"I'll be fine." Is that what you wanted me to say? It's called a break-up, because it's broken...
Teaser;
I streched my long, cold legs out in front of me. I guess that's how you describe my life since I'd last seen his face, a little over three years ago. Long and cold. I was fifteen then. I'd grown up. My petite frame, has graced the covers of magazines. I was the fashion world's "it" girl, living the tainted life every young girl aspires to live. My body had been exposed to the world and my privacy had become a media obsession. My life was the farthest thing from a fairytale. This was real stress, real pain, and real life.
You'd think my parents would help me through this, wouldn't you? You might be asking yourselves, "Where are they?". Not here. I can tell you that. They hadn't abandoned me exactly. They were just never around. Those two prodegies were vacationing. The last thing my father had said to me was: "Your mother and I just really need to get away." From what? Me? My lifestyle? I, unfortunately, couldn't drop what I was doing and "just get away". No. I was left behind, to deal with everything head on.
Contraversy had started up a few days ago, about my appearance in Maxim, a popular men's magazine. Critics were raving and ranting, accusing me of being too young to be taking revealing photos, like such. I had to agree. I was only eighteen. In my eyes, the pictures weren't nearly as bad as the photographer had originally intended. I'd put my foot down when he suggested a nude shoot.
I defended that I was influenced, My agent was a wicked woman. Martha Thurbett. She had decieved me, and then tried to convince me that I needed the press. Sure. I'll admit that I'd been flying under the radar, but this wasn't the kind of press I preferred.
As the Maxim issue released, I'd begin to wonder if he'd seen it. I doubted it. He was different like that, and probably so caught up in his own life to even bother looking. However, I had no doubt in my mind, that he'd at least heard about it. I could imagine his dissapointment. He was more than likely thanking God that he'd broke it off with me. He didn't need this kind of journalism. I felt so useless. So stupid. So many things. I flipped myself over, with my face to my pillow. I felt like crying but emotion would get me no where. I'd have to face the world, in time. And what greater time, but now?
With that in mind, I pulled myself up, and walked to my closet, pulling out a fitted hoodie, shorts, and a pair of Uggs. I pushed my dark locks out of my face, and slid on a pair of red-framed Von Zippers.
Your first steps, are always taken on your own accord...
And this is where it begins.
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