You stare at your reflection in the river, grimacing. You can't help but judge yourself. Clarke and Octavia are kneeling beside you, chatting as they watch your clothes. You admire their slim bodies, their well toned legs and abs, their perfect curves. Looking away from the two of them, you stare back at the wavy reflection of yourself.

Your stomach is covered with stretch marks. It's round and bulging, unlike Clarke and Octavia's flat, toned ones. You had to take your clothes off to wash them, and you feel like you're curling in on yourself with each passing moment. God, being naked is the worst.

Octavia splashes into the shallow water with a laugh, trying to make you and Clarke to follow her. You shake your head immediately and Clarke follows. After a little convincing from Octavia, Clarke enters the pool. You stay behind, bent over and washing the clothes. As soon as they're relatively clean, you pull them on, not caring that they're still soaking wet.

"C'mon, Y/N." Octavia whines at you.

"No," you say. "I'm good."

At the moment, you're trying not to cry. You're choked up, tears welling in your eyes. Your stupid self-judgement is getting the best of you, You nearly run away from them, ignoring their calls after you.

Stumbling through the trees, you can barely put one foot in front of the other. The tears in your eyes blur your vision and you pull to a stop just out of sight of the girls. Placing a hand on the rough bark of a tree, you bend over, breathing heavily.

"Y/N?"

You stand upright at the sound of your name, blinking back tears that are already falling down your face. Out of the blurred trees in your vision, you can see a tall, dark shape looming above you. You mutter something indistinguishable and nearly fall over backwards, only to be steaded by two strong hands.

"Y/N, hey. Hey, are you okay?"

You recognize Bellamy's voice and pull away, face flushing deeply. Of course. Of course the one guy you like in camp will see you in this state. Of course it's him.

"Hey, sweetheart. You gotta breathe with me." You hear Bellamy take a deep breath in, and in your muddled state, you copy him. The two of you stand there for a few minutes. He breathes in, you breathe in, He breathes out, you breathe out.

When you've calmed enough to speak, the man places his hand on your shoulder. He doesn't seem to mind that your clothes are still completely wet as he pulls you into a tight hug. You breathe in his scent as you adjust to the situation, wrapping your arms around his ripped abdomen. Then you snap back and stumble away from him, suddenly conscious of your flabby body.

"I should - I should really be getting back to camp." You mumble, hurrying around Bellamy and back toward camp.

"Y/N," Bellamy grabs your wrist as you pass him, pulling you back toward him.

You look up at him, noting the concern in his large brown eyes. You have the urge to shake him off, to pull away. He seems to sense it, tightening his grip.

"Y/N," he repeats. "Talk to me."

Hesitating for a second, you shake your head. God, you want to talk about it so much, you want to be comforted so effing much that the words are rising to your throat. But to him? Your crush, the boy who's hotter than anyone else in camp? The boy who has no flabbiness, who's all muscles and abs? Yeah, you don't think so.

"I'm okay." You give a wobbly smile.

"No," Bellamy's face hardens. "You're not. Just - just let me be here for you."

Your face crumples and he brings you back into a tight hug. You bury your face into his shoulder, breathing erraticly. Bellamy rubs large circles on your back, trying to calm you.

"I hate myself!" You cry out into his shirt, sniffling.

"What?" He pulls away just enough to see your face, moving his hands to your shoulders.

"I - I hate myself." You repeat, quietly this time. "I hate how I look. I hate my stomach and my arms and my legs and my -"

"Hey," Bellamy brushes a piece of your hair away from your face, fingers lingering on your skin. "Please - please don't say that. It...it hurts me to hear you say that."

"I'm sorry." You look down.

"Don't be sorry." He tilts your head up toward him. "It's not exactly something you can control. Um, but I'm here for you. I...I like you."

You choke on your tears at the simple words, staring up at him with huge eyes. He likes you? What the...what? Is he just kidding, teasing you?

"I'm not."

You realize you said the last sentence out loud and a blush colors your cheeks. Shaking your head, you try to push through the shock at his confession.

"I like you for your stomach." Bellamy says abruptly.

"What?"

"I like you for your stomach," he repeats. "I like you for your arms. I like you for your curves."

As Bellamy speaks, his hands trail down your sides, resting on your love handles. You love the feel of his hands on your body but you can't help but feel self-conscious.

"I like you, Y/N. I'm here for you. I want you to love yourself, and I'll be here while you try." Bellamy smiles at you gently.

"Thank you." You breathe. "Thank you so much. I...I like you too."

"Good," Bellamy sighs with relief as he bends down to pull you in for a kiss.