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shroombloomm · 7 months

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Prologue

tw: mentions of ed, anxiety, depression, & irregular eating.

• • •

Lights.

Cameras.

All the attention on me.

I craved it from an early age. Cheryl, my mom, always told me I was an attention seeker. She never meant it negatively, it just meant that I could control a room, or have heads turn when I walked into one. In this case, I truly did make heads turn.

I wore a dress that cost more than our rent. The moment I stepped onto the runway, I heard the people start to clap for me. I was taught not to smile even if I wanted to. It was about the clothes, not about me, but I couldn’t lie–I knew my fans when I saw them.

Step by step, the cheering got louder. The louder the crowd, the more I felt alive. I’d somehow got addicted to this feeling, I couldn’t remember a time when I didn’t live for others' validations. I worked hard to get where I was, at some point I believed that if the noise ever stopped…I’d die.

A piece of me chips away each time I leave the stage.

Throughout the years, I never realized how many pieces seemed to break away until I just got…tired.

Suddenly, I didn’t want to model anymore.

Modeling was easy until it wasn’t anymore. Nobody told me about the strict diets, waking up incredibly early to work out with a personal trainer, and the amount of time I had to put into myself every single day. If I wasn’t neat, I wasn’t clean. If I wasn’t lean, I wasn’t perfect. People would think that I had it easy, but it was far from.

When I was five, I wasn’t a small kid. I was chubby and more than okay with that. It was until I started performing that the girls around me started to have an influence on me. I realized that my body wasn’t like others, that my stomach poked out rather than not.

Nobody should’ve ever felt that way about their body at that age. Cheryl used to tell me that I wouldn’t eat after school when I came home. Of course, I didn’t remember, but I took her word for it. As any active kid, I lost weight as I grew up, and I was suddenly more appealing to others. The people who wouldn’t speak to me in school started speaking to me, and boys began looking at me.

Things started to look different when I turned eight. Parents awed over how cute I was and boys would pass me notes in class. I think my mom started to realize how much potential I had when I started getting invited to events, or to be a part of things at school. As any mother would, she thought I was beautiful no matter what; but when the money started coming in from pageants she realized that I had some things that people didn’t.

Seventeen years old, I’d been doing this since I was a kid. Cheryl enjoyed showing off her pretty little girl and I loved smiling and waving to the crowd. I took any role I could get, whether it be a main role in a play, or a centerpiece in the cheerleading squad. I learned how to sing opera, and learned how to dance ballet.

None of that ever prepared me for being a part of the industry.

I was sitting at an afterparty crowded with people that I shared the stage with, yet didn’t even personally know. These parties always seemed fun in hindsight, but I’d never felt so insecure before. I was surrounded by the famously known people, they had worked hard, or not at all, for what they had.

When I was younger, I believed that I would be in the middle of these crowds, talking to everyone. Having everyone gawk over me, compliment me. A stupid, stupid daydream of being the it girl. Yet, I sat in the corner booth away from everyone. Each glance towards me felt like a wound to my chest. I couldn’t think about how the room was starting to close in on me either, I had to take deep breaths through my dry martini.

Cheryl left my side, I didn’t notice how long she’d been gone for. All I knew was that I was desperate for anyone to come sit next to me so I didn’t look like a complete and utter loser. I fixed a piece of my sparkly black dress, brushing the thick curls from my face as my eyes wandered around the room.

I seemed to lock eyes with someone for mere moments, and when I tore my gaze away he stalked his way towards me. I was a bubbly person, but years of being picked apart by magazines started to dull me down. Each person I spoke with, I believed that they were judging me in their heads. Many times I had to excuse myself from a conversation to cry in the bathroom due to stress and anxiety. I was so young.

So when the man sat at my booth, I had to force a smile and seem confident. He looked rich and that was intimidating in itself. Sure, me and Cheryl made more money, but we still rented. We didn’t have much of anything, but we enjoyed pretending that we were rich for the night.

This man had black hair slicked back, a shiny, large watch on his wrist and a crisp blue suit that complimented the tan color of his skin. I tried not to stare into his deep blue eyes as I sat my martini down, turning myself towards him to greet him.

“What is a pretty girl doing here all by herself?” He spoke before I could, hiding his smirk behind the crystal glass of brown liquid.

“Me?” I pointed towards myself, then dropped my hand into my lap, “Oh, I mean…I mean, I’m waiting on someone.”

The way his eyes scraped over me made my skin crawl, not in a good way either. I shifted my weight once more, suddenly wishing I had a shawl of some sorts to cover myself.

“I saw you earlier. On the runway,” He didn’t acknowledge the way he made me visibly uncomfortable, “You’re talented. I’m shocked that you’re not on a bigger scale like everyone else here.”

“Oh, thank you…” I drew out, hiding the hiding on my face with my martini glass, “I just enjoy being able to be at events like this. It’s such an honor to be in a room full of talented people.”

His fingers scratched his jawline as he chuckled quietly, then took a heavy sip of his drink. He sighed happily, setting his drink down on the table.

“I’m Harris,” He introduced himself, “Harris Moon.”

“Margot Miller,” I forced another bright smile.

Once again I was searching the room for Cheryl. The night wasn’t seeming to end, the last time I’d looked at the clock it was almost midnight and my ankles were killing me from these heels. I was exhausted, ready for my mom to come back and whisk me away back home where I could wash the mask off of me and go to sleep.

“Are you signed onto a label, Margot?” Harris drew his finger around the rim of his glass, “Surely someone’s had to take a pretty girl like you.”

I swallowed thickly, searching the room once more, then setting my eyes on him.

“My mom, Cheryl, she’s–,” I tried not to sigh as I said it, so I fixed my shoulders and stretched a smile so wide that it hurt the corners of my lips, “She’s my manager. Unofficially, of course. We’ve been solo for a while, we are just really happy to be where we are.”

Harris nodded, meeting my gaze, “You’ve got talent, Margot Miller,” He pointed at me, leaning closer, “Someone ought to pick you up. That’s why I want to talk to you about signing you to my label.”

I gave him a look, but I couldn’t decipher if it was a look of shock or sadness. I was seventeen years old, already exhausted from living the path that I chose. The reason we hadn’t signed onto a label was because I’d always chased them off before Cheryl could come running to talk to them. I was fearful that he’d overstayed his welcome until she came back to the table.

“I’ll have my manager contact you,” I stood from the table, smoothing my dress down, “I think it’d be worth looking over.”

I offered him a smile as he slid his card. However, I wasn’t fast enough to yank it away and leave the table. Across the room, Cheryl came into view, and she set her eyes on Harris who was sitting next to me. A piece of me chipped away. My throat felt dry.

“Is that your manager?” Harris asked slyly with a smirk.

I couldn’t make myself answer, even if I wanted to. Cheryl approached the table in her pretty white pantsuit, pearls hanging around her neck, and curls tightly tucked with her matching pearl clip in her dirty blonde hair. Her lips stretched into a smile, darting her eyes between the two of us.

“If I knew we were to have company, I would’ve ordered more drinks for the table. I’m so sorry.” She placed her hand on her chest.

Harris rose to his feet, taking my mom’s free hand to shake. The scene before me made my hands shake, the exhaustion made it seem like a bad fever dream.

“No need to apologize, Cheryl. My name is Harris Moon. I watched Margot walk tonight, may I say that you’ve trained your daughter well?” He squeezed her hand, then let it fall to his side.

“Harris Moon? With Moon Modeling?”

I knew that look from anywhere. A sparkle in her eye. She was hungry, ironically enough they shared the same look. Doubtful that the hunger was for me, but for what I could make him in dollars. The two of them sat down to speak business and I felt my weight buckle under me and my bottom hit the seat with them. I reached for another martini on the table.

By the end of the night, Cheryl and Harris came to an agreement while I sat pretty between the two of them.

The drive home was quiet and my head was spinning. I pulled my knees to my chest as I watched the city lights pass by. Cheryl seemed happy, yet never asked me how I felt about it. I almost felt guilty telling her that I couldn’t do this anymore. There were many times where I’d hinted at stopping, but then she would hint that we wouldn’t be able to pay rent if it wasn’t for me.

I sucked in a deep breath and asked, “How long is the contract?”

There was a beat of silence, then I turned my head to Cheryl as she glanced towards me out of the corner of her eyes.

“Four years.”

I was locked in. Trapped, I felt anxiety rush through me. When the tears started to pool around my eyes, I turned my head once more to look out at the city lights. I blew out a slow breath, closing my eyes as the coolness from the window calmed my hot head.

“What’s wrong, honey? Aren’t you happy?”

My shoulders shook as I let out a silent cry, then sniffled. I wiped my eyes, turning towards her and forced the same smile that I’d been for a couple years.

“I’m so happy.”

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