Finding My Way

The Talk.

After a much needed girls day, I promised Gwen I would have the talk with Chase. Which brings me to this moment in time. Once Gwen dropped me off, Chase and I decided to head to the beach to watch the sunset.
During the entire drive, I rehearsed what I was going to say to Chase. Or at least I tried to figure out what I was gonna say. Nevertheless, I came up with absolutely nothing. Not a single word. Well, except for maybe cut the crap, Hudson, but that just doesn't seem like... enough.
"It's really pretty," I whisper as the blue sky turns to a pretty pink and orange mixture.
"Not as pretty as you," he comments and I can hear the smile in his voice.
"Cut the crap, Hudson," I blurt out.
"What??" He says, sounding as shocked as I feel. I didn't mean to say that, it just kind of came out.
I take a deep breath, taking up as much time as I can to build the courage to have the talk with him.
"I said, cut the crap. I love you, I know you're just trying to be a good boyfriend, but why can't I wear makeup without you constantly saying that I don't need it?" I try to say each word as delicately as possible, it it all comes out in a rush.
"Because you don't," he shrugs.
"I know, but maybe I like wearing it? Maybe it just makes me feel a little better about myself? I don't know, I can't find the right words. I just like wearing it, even if it's just a little lipstick. I'm just tired of feeling like I'm being nagged about it all the time."
"I'm sorry. I don't mean to nag you about it, at least I didn't realize I was. You can wear makeup, if you want, I just want you to know you're beautiful without it," his voice is filled with sincerity. Enough sincerity that I can't be annoyed at him about it anymore.
"I know, I'm sorry." I put my head in my hands, not daring to meet his eyes. The way he's so understanding makes me feel like I overreacted to it all. Which, in a sense, maybe I did.
"Is there anything else you want to talk about? You know you can talk to me about anything, you don't have to be worried about what I might think."
"I know... it's your fans I have to worry about."
"How's that?" He asks gently, but I can tell he might have a slight idea of what I'm talking about.
I rest my head on my knee caps, staring straight out at the fading sunset, "I'm sure you've seen what they've posted. They say you deserve better. That you could do so much better. Than me." My voice cracks on the last two words. This conversation is so much harder than I thought it would be. I feel like I'm just being an overly sensitive crybaby over nothing.
"Look at me," he whispers, barely audible over the laps from the waves.
I ignore him, continuing to look at the now navy blue sky. Tears burn the back of my eyes as I try desperately to keep my breath even, careful for him not to notice I'm on the verge of tears.
"Look at me," he says again, this time wrapping his fingers gently around my chin to turn my face towards him.
He waits patiently until I meet his gaze to say, "I don't care what they say or think. What I care about is you. You are who I want. You've always been the one I want, y/n. That's not going to change just because a bunch of assholes think you're not good enough for me. They don't know you the way I know you. And I wouldn't want them to... because if they did, they'd fall for you, too." He chuckles, "and I don't think I could handle all of that competition."
By the end of his speech, tears are flowing down my cheeks like a never ending waterfall. He fights to keep up with them, constantly rubbing away the trails they leave behind with the pads of his thumbs.
If this talk taught me one thing, it's that I certainly don't deserve him. But I would like to be better for him, to do better. So that's why on the way back to the car, I stop by the concession stand to get us both strawberry ice cream and a job application for myself. If I'm going to work on being better for him, getting a job can't hurt anything.