Jemma Winchester One Shots

He Cheated On Me

My last midterms were today god bless.

Also I'd like to apologize for the feelings inflicted by this chapter. My bad. Lo siento.

Word count: 1799

Warnings: cheating, body shaming

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I lean forward toward the mirror hanging above my dresser, and begin to apply mascara to my eyelashes. I put on lipgloss and slip into my dress: a tank top emerald green dress that comes down to my knees. I pull on a black cardigan and black flats.

There's a knock at my bedroom door. "You ready, Jemma?" Dad asks.

"Coming!"

I grab my purse and swing open the door.

"Whoa," is the first word out of Dad's mouth. "You're a little dressed up, don't you think?"

I frown and look down at my outfit. "No. Wyatt likes it."

Dad's mouth forms a thin line. "Is that lipgloss?"

"Dad, stop!" I hiss. "Yes. It is."

"You don't usually wear makeup."

"This is the first time I've seen Wyatt in three months. Sue me if I want to look nice."

Dad places his hands on my shoulders. "Okay, okay, just listen to me. It's okay for you to wear makeup and wear what you want, but you should wear these things because you want to, not because Wyatt wants you to. Got it?"

"I got it. Can we go now?"

"Let's roll."

~

"Be safe, Jemma."

"I will, Dad. See you at nine." I kiss his cheek and get out of the car. I approach the restaurant, shivering slightly. I wish I hadn't worn this dress. I only bought it because Wyatt said he liked how it looked on me. It chafes and itches and it makes me feel uncomfortable and exposed, but Wyatt likes it.

The only sounds I hear are the Impala's engine as it drives away, the cicadas, and the muffled hustle and bustle coming from inside the restaurant.

I nearly scream as a pair of arms wrap around my waist from behind. "Hey there," Wyatt says, his breath hot on my ear.

"You scared me." I laugh and turn around.

"You look nice. You're wearing that lipgloss I like."

"Yeah."

"We should go inside."

~

"That dress looks really good on you."

"Oh, thanks." I hate this dress. It's pretty, but just not for me.

"You have a pimple on your chin," Wyatt remarks.

"Oh—yeah, I know." Wyatt doesn't say anything and looks down at his phone. "Who are you texting?"

"My uncle. Wants to know what time he should pick me up."

"Oh. Here comes the food."

The waiter places a cheeseburger in front of me, and a steak in front of Wyatt.

"You're going to eat that whole thing?" he asks.

"Yep," I answer triumphantly. "I have my father's stomach."

"Keep it up, and you won't be able to fit into that dress anymore."

I am taken aback by his comment. What's wrong with him? "Why would you say that to me?"