Paint Me Beautiful

on the back of my neck stands up as I spin around and see that she's absorbing the pallor of my skin, my shaking hands, the excessive amount of sweat that's beading on my forehead. Crap. If I have know-it-all Marlena on my back, I'll end up in a clinic with a feeding tube shoved down my throat and my dreams in the toilet.
    “ I just worked out, and I haven't showered yet. Thanks for making a girl feel pretty, sis,” I tell her as I shoulder past her and out of the kitchen, flying up the stairs before either of my parents emerge from their bedroom and give me a disappointed look. The last thing I need is to be judged today – especially by my family.
    The first thing I do when I get in my room is strip down and lift the sheet from my mirror, so I can check my body out. God, my thighs look horrible, I think as I pinch the fat there and try to forget that Emmett saw me naked last night. I'm not ready to be seen naked; I'm not ready to be seen at all. I try my best to keep my mind on Lianna and the fact that she's actually going to give me a second chance. That's almost unheard of in the modeling industry.
    I grab the sheet and throw it back over the mirror, suddenly desperate to block my view of my own body. I tilt my head back and catch a glimpse of a Tyra Bank's quote that I painted on my wall the day I decided to undertake this journey. I wonder what she'd think of me if she knew how I felt inside. Would she be disappointed with me? Disgusted? Proud? I don't know, but I do know that I want to follow in her footsteps.
    I've always seen modeling as a stepping stone.
    I try to remember that as I step into the shower and turn the water up so high that it burns my skin and makes me cry out. I accept the pain, leaning over and putting my hands on the blue tiles, squeezing my fingers into fists as the water scalds me and turns my pale skin red. Lianna Cheung is not the be-all, end-all, but she's an important first step, and I cannot, cannot, cannot blow this. I wash myself quickly and climb out of the shower feeling like I'm about to collapse. I fight my own body for control and push forward, drying off and stepping onto the scale for my morning weigh. The number remains the same which is not a good way to start the day.
    Things go from bad to worse when I remember that my car is at the impound lot. Not only does that mean I'm stuck here, but also that I'm going to have to approach my parents after the embarrassment of having Emmett stay the night and ask them to take me downtown and bail the Fiesta out. Shit.
    I change into a sweat suit and spend the next few hours doing crunches, leg lifts, calf raises, push-ups, anything that will burn calories and help shape my body. Throughout it all, I drink water, lots and lots of water. I don't think about food because food is the reason I'm in this position in the first place. If I hadn't let myself become such a fucking fat ass, then I wouldn't be laying on my Goddamn back doing crunches with an empty belly and a head that won't stop spinning. The only reason I stop exercising at all that day is because I get these spotty white blurs in my vision and feel like I'm going to pass out.
    I feel pretty low lying on that floor staring at the pretty girls that line my walls, that smile at me with sultry lips and flaunt their perfect bodies. When I look like them, I'll stop doing this, I promise myself as I gather together the last vestiges of my energy and stumble to my feet. I open my bedroom door and stand in the doorway until I feel like I've got myself under control. I just need vitamins, I tell myself as I slide my hand down the shiny wooden banister and find my mother at the table with a cup of tea and a book clutched in her hands. When she looks over at me, she gives me a very slow once over and sets her book down gently.
    “ How are you doing, honey?” she asks which is sort of a weird question. It only takes me a few seconds to figure out what's going on. Marlena. Obviously, that bitch said something or else my mother would be turning red and sputtering about boys in the house or safe sex or something. I decide to blurt out my news and hope that that will distract her from whatever thoughts are going through her head.
    “ My car's in impound. I need you to take me down there to get it out.”
    “ Your father and your sister are already taking care of it,” she begins slowly, reaching a hand up to touch her red hair, patting it gently as her green eyes sparkle with worry