Paint Me Beautiful

working to improve yourself and your body image?” she asks, and I swear to God, I almost pass out right then and there. Essentially, she's asking me why I'm so fucking fat. My voice, when it does finally manage to come out of my strangled throat, sounds hollow and far away.
    “ I'm on a new diet regimen,” I tell her, trying to sound like I know what I'm talking about. “And I've got a new exercise routine.” Lianna's hand drops back to her side, and I almost scream when I see her eye swing over to the new girl. She's about to dismiss me. This is my last chance. “Give me two weeks,” I tell her. “And you won't even recognize me.” Lianna opens her mouth to speak, but she still isn't looking at me, and I'm getting desperate. I want to shout at her, shake her, tell her that this means the world to me, that she's holding my dreams in her hand. I want to tell her that I'd die for this opportunity, that if I can't have this, I'd rather not even be alive. Instead, I reel myself in and try a different tactic. “You're a wonderful artist, and I'd be delighted to serve as your canvas.”
    Finally, finally, finally, Miss Cheung looks at me and puckers her red, red lips gently, teasing the edges of her mouth with her tongue.
    “ Okay, Miss Simone,” she tells me, and it takes everything I have to stand still. My hands, though, do start to shake. “Come back and see me in two weeks, and if I like what I see, then you've got a place on my runway and in my agency.”
    “ Thank you,” I whisper, and I have to fight to keep tears out of my eyes. Lianna Cheung doesn't want to see a whining, sniveling, sobbing teenage girl. I bet she gets bombarded by them. I have to stand out by being strong and professional.
    “ Please keep the dress and the suit,” she tells me. “My treat.” And then she's walking away and focusing on the new girl whose name is Synthia with an S. I hate her already. I slip my pants and cami on over the suit with the full knowledge that Lianna doesn't want her interviewees hanging around any longer than necessary. I retrieve my panties and the orange dress from the fitting room and make my way quietly out the door. As I go, I try not to look at Miss Synthia and how small she is, how perfect, how thin.
    I try not to hate her and realize that that isn't really the problem here. I don't hate her; I hate myself. I hate myself and there's everything in the world that's wrong with that.

 

    When I get outside, the air feels twice as cold as before and it only takes a few seconds for my teeth to chatter and goose bumps to spring up all across my arms and legs. In reality, it's probably an even sixty two out, and there's hardly a breeze. Must just be me. My heart feels cold and my brain feels numb. It's one thing to have a phobia, a worry, a trigger for your anxiety, and it's a whole other to see that thing actually come true. Lianna was looking at me like she felt sorry for me, like I was that one, fat girl in a group of skinny friends, the one who was always pitied in photographs. Poor girl, she stands out in a bad way.
    I wrap my arms around myself and hurry towards my car.
    It's gone.
    I stand there staring at the empty curb for a long, long moment before I slump down to the sidewalk and drop my head into my hands. Honestly, I don't even care that it's gone – I'm not in the mood to go to anymore appointments today. What's the point? Lianna liked me quite a bit, more so than any other designer or agency I've ever met with, and yet, my weight was a problem just like I knew it would be. Why should I parade my jiggling arms and thunder thighs around town and make an ass out of myself?
    I've got to try harder, go further, work smarter.
    I sigh and lift my head up to the sky, letting the air dry the tears that are forming at the edges of my eyes. I can't sit here and whine about how pathetic I am. Lianna is going to give me a second chance. If she signs me, then I've got my way paved in gold. If she doesn't, I don't know what I'll do.
    I stand up suddenly and pull out my phone, practicing calf raises while I flip through the numbers in my contacts and try to decide who it is that I'm going to call to pick me up. I need to get started on my exercise routine right away. No more half-assed crunches before bed, I need this to be serious. I need to enroll in some classes at the gym, get up at the crack of dawn and run. That's the only way I'm going to be able to make it through this. Thank God, I started