Sanders Sides Oneshots!

Prom King (Roceit)

!!TW- Anorexia, vomiting, self-hate, talk of plastic surgery, breakdown, crying, and swearing!!

Ship: Roceit
Genre: angst (+ some fluff), hurt/comfort
Not Requested

Based on the song Prom Queen by Beach Bunny

(Roman Pov)

"Shut up!"

I've heard people tell me that so often I now forget that I can talk without instruction.

From people's disgusted faces when looking at my body, I've learned to count my calories. It hurts like hell but I know it's for the best. Besides, I never looked good in mom jeans, maybe soon I will though.

———

"I wish I was like you, Patton. You're just so.. amazing. Blue eyed blondie, perfect body with an even better personality. Maybe I should try harder?"

Patton frowns and takes my hand, softly holding it in his. "You should lower your expectations, Ro. You have a lot of great qualities yourself!"

"Right."

———

I stare at the mirror, grabbing at any flab I can feel. It's not right. I pull at my far too puffy red hair. I'm no quick-curl barbie to say the least. I stand onto the small bathroom scale, grimacing at each digit that appears. 114lbs (51.71kg). It's disgustingly too much... I still need to lose more weight if I ever want to be beautiful.

I was never cut out for prom king.

———

I stare at him from across the table. God he's perfect. His long black hair tied up in a neat bun, stray hairs falling onto the stunning birthmark that lays across the left side of his symmetrical face. His dimples show as he laughs at Virgil's joke.

"Hey Remus?" I say, turning to my brother. He looks up from his spaghetti straw with confusion. "If I get more pretty... do you think he will like me?" Remus tilts his head and scrunches up his eyebrows. "Looks shouldn't be a factor in love Ro, don't change yourself for some dumbass boy. I nod, shutting my stupid mouth. He's not just a dumbass boy... he's perfect. Too perfect for me.

———

Dissect my insecurities. I write each down onto a sticky note before placing them onto my walls. Soon enough, any free wall space I had is now covered. I go for a walk, trying to get away from my cruelly truthful thoughts. I guess the world wants to taunt me instead.

Plastered onto a huge billboard was two models smiling next to huge words and a phone number. "Stop being a defect! Surgical projects are now available for prices lower than ever! You can finally be beautiful."

I hold in my tears as I stare at the male model. He looks perfect... maybe plastic surgery is the answer? That's it. I need to medically fix my flaws. I quickly run home, bursting into the kitchen where dinner was currently being cooked. I cringe at the smell of food but I don't let it dim my excitement. I'll be perfect soon, then I won't even have to worry about calories!

"Mère! I've got a splendid gift idea for my next birthday!"
(Mère = mother in french)

She sets down a knife before turning to me, cocking an eyebrow slightly. "What is it chèrie?" She says chuckling softly.
(chèrie = sweetheart)