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PROMPT: "I wish the way I feel about you was enough for us to be together."

"Excuse me," I say, standing quickly from the table, ignoring all the eyes that turned to me. My smile is tight, and I can feel the pinpricks of tears in my eyes. "I need to use the restroom." With as much grace and poise as I can muster, I turn away from the table and walk toward the expensive bathrooms.

I barely manage to make it inside before tears fall down my face, and my chest aches from the pain. I knew today was going to be bad. What else did I expect? But I didn't think it was going to be this bad. That I would be reduced to tears in a bathroom that probably costs more than my entire yearly salary. It's stupid on my part, really. To think anything had changed. That I would find any form of acceptance here. No. I'll always be the fat one.

When I hear the door open, I rush into a cubicle, cupping a hand over my mouth to try and stop the sobs that are threatening to come out at any second. I don't want anyone to see me like this. I don't want them to know the pain that they've caused. I pretend to be so strong. Every day I wake up, hold my head high, and go about my business. But I see the looks I get; I know what they say when they think I can't hear them. None of it's new, though. I hear the exact same thing wherever I go. And I'm fucking tired of it now.

"Rosie?" A familiar voice calls, and I close my eyes tightly, tears falling down my face.

"Please, baby, let me in."

He might as well be asking for the world. But his voice is so pleading and so full of love that I open the door, revealing myself. I'm sure my perfectly manicured makeup is ruined, mascara running down my face, and my lipstick smudged. My nose is bunged up, and I can almost guarantee that my top lip is swollen already from the crying.

He doesn't say anything as he comes into the stall, shuts the door behind him and wraps me up in his arms.

I relax. Because I feel safe. I feel fucking untouchable when he's with me. I don't care about the stares or the bitchy comments. And my inner feminist is screaming at me. I shouldn't need a man's validation. And I don't. But sometimes, it's fucking nice not to feel like you have something to prove.

"I hate them," he tells me, voice muffled by my hair. "I fucking hate that they get you like this."

I try and conjure up some dignity by taking a wad of toilet roll and delicately dabbing at the end of my nose. When that doesn't work, I blow it right in front of him because who cares at this point?

"It's okay," I whisper. "I'm used to it."

"You shouldn't fucking be," he tells me, caressing my face with his large hands, blue eyes staring intensely into mine. "You shouldn't be used to the way they treat you. You're a fucking queen, and they should worship at your feet." He knows what they do to me. How disapproving they are. How they put me down in front of him. How they look at us.

His words are too serious. All too fucking much. "Like you were last night?"

The smirk that crosses his face is beautiful.

"Yeah, like I was last night." He says it quietly because he knows. He knows that these people are a sore spot for me.

After a few moments of silence, the realisation hits me. "I can't do it. I can't do this." My eyes prickle with tears again. I know what my words mean. They were words I should have said a long time again. Words I should have screamed months ago - years ago.

He leans down, rubbing his nose over mine before pressing a kiss to my forehead. "Then don't."

I look up at him, eyes wide with wonderment. Why has it taken me so long to realise this? Why has it taken me getting like this to understand that love isn't always a good enough reason to stick around?

One of his large hands slides into the nape of my neck, his fingers wonderfully warm against my skin. "Whatever you decide to do, I'm here. It's your decision, Rosie."

"I love you, Emmett." I can't NOT say the words. I can't NOT kiss him when he smiles and leans down, a gentle kiss that promises so much more.

"I love you more."

I breathe out and nod, letting Emmett know I'm ready. I can do this.

We exit the stall, and I don't even bother to check how I look in the mirror. It doesn't matter anymore.

Hand in hand, we walk back to the main dining room, all eyes on us.

I approach the table where my parents sit with their friends. A moment of panic runs through me, but Emmett squeezes my hand, knowing that I can do this.

"I'm done," I tell them, my voice shaking slightly. "I'm done with you."

My mother looks at me, lips pursed as if she'd ready to spew her venom whilst my father folds his arms across his chest - an intimidation tactic.

"I'll never be the daughter you want me to be. I'll never be stick thin, married to some business mogul with a flashy car because that's not who I am. You've put me down for everything and anything I've ever wanted to do all my life. You've criticised my weight, my friends, my job and I'm done. I'm fucking happy with who I am. And if you can't accept that…" I trail off, gathering myself. Because I realise something. Love isn't enough. And even though I love my parents, I can't be their daughter anymore. I can't deal with the snide comments about my clothes being too tight or loose. I can't deal with the glances at Emmett and I when we're holding hands or when he kisses me. I can't deal with the disapproval of people who are genuinely supposed to love me.

"Then we're done."

Without looking back because I know what I'll find, I take Emmett's hand, and I turn and leave the restaurant.

I wish the fact that they were my parents was enough for them to be in my life, but it's not. They're toxic. Poisonous. When I'm around them, I feel like a failure. And I'm not. Family doesn't have to be blood. Rachel is my sister in every sense of the word, and Liam and Garrett are the perfect older brothers. Edward and Bella adopted me into their little family, acting like my parents on more than one occasion, and Zafrina is my perpetually single aunt who travels the world.

And then there's Emmett. The man who helped piece me back together. Who tells me I'm beautiful every day. Who doesn't care that I only own a bar. Who sees me for more than my weight. For more than my failures. Who loves me for me.

And that. That's enough. Because we don't just have love. We have friendship, trust, and loyalty. And it's those things that are enough.

I wanted to try something a bit different for this one. Let me know your thoughts.