Playing With Fire || d.h

92. Dysmorphia

Trigger Warning: Scars and body dysmorphia are heavily referenced in this chapter. (Y/n) makes a lot of remarks, calling her scars and flaws ugly, etc. These are disordered thoughts, and not a correct way to think. My own body is coated with scars. I don't believe with a single part of me that scars are to be ashamed of, and neither should you.

I roll over in the bed as sun suddenly streams into the bedroom, and as my eyes adjust to the light, I see Dan standing shirtless in front of the floor-to-ceiling window. The inflamed scratches on his back trigger my memory back to last night, and stupid heat rises in my cheeks. I roll my eyes at my own immaturity, before stretching and letting out a low yawn.

Dan turns to me, his hands on his hips and a cheerful smile on his mouth, the crinkles in the corner of his eyes making my heart lift. I sit up, wrapping the silk sheets around my bare body as I stand up.

"G'morning," I yawn, walking up to him.

"Good morning," he breathes, before grabbing my face in his hands and kissing me deeply. When he pulls away, my eyes stay closed for just a second as he leaves me disoriented, walking to his suitcase and pulling out an outfit.

As we walks to the bathroom, I quickly run to my suitcase, my fingers fumbling as I pull on a new bra and underwear. I grab the first shirt I see, wanting to cover the worst of my scars as fast as possible. I know I'm overreacting, considering Dan had touched and kissed my stomach just last night, and is just as aware of my scars as I am. However, I can't help but feel guilty for making him love such an ugly thing.

The shirt I grab happens to be a white graphic tee with an old commercial I used to watch as a kid printed on it. I remember buying this shirt going thrifting after school with Kenny and Macy, only paying two pounds for it. As I look at my frame sitting in front of the mirror, I admire the baggy look of the fabric, before grabbing a pair of mom shorts and a thick belt. I quickly get dressed, and the second I fasten my belt, Dan steps out of the bathroom.

"What time does Shane want us to be at his house?" Dan asks, sticking his hands in the pockets of his bomber jacket.

"He texted me, saying we can be there around noon," I reply, and check the time on my phone. Somehow, it's only eight o'clock. Maybe it's because the sun's already out, but other than that, I have no idea why I'm awake this early.

"Let's get some breakfast," Dan says. However, he must be able to read the look on my face, and adds, "Or you can just hide out in here, and I can grab some food from the buffet downstairs."

I give him a thankful smile. "That sounds amazing."

He rolls his eyes, before kissing me lightly on the forehead, grabbing one of the room keys, and walking out into the hall. I step into the bathroom, pulling my hair into a messy ponytail and doing light makeup. With the Los Angeles heat, I'm not going to waste my time on a face I'll only end up sweating off. Fifteen minutes later, I hear a click come from the hotel door, then the squeaky hinges as it's pushed open. I step out of the bathroom, and Dan places a tray stacked with breakfast goodies onto the bar. He sighs heavily, a shit-eating grin covering his face as I raise my eyebrows.

"When you said grab some food, I didn't know you meant all of it," I remark, a small smirk playing on my lips as Dan chuckles.

"Well, I wasn't sure what you wanted, so I just grabbed a little bit of everything," he replies, grabbing a muffin and carefully pulling off the paper. I only roll my eyes, before grabbing a pate from the kitchenette, and setting to work on the tray.

Thirty minutes later, Dan and I both sit bloated on the couch, empty plates in front of us. We were somehow able to finish everything from the tray, and my stomach's incredibly close to exploding. Dan pats his belly, grinning at me like a dork.