"You seem pretty sad for a girl so in love"
summary.✦ ݁˖ Vanessa and you have been in a realationship for quiet some time. Vanessa is perfect for you truly...but you in the other hand found yourself always insecure and hopeless that your depression isnt able to "cure" with a realtionship
warnings╰┈➤Emotional abuse(self-directed and implied relational dynamics)Self-harm (implied through vomiting and self-criticism) Mental health struggles (depression, panic attacks, self-loathing) Breakup/abandonment (unresolved emotional pain, silence as a weapon) Body image issues (focus on physical flaws, comparison to unrealistic standards)
tags.Vannessa. P x Fem Reader
angels letter! IM VERY PROUD SHORT BUT SO FCK SAD
Everything was going fine. At least I thought I was in my bedroom with the warm breeze coast my rooms making the coolness of my room vanish, sitting on my bed flipping through the fashion magazines flipping through each page making me feel not noted on my flaws. I flip to the last page on the magazine were Cindy Crawford in a golden dress that creases her silhouette beaitful not a singel inch of fat was caught on camera.
I'm self-aware that I'm lucky to have people around me that tend to worship the floor I walk on, my girlfriend Vanessa one of the greatest things to ever happen to me, before her I struggled with y depression alone. Took over the blood in my veins, my mind like electricity, through my finger's tips where I felt every inch of fat and vein that made me look awful
Vannessa and I met in the beginning of last year school year. I was walking with Taissa in the hallway she showed me to my locker and then Vanessa ended up being right next to me. I call it fate really; she showed me colors that not rainbow could show me.
when things got difficult for me she knew what to do, each throw up pulled my hair back and told me how beautiful i was, each panic attack stayed with me breathed every breath that felt like the last.
She was coming over later but deep down I didn't want her to come in my room were my insecurities hang on the wall. I hear the front door open...I get up from my bed but on from pink shorts that don't quiet fit me
I open the door peaking my head, Vannessa walking Infront of the staircase where she looks around trying to find context clues of where I could be "Hey babes up here" I call, my voice cracking just enough to make my stomach twist.
She looks up, and her face lights up like the sun breaking through clouds. That smile. God, that smile. It’s the kind of thing that used to make my chest hurt in the best way. Like I’d swallowed sunlight and it was still burning inside me. Now, it just makes me want to crawl out of my skin
Vanessa takes the stairs two at a time, her boots thudding against the wood, and I step back, suddenly hyperaware of the pink shorts clinging to my hips, the way my stomach folds over the waistband. I smooth my hands over my thighs, trying to erase the evidence of my body’s betrayal.
She rounds the corner, and her eyes find mine. For a second, she just looks at me really looks and I swear I see her heart in her gaze. Then her smile softens, and she tilts her head, studying me like I’m a puzzle she’s trying to solve.
“You, okay?” she asked, her voice soft, like she was afraid the wrong word would shatter something.
I swallowed hard. “Yeah. Just tired.”
She didn’t believe me. I could see it in the way her eyes narrowed, in the way her lips pressed into a thin line. “You look like you’re about to bolt,” she said.
A laugh escaped me, sharp and bitter. “Maybe I am.”
Vanessa didn’t flinch. She stepped closer, close enough that I could smell her vanilla and something warm, like fresh laundry. My fingers twitched at my sides, itching to reach for her, to anchor myself to something real. But I didn’t.
“Talk to me,” she murmured, her voice steady, like she was trying to keep herself from shaking. “Please.”
I wanted to. God, I wanted to. But the words were stuck in my throat, tangled up with all the things I’d never been able to say. Instead, I turned my head, my gaze landing on the wall across from me. The collage of magazine cutouts stared back at me perfect bodies, flawless faces, everything I’d never be.
“Do you ever look at me and wonder what you’re doing with someone like me?” The question slipped out before I could stop it, raw and ugly and honest.
Vanessa’s breath hitched. “What?”
I forced myself to meet her eyes. They were dark, serious, and for the first time, I saw something flicker in them something like fear. “Like… do I make sense to you? Or am I just…” I gestured vaguely at myself, at the room, at the life I’d built that felt like a house of cards. “A project? Someone you feel sorry for?”
Her expression twisted, like I’d slapped her. “No,” she said, her voice firm, unshaken. “You’re not a project. You’re not someone I feel sorry for.” She stepped even closer, close enough that I could feel the heat radiating off her. “You’re the person who taught me what it feels like to be seen.” She swallowed. “You were the first person who ever looked at me. Really looked. Not just at my face, not just at the way I dress or the way I laugh, but inside.” She reached out, her fingers brushing my wrist. “And I see you too. All of you.”
My chest ached. “That’s not true.”
“It is.” Her thumb traced circles on my wrist, slow and deliberate. “I see you, and I love you. Not the version of you in magazines. Not the version of you that’s perfect. You. The one who’s messy and scared and beautiful in ways no camera could ever capture.”
I wanted to believe her. I did believe her. But belief didn’t erase the way my brain twisted her words into something ugly. “What if I don’t like what you see?” My voice cracked.
Vanessa’s free hand came up, her fingers cupping my jaw. Her touch was gentle, but her gaze was fierce. “Then I’ll love you anyway,” she whispered.
I closed my eyes, leaning into her touch despite myself. “You don’t have to say anything,” she murmured, her thumb brushing my cheekbone. “But don’t push me away. Not tonight.”
She waited, her breath steady, her grip on me unrelenting. But I couldn’t give her what she wanted. I couldn’t give myself what I wanted. The words lodged in my throat, choking me.
“I can’t do this anymore,” I finally said, my voice hollow.
Vanessa’s hand fell away from my face like she’d been burned. Her eyes searched mine, desperate for something—anything—that would make this okay. But I had nothing left to give.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered.
She didn’t say anything. She just stood there, her chest rising and falling like she was trying to keep herself from falling apart. Then, without another word, she turned and walked toward the stairs. I watched her go, my heart shattering with every step she took.
The front door clicked shut behind her.
I closed my bedroom door, covering my mouth with my hands to stifle the sob that clawed its way up my throat. Then I sank against the door, sliding to the floor, my knees pulled to my chest, my body shaking with the effort of keeping silent. The tears came hot and fast, and I let them, because there was no one left to see me break.
