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I watched in the shadows of fans as Timotheé stands with Macy on the red carpet. The most beautiful woman in Hollywood and he seems so much happier pretending he's in a relationship with her instead. I'm not hourglass skinny, perfectly 5'7, I have scars and hyperpigmentation on my body, I grow hair on my body, I don't have a perfect nose and eyes like her. I will wake up and never be her or up to par of beauty standard. I genuinely believe they don't see girls like me human. We can't even exist as regular human beings and get treated good enough unless I turn myself to the standards. I have to wax and pluck where girls can bleach their hair, my hair breaks combs like a monster unless I straighten it, my skin isn't smooth free of acne and perfect like Barbie next to him.
His hand cradles her thin waist in her pink dress and I cross my arms across my chest in my pink sweater. I know being feminine, but I can't be feminine the way any other woman are to be feminine. She smiles with her perfect straight white teeth. Cameras abruptly flash and click at the beauty. If I smile there's nothing for show.
- flashback "I don't mean to be rude but Y/n just...doesn't have the look for the Oscars." His manager says to Timotheé as I tried on dresses made for a size zero model from his stylist.
"What do you mean Y/n is amazing she's funny and nice." He chuckles at his manager.
I held in my tears and it hurt that Timotheé didn't even call me beautiful, and justified the lack of, with me being funny. Though it's what I'm used to. I take in a breath and walk down to them. His manager hurriedly walks away and Timotheé turn to me in his expression falls. If roles were reversed...I would have never done him like this.
"Y/n...- I uhm." He takes a step and I take a step back.
He tries to touch me and I push his hands down away from me shaking my head. Tears fall down and I feel so weak. He's embarrassed to be seen with me. I love him so much and I make sure of it and he is embarrassed to be seen with me..as if I'm some freak. I already avoid paparazzi and we have dates at my house or small inclusive places. The sorrowful eyes and frowned lips, tell me all.
"No...no don't say it Timotheé just no." I cry.
"Please Y/n I am sorry this isn't meant to hurt you." "No Timotheé no just stop." We both say at the same time.
He grabs both of my hand and I slip them away from his grasp. He knows he's out of my league.
"No. Timotheé you're hurting me stop it." My voice cracks threatening me.
"What what do you mean?" He blends his words in sorrow for me.
"Stop it just stop." I turn walking away into the dressing room.
I lock the door and stared at my reflection and just cried. He's humiliated to be seen with me. -
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I met Timotheé right when quarantine ended and places were allowed to open up a bit it was at a museum. I was saying stupid jokes underneath my breath about the art and he happened to hear me and thought I was funny. We made childish remarks about the art there during the tour and we hit it off. From the moment I met him I liked him a lot, but I know he liked me for my personality first because I had on a mask that hid my features. We had lunch together and he didn't seem appealed by my looks, he didn't comment on my looks at all.
Timotheé walks past the crowd to do interviews and instantly his eyes lock mine. He has everything money, fame, looks and wits. I'm a loser next to him and sometimes I get the feeling that I'm too close. I can't do this, I turn around and decide to go home. I'm a idiot for even coming here, what support do I bring if he didn't even want me beside him tonight? Other girls like me say in the shadows were not for show. We're the last complimented on, last choice and we have to settle with ourselves.
