Your POV
We walk up to Jenna's door and he squeezes my hand, giving me a soft smile and making sure I'm okay before opening it slowly. Inside there are people everywhere, dancing, talking, holding red solo cups. The music is loud and the lights are low. This house party is like straight out of a movie.
We don't go to a ton of parties, but this one at Jenna's house would be one to remember. Inside, we push our way through the sea of bodies, his hand still holding mine, making me feel safe and reminding me that no matter what happened we had each other.
"Hey! Y/N! Timothée!"
Jenna is sitting on her kitchen counter, motioning us towards her with a smile. We walk over to her and she hands us both empty cups.
"Hey Jenna. How's it going?" I ask. Timothée takes both of the cups and hands me one, reaching behind Jenna and grabbing some red wine. He pours a tiny bit into his cup and holds it out to me. I nod and he pours some in mine. I don't even care what it is.
"Pretty good. Lot's of people here. I'm glad you guys came, I know you don't always come out. But it's good to have you here," she says. Her boyfriend comes up next to her and snakes his hand around her waist.
"Thanks for throwing this," Timothée says, setting the wine bottle back on the marble counter.
"Yeah, no problem. Check out the pool! It's fine if you didn't bring swimsuits, most people are just in their underwear anyways," she says.
"Okay, thanks," Timothée says. She doesn't answer because her boyfriend has latched his lips to hers, and they're making out aggressively on the countertop. I grin and turn to Timothée.
"Classy," I remark to him.
"If you'd let me that's what we'd be doing right. Now," he says, his voice low so that only I can hear.
It makes me blush profusely, even after all this time.
"Come on, let's go out back," he says. Our hands detach as we walk through the house, but I don't mind. I don't need to be connected to him every moment.
Jenna's house is huge and extremely fancy. Her parents are both lawyers, so of course her family has money that they don't even know what to do with. I marvel for a moment at a fancy painting of a sunset that hangs on the wall. It shocks me that some people have the money for things like that. It must be worth millions.
Timothée tugs me and I tear my eyes away from the painting, following him outside.
"Sorry," he says, "I just can't stand to be smashed against all of those people."
"I get it."
"Should we swim?" he asks, gesturing with one slender finger over the the pool. Tons of people are sitting on the edge, swimming, jumping in.
It looks fun, but I don't know that I want to.
"Can we just sit over there and talk?" I ask.
"Yeah, sure."
We sit on Jenna's patio, talking to everyone and just having a good time. The wine tastes good, but I'm no wine connoisseur so every wine tastes fine to me.
"Y/N let's go swim," my friend Riley says to me. We've been talking for the past fifteen minutes.
I don't want to swim. Just looking at everyone, and how beautiful they all are, and how perfect all their bodies seem makes me want to completely disappear into thin air. Nothing would make me more anxious right now than taking off my clothes and getting in the water.
"No, I'm good," I tell her.
"Why not, Y/N? It will be funnnnnn," Timothée tells me, joining in on our conversation.
"I don't know. I'm not really feeling it right now," I say. I'm trying to brush it off as no big deal. I think it's working.
"You're loss. Come on Timothée, let's get in," Riley says. She grabs his wrist and he stands and follows her, looking back at me with something more than a playful smile written across his face. There's something deeper in his eyes.
Watching Riley easily peel her shirt and shorts off at the pools edge and toss them haphazardly aside guts me. Her perfect body seems to glow in the blue lighting the pool emits. Timothée peels of his shirt and shorts, standing in just his boxers. Riley's boyfriend joins them and they all jump in.
What I would give to just feel comfortable in my body and be with them. I sit for a minute, watching them and sipping my wine before tossing the solo cup on the table and standing.
Timmy whips his wet head around and makes eye contact with me, giving me a reassuring smile. I don't return it, but instead walk quickly inside and through the mass of people, into Jenna's huge bathroom. Without turning the light on, I shut the door and lock it.
I sink to the floor against the bathroom wall and bury my face in my hands. The dim, blue lighting from the backyard filters in through the window, and the muffled music continues to thump, only adding to the atmosphere of despair.
It's so frustrating to feel like this. Riley didn't give a second thought about throwing her clothes aside and jumping in. She's so much more beautiful than me. She has perfect curves, and perfect skin, and a perfect flat stomach. She looked amazing in just her bra and underwear.
Am I having a panic attack right now?
No. I'm just freaking out with anger and stress about my body. I can't help the hot tears that start to leak from my eyes as I move my hands from my face and instead hug my knees towards my chest, sniffling.
A knock on the door startles me.
"Uh, give me one second!" I say, trying not to sound like I was just bawling.
I stand up in the dark and bang my head against something.
"Shit!" I yell.
Before I can compose myself, the door opens. I guess I didn't actually lock it.
Someone flicks the light on and I scramble to wipe the tears from my cheeks as I clutch my head.
"Y/N?"
Timothée stands in the doorway, his messy curls dripping.
"Oh, hey. Sorry, I just had to use the bathroom," I say. He stares at me for a moment before turning and shutting the door behind him.
I shift my weight uncomfortably between my feet as I stand there, trying to keep a normal expression on my face.
"Were you crying?" he asks me, looking into my eyes.
"Um... no. I just, hit my head," I turn to see what I did hit my head on. A towel rack. I look back at him.
"You're eyes are all red, and you left suddenly. I know when you're upset, so will you just tell me what's wrong?" he asks me softly.
It's stupid to try to lie to him. Obviously he sees right through me.
"I just... I want to swim... I just don't want to swim... because I'm insecure," I admit quietly. Another tear slips down my face and I move my hand to wipe it away, but he beats me, closing the space in between us and brushing the tear away with his thumb. His wet body is so close to mine that I can almost feel the heat radiating from him.
Without much warning, he pulls me against him so that the side of my face is pressed against the hot skin of his bare chest. He brings one hand to the back of my head and the other to my back, holding me tightly against him.
I don't cry much, I just bring my hands to his chest and push him away lightly.
"I don't want you to feel like you have to baby me," I tell him.
"But you're so... you're just like... I mean you're like the most beautiful person I've ever known, and I'm not just saying that. Your body is so perfect - not that that matters - but it is. So fucking perfect," he tells me.
He wraps his arms around my upper back and slowly moves his hands down, sliding them along my waist and back up, running them down my arms.
"So perfect," he whispers.
My skin grows hot under his touch. It's electrifying. The perfect amount of pressure from his fingers shows his caution as not to hurt me, but alludes that he wants to ravish my body. I shiver, even though I'm warmer than I've been all night. He holds both of my hands in his own, and I stare at our intertwined fingers.
"It's just hard when there are so many people to compare myself to," I say quietly.
"You're the one they're comparing themselves to, Y/N. You seriously don't realize how fucking beautiful you are?" he asks.
"No. I don't think I'm beautiful at all. There's so much that I wish I could change. But I don't want you to have to stand here and make all of these reassurances to me. It's not fair," I tell him.
"You're more beautiful than any of the other girls out there. There. I said it. I don't like to look at girls' bodies that way but it's just the truth," he says, ignoring my assurance that he doesn't need to say anything to me.
His words make me blush. I look away from his hands and up to his eyes.
"And if you don't want to swim, we don't have to swim. Why don't we just get the fuck out of here? Let's just go back to my house," he says.
I bite my lip and continue staring at him, thinking. I do just want to go home.
"You drive me fucking crazy when you do that," he says. He moves his face close to mine so that I can feel his breath on my lips when he mumbles the words.
I always forget that biting my lips, a bad habit, gets that kind of reaction out of him. I reach up and wrap my hands around his neck, pulling his lips to mine. He pushes me against the wall gently and runs his hands down to my hips again. After all of the kind things he just said to me, this feels somehow better than ever.
"Come on," he says, in between kisses, only pulling away centimeters. "Let's go home. I want to show you how much I love your body." His words are just breaths.
I nod and let him pull me out of the bathroom. He runs out back to grab his clothes and we leave without saying goodbye to anyone.
All I feel is the adrenaline coursing through my brain, and the need for his touch.
As we get into the car, he holds one hand on the wheel and keeps one on my thigh the whole time. I smile at how he moves his finger slowly back and forth on my skin.
"I'm sorry I made us leave," I whisper as we speed down the roads.
"This is going to be so much better than some pool party," he says, his voice low. "I love you so much. I never want you to feel insecure. It's just your brain lying to you." He turns to look at me and shakes his head, staring back to the road. "So beautiful," he mumbles.
It makes me swell with joy.