I shovel my soup into my mouth angrily, the ghost of a scowl still on my face. I can't see said scowl, but hell if I can feel it.
"Grace, stop."
I ignore the words of my now ex-boyfriend.
After he concluded that he wasn't going to kiss me and got up from the couch, I told him that it was over.
I mean, what the fuck do you do with a dude that won't meet your needs? Get rid of them, obviously. If they aren't willing to provide you with the entertainment and satisfaction you so obviously crave and depend on, then there is no use for them.
Never had the thought of Sam not satisfying my every need crossed my mind. And now that he hasn't supplied me with the additional happiness that he brings into my life every day, I no longer want anything to do with him.
I'm a gift. A gift that deserves to be nourished and loved. A gift that needs to be-
"Gracelyn,"
"Shut the fuck up, I'm thinking!"
"About?" He disregards my tone, biting into his sandwich.
"How you stare at me while I eat. It's weird," I lie. I understand why he does it and I'm grateful that he knows me well enough to know not to trust me. If his eyes aren't on me during the entirety of my meals, I'll end up "accidentally" spilling my soup all over the floor or pouring it into a disposable container in my lap.
His eyes narrow into slits as he watches me down another spoonful of soup, "You literally poured your noodles into a disposable container on one of our first dates, Grace. I don't trust you around soup or bowled dishes."
I gasp loudly, clenching my heart through my shirt like I can't believe what he just accused me of.
"I would never," I deny his accusation, crossing my arms over my chest.
"You finished?" He asks, standing up and coming around the table to my side with his now empty plate.
"Yeah," I answer, picking up my bowl and handing it to him, "I'm still having a little trouble with soup."
"'Cause your mom made it a lot?"
I look up at him, my brows furrowing as I nod. He walks to the sink and rinses off our dishes before placing them in the sink.
"The first time I came over with my brother, your mom made us soup. And then when I came over with Grant for Spencer's fifteenth, the main thing was soup."
I scrunch up my nose, "That's embarrassing."
"No, I loved it," Now that's a lie.
"Liar," I accuse, laughing softly.
"Oh, clearly."
Silence fills the room and I start to fiddle with my fingers.
This is all so weird to me. Being home, being... me, in some sense. Things have been good but for some reason, I feel I'm missing something.
It just feels like I worry so much about losing the "perfectness" of my happiness most of the time that I don't get to enjoy it.
But I'm not nervous or tired. Hell, I've even been feeling more motivated that I have in months. The thing is... I'm scared.
Because there's this voice in my head telling me it won't last and to just give up on the contentment I've found to be something of ephemeral. But the thing about happiness is it's all-consuming and euphoric in some strange manner.
When I have good days-- or in this instance weeks, I want the euphoria to last. As I said, it typically doesn't.
And I blame my genetics for that. I blame my genetics for my not-so-seasonal seasonal depression. I blame it for the anxiety that I so often try to put to the side because I'm still trying to convince myself that I'm being dramatic.
I want to be happy. I need to be happy. But there's a part of me that's broken, a part of me that I'm not so sure can be fixed. A part of me that I hope one day I'll forget exists.
I want to be able to feel loved without second-guessing it and hurt without thinking it was premeditated. All the things I wish to do, I can't because by the time I get to them, the euphoric feeling has up and fled.
The whole thing is dumb. And maybe I'm overthinking it. But I don't know.
People always used to tell me that I was in charge of how I feel and others can't make me feel anything if I don't let them. And for a moment, I believed them.
But then what about the people you love? What about when they blatantly fat-shame you and tell you to not eat so much?
The people you love have this way of bending and breaking you in ways strangers could never dream of. A loved one can make you feel whatever they wish to. Even if it's just a subconscious wish they don't intend on acting on.
Like wildfire, you know? But in this case, you're the only one getting hurt. Or at least for now.
A warm hand lands on my shoulder and I turn around to see my dad. A smile instantly makes its way to my face as I leap out of my chair and into the familiar warmth of his arms, my thoughts slipping my mind.
"Dad!" I yell happily as he spins me around. We're both way too old for this daddy-daughter spin-me thing.
"Hey, Gracie." He plants a kiss on my forehead, then on my cheek, and then my temple. He presses his thin lips to my nose before squeezing me tight and trying to pulling away. Trying.
"I missed you," I say into his chest, his shirt bunched up as I hold onto him tightly.
"I missed you the most, bud."
"I smell a lie."
"What's that mean?" He scoffs, patting my back and pulling away.
"It means you need to call more," Sam says before I can even think of an answer.
He isn't wrong though. My dad really does only call when he's sick of work and watching TV. I think maybe he misses having kids running around the house.
"Ah, I forgot about that little shit."
❛❜
A yawn escapes my mouth as my eyes flutter open. On instinct, I reach over to feel for my boyfriend.
I frown when all I feel is the warm bed sheets.
"Sam!" I groan loudly, kicking my legs up and down like an annoyed child. I can hear the shower running so I decide it's best I wait out my boyfriend's arrival.
"Sammy!" Yelling, I sit up, raking my fingers through my messy hair. "Sammy, can you hear me? Are you dead, baby?"
"No, I think I'm alive, actually!" He calls back from the bathroom. I giggle, tossing the blankets off of my body.
I walk over to the door of the bathroom, knocking lightly. "Is the door locked?" I question.
"Nah."
What if he kicks me out? Is this weird?
Opening the door to the bathroom, I enter the steam-filled room.
"Hm, at-home sauna. Cool- oh, I mean hot." I hum teasingly, laughing a bit. I can practically hear him roll his eyes.
I pull back the curtain of the shower hesitantly, smiling up at him when his eyes meet mine.
He grins, "This is new."
I frown, shuffling from foot to foot, "Are you uncomfy with this, 'cause I can-"
"No- no! Not at all, it's fine." He clears his throat. " I'm just saying that I'm glad you're comfortable enough with me that you did this. It makes me happy."
I bite down on my lower lip to suppress a smile. So this is okay.
"Get in with me?"
My eyes widen into saucers as I tuck a strand of hair behind my ear like I didn't hear him correctly.
"Pardon?" I mumble, my voice seeming to fail me at the sudden request. Who the fuck says pardon anymore?!
His cheeks go visibly pink, "Shit! I'm sorry that was too forward I just thought-"
"Yeah," I whisper, my voice so small, even I can barely hear it. If I'm being quite frank, I'm not even sure the words left my mouth.
The corners of his lips quirk up just the slightest bit.
"Seriously?"
"Seriously." I nod before rocking back and forth on my heels, "But first, you have to promise me you won't make fun of me."
My boyfriend frowns at me, crossing his arms over his chest. I'm surprised I haven't accidentally looked at his.... thingy.
"Why would I laugh at you?"
"I'm not saying you will, I'm just saying don't. Don't tell me I look funny." I say, my voice low.
"You only look funny when you eat ice cream," he confesses. I pout. I do not.
I pull the scrunchie out of my messy morning hair, tossing it over my shoulder and onto the counter behind me. This is okay. People- no- couples get nakey in front of each other all the time. This is okay to do. He loves me.
I turn to face the mirror, his eyes suddenly overwhelming me. What if he tries to have sex with me?
I won't mind, I mean he's hot, but I'm not ready... am I?
Pulling his sweatshirt over my head, I look at myself in the mirror. Luckily for me, the mirror is fogged up so he wouldn't be able to see me. And I wouldn't either.
A shiver wracks my body when I feel two large hands land on my hips. His lips touch my ear as he leans in.
"Can I do this last part?" He breathes in my ear, his thumbs hooking onto the sides of my panties. I nod slowly, my breathing suddenly slow and hesitant. "Words?"
"Y-yeah, please- I mean- go a-ahead."
He hums at my words, pulling my underwear down to my midthigh before letting them go. They pull at my feet as I turn around in his arms. His body's pressed up against mine so close, I can't see my feet. His thingy is touching me and my thingies are touching him.
"Can I look?" He asks me softly, one of his hands cupping my cheek, his thumb drawing patterns on my cheekbone.
"Can I?"
He nods as I grin.
"Words, Winters," I mock. He smirks, pulling away the slightest bit in non-verbal confirmation.
His eyes scan over my body as I pray he won't find me disgusting looking. Maybe I'm as pretty to him, as he is to me?
Sam frowns, "You don't look funny at all, my love."
"My body-dysmorphia told me otherwise." I smile.
He chuckles, raising an eyebrow, "It's your turn to look, Grace."
"I'm scared."
"You shouldn't be. It's nature, nature is beautiful."
I snort, "You just called your dick beautiful."
He rolls his eyes. I inhale before letting my eyes travel down his body.
He's beautiful. He's the kind of beautiful that just screams I have no insecurities. Sammy's lucky. All guys are lucky.
There's no social construct telling them they need to be thin to be handsome. Big guys are cute, but big girls are "ugly" and need more makeup to make up for the fact they aren't conventionally pretty.
Sometimes I wish I had the social acceptance a guy does.
My eyes finally land on his dick and my eyes widen. It feels wrong to be looking. It feels like I'm intruding on something just for him.
"What?"
"It's... not ugly."
He snorts, "Thank you?"
"What about me?" I push up my breasts with my hands, "Aren't my boobs too small? Or my lady-thingy? Is it-"
"No," He says, cupping my face, "The only thing I hate about you right now is the fact that you're wasting perfectly good hot water."
Oh shit!
I push past him, jumping into the shower. He laughs at me, following in after me. Letting the water wash over my body, I turn around to look at Sam.
"Can I touch you?" He asks.
"You can touch me wherever you want," I say. "In the most un-weird way possible," I add as an afterthought.
"Oh, but I want it to get weird." He smirks. I smack his chest as hard as I can.
"EW!"
"Don't lie, I know you were thinking about it."
My head drops down a bit, "Maybe a little."
"You wanna?"
"Do you? I mean, would it be weird? This is our first time seeing each other completely naked. Should we have sex, too?"
"Do you want to?"
I shrug, "If you do."
Not me acting like my heart isn't beating like it just ran up a dozen flights of stairs.
"After," he says after a moment, leaning down to press a kiss to my lips. Like the movie? Fuck, no, I don't want a toxic relationship. "After our shower. And then when we get comfortable with the idea, we can get in here to get cleaned up and go again."
I roll my eyes, "Have you seen your dick, dude?"
"A few times," he jokes.
"You'll kill me if we go more than once."
Is conversation actually happening right now? Why isn't it weirder?
"I'm willing to make that sacrifice," he laughs at his own joke. I smack him hard on the shoulder, frowning as I reach over for my shampoo.
His hand comes down on my ass with a loud smack.
"SAMUEL!" I scream, likely waking the whole city. "So help me, God, I will KILL YOU!"
"Taking away our maybe-sex would be a much better punishment. Not that you should-"
"Shut the actual fuck up."
"You're rude."