Imagine/one shots-Timothée Chalamet

Sex tape made public pt.2

I lay on the sofa in my gown letting my teared mascara run on the expensive white couch. Timotheé drinks by himself at the bar the occasional clink of the glass. The sheer horror I just experienced has made me want to die. Cameras captured my every move, the media is flowing my nakedness, he hurt me. I've tried to keep my privates private and now they're everywhere. All the times I've turned down gigs that wanted nudity and told them I value that part of myself personally... now it's free. Timotheé looks at me to blame because I wanted to spice things up that night. I was loyal that night and I'm loyal now. I'm not the one who came into our hotel, stole and leaked our tape. I've have been humiliated and Timotheé has turned his back on me, my own husband. He vowed till death do us part two weeks ago and now he throw his insecurities in my face.

Suddenly I hear commotion outside. I push my heavy body up and walk over to peer through the window. I choke on my gasp and back away from the window seeing our address has been leaked by paparazzi and fans crowding by our gates. What the hell we just moved here? Why is this person leaking everything?! I cry into my hand and Timotheé footsteps pad behind me. I watch him see for himself and he pauses looking through the curtain. Cameras capture him by rapid flashes and realization hit him how bad this is. He takes in a deep breath and snatches the curtains closed.

"Let's go."

He backs away and grabs my hand dragging me upstairs with no further words. We reach our master bathroom where there's no windows and just our sunlight. I let out a breath I didn't even want to let go and stare at the tile, scared to look at myself in the mirror. I can't even look at myself right now because I will feel sick to my stomach of what I'll look at. I hear him run the bath water and I flinch at a thought.

"Tim the last thing I want to do is get naked..." I tremble.

I open the slide doors and go into the closet. I have a stairway for my closet it being two story's all full of designers. All my clothes showed skin. Night gowns, dresses, ripped jeans, mini skirts, cropped shirts. Why do I feel so bad that I don't have one thing that covers the body's ? No sweatpants and a large shirt in sight. The only thing is a jacket and my fur coats. I walk over feeling my clothes taunt me, is this how I view myself? I rip off a dress off the closet and watch it land on the floor.

I remember being ten practicing my runway walk in my grandmother's hallway. Being thirteen and studying my lines in plays on a school night for my theatre class. Going to NYU and Timotheé complimenting me on my acting. We separated ways and a year later we found each other again but on a red carpet. There was a difference on our road to success. Mine was base off of my beauty. What I wore, the makeup look, the curve of my body would catch the eye of a director or casting agent. I always played the love interest, never the main character the had to bring forth complex emotions.

I have talent but I can't just go out and say that because then I'm stating proof of my talent so I take hit after hit of disappointment. Timotheé got to shine on a stage and got scouted, just like that. Timotheé is very handsome, but the industry makes sure men aren't over sexualized to be unable to get the recognition of their passion. It's easier for Timotheé to branch off after this tape because he will be getting pats on the back for being a man.

I have talent, I am human... I'm trapped in a world where people could care less about what I have to say and would rather want me to sit there and be pretty throughout a movie. Countless of times my monologues would be cut, I would be asked to show more skin in modeling, I would be disrespected and disregarded in intelectual conversations with film producers as if I've never studied it. I tear another dress down, another and another. Tears fall and clothing ripples off to the floor. I scream at my clothes tired of it- tired of it all. I have gotten no respect from the world.

Timotheé rushes in and engulfs me into his arms and I melt in sobs. Why can't I just be treated right? Why do I have to go through hell just to survive a day of fucking disrespect. I'm set down on my vanity chair and I just look up at the chandelier on the ceiling with tears running down my face.

"Y/n...You don't deserve this and I will handle this situation you just stay cal-." I cut him off

"For fucks sakes Timotheé this isn't fucking a bitch in a pool type press this is a sex tape! Everytime I audition or walk on a runway people are going to think of that! stop acting like this will blow over because it'll become old news but it will still be there for me."

"Well Y/n I'm on that tape too and I'm trying to be here for you!"

"It's not the same for you though!" I shout in frustration.

He freezes and closes his eyes, blinking tears away.

"Y/n ever since I've got with you I've had to hear the most disgusting comments from men and you had no idea how much I wanted to cover you up... it's embarrassing to have a wife where people constantly doubt if you can handle her. Y/n does this, Y/n does that-but I love Y/n and I know Y/n isn't that good enough?"

I deeply frown at his response, he is so ignorant. He doesn't see what I have to go through. He is so close to getting it and yet he is putting his insecurities on me again. It gets quiet with just our sobs. This is how not he views me? My husband, the love of my life.. all along I thought he was different.

" why are you embarrassed if you know who I am then?" I stand up on my feet.

"My wife and I's bodies are completely exposed how do you suppose I act then?!" He shouts.

"You're not treating me like your wife." I muttered softly.

I walk through the bathroom to the king sized bed, sitting down. Cold shivers ran through my body and I could just hear the ring of silence. Everything I have has been destroyed.
-
Fifteen years later

"Come on wake up Y/d/n, we got to go to school." I flicker the lights.