She's Not Afraid - A Louis Tomlinson Fanfiction

Chapter Eleven

JESSICA’s POV

I listened to Louis’ calm footsteps walking out into the kitchen before I opened my eyes. The room was a mess, but I was still able to scan through it and find a pile of my clothes on the floor. I tore off the duvet from my body and slipped out of the bed. The floor felt cool beneath my bare feet, as I carefully tripped over to my clothes and slipped on my undies and bra, before sadly looking down at my party dress from last night. It was Saturday morning and I really wasn’t in the mood of wearing a tight-fitted dress like that around town at this point of the day. I wasn’t doubting that people would look at me and believe that I was a hooker.

I left the tight, black thing on the floor and grabbed one of Louis’ sweatshirts from his dresser in stead. It went to my mid-thigh and the sleeves were almost covering my hands fully, only leaving my fingertips visible. It was oversized, but at least it was warm and comfortable.

I tried to calm my nerves as I warily walked to the bathroom, and shut the door behind me. Maybe I could get some relaxation here, alone and in private. I sat myself down on the floor with my back against the wall. I tried not to think too much, but my head wanted it otherwise.

How could I let the fact go that Louis had told me he loved me?

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Don’t need pressure

Don’t need change

Let’s not give the game away

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I had been trying to sleep for half an hour, when I heard him waking up. I had felt the electric rush running through my body, when he brushed away the hair from my eye. But when he let those three words slip out of his mouth, I had stopped breathing. I had gone into genuine shock, but I hadn’t shown it by the slightest. First a couple of minutes later I had gotten a hold on myself again. I’d jumped out of bed and now, I was here—and still dealing with the strong feelings jumping around inside my body. Of course I was glad to know that he cared about me, but I knew that already. It was just that … this was big for me. The last time someone had told me they loved me it had been Fletcher. And I remembered clearly how that had ended up.

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Please don’t say you love me

‘Cause I might not say it back

Doesn’t mean my heart stops skipping

When you look at me like that

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I was confused. Even tough Louis thought I was asleep, why did he think he needed to say that? It made me feel miserable, especially because I was not ready to saying it back. It might be a long time before I felt like returning the words: I had to feel them so deeply and unconditionally that I wouldn’t regret them at a later point, like I had done it with Fletcher. And again, I remembered how that had turned out.

I knew that I at some point would have to talk about this with him. I just didn’t know when; now, later, a month from now? One thing I knew: I wouldn’t be able to keep up a façade for long. I was a horrid liar. God, I didn’t even know how to calm myself down. How was I supposed to act like nothing was wrong when I was around him?

I sighed. What the hell was I going to do? I was torn to pieces over three, simple words. I was not pleasantly surprised over my reaction to them; they were affecting me unwillingly.

I rose from the floor whilst trying to rip out the questions I was clueless on how to answer out of mind. I took a deep breath in the mirror. My eyes were staring creepily right back at me and I was wearing the largest frown ever. When my eyes laid on the haystack on my head I tried to comb the small knots out with my fingers, but I didn’t have much luck in it. The makeup from last night was smudged out and all over the place—if I walked out of the door like this I was sure people would start snickering and point fingers at me.

I hadn’t brought anything else than what I had in my bag to the flat, so I tore off a piece of toilet paper and soaked it in water from the sink’s tap before I with angrily movements of my hand started to remove the makeup from my face.

When I was all cleaned up, I looked around the room for my bag; I was sure that I had put it in the bathroom sometime last night … and I was right: I spotted it lying on the floor near to the bathtub. I snatched it and unzipped the zipper in a swift movement. My hands searched through the content of the bag for a second or two before I found what I was searching for, and pulled out a little, black and white-striped cosmetic bag. I unzipped it and searchingly dug my hand into it, before I pulled up my liquid eyeliner and black mascara. I would really need to fresh myself up and put something on my face. I couldn’t imagine how terrible it would be—how terrible I would look—if someone saw me without makeup.

And that was when I heard a knocking on the door.

“Is that you, Jess?”

For a moment I was close to spilling my thoughts, “Yes, of course it is me, Lou. Who else did you think would be in your bathroom?” but for once I managed to keep the words inside my head.

“Can I come in, love?” he courteously asked me. I cringed when he called me “love”. It only reminded me of what I was trying so hard to forget.

“Just a minute!”

Too late. The doorknob got pushed down, and Louis stepped into the bathroom. His hair was nicely messed up after a long night’s sleep and he was smiling solicitously at me. He walked up to me from behind and slid his arms around my waist. “Good morning,” he mumbled in my ear and placed a light kiss on my cheek. Most of all I wanted to hide my face in my hands to keep him from looking at my unfixed and ugly face, but I only stayed where I was, looking into the mirror.

I watched as Louis’ facial expression changed in the mirror’s reflection when he noticed the makeup in my hands. I couldn’t quite put my finger on what exactly it was showing me, but he clearly didn’t look happy.

Before I knew it he had snatched the makeup from my hands and the cosmetic bag from the sink. I couldn’t do anything else than watch as he threw both down into the empty toilet bin by our feet.

“Hey!” I dissatisfiedly cried. I tried to reach down and take the makeup from the bin, but he stopped me before I could even get to touch it.

“Just stop it,” he told me.

I gave up and turned back to glance at myself in the mirror. This was not how I imagined he first would see me without makeup. Not this way. Not this soon.

“We just slept together for the first time, and you’re worried about how you look?”

I didn’t smile. This was not the perfect time to spill another one of his cocky comments. He turned me away from the mirror, so he could stand face to face with me.

“Hey,” he whispered and caressed my cheek. “You are beautiful. Just as you are.” He then gave me a soft peck on the lips before cooing, “There’s breakfast!” and running happily off to the kitchen on what obviously seemed to be an empty stomach.