take up space. That I am allowed to exist without apology.

The words feel thin, fragile.

Tomorrow, Amber will smile again. Chase will tell me to calm down. And I will wake up and try, once more, to convince myself that wanting to feel okay in my own skin isn’t asking for too much.