Member-only story
Trigger Warning
You never know what lurks beneath the surface.
Content warning: toxic masculinity, eating disorders
Frankie Lawrence took after his dad: from a young age, it was drilled into him what a “man’s man” would be. This education involved plenty of time around cars and guns and sports equipment. Frankie was even the youngest among his friends to get a gym membership, displaying it proudly in the clear lip of his backpack while his buddies came home mud-ridden from soccer practice.
Then things got a bit murky around age thirteen or so. In the locker room after gym practice, Frankie kept glancing at the other boys’ bodies before everyone hopped into the shower stalls. Somehow, no matter how fast he ran or how quickly he ran laps around all the guys his age, he was still somehow smaller and — softer than everyone else.
It was even worse when he lingered too long in the mirror and saw a face he couldn’t quite stand to look at.
Puberty made it only worse, of course, with the war of acne and body odor. Girls may have turned his way a few times, but he never could meet their eyes. It was all too easy to turn away, especially when he had the snickers of the older guys — seniors especially — in his ears.
