Previous Challenge Entry (Level 3 - Advanced)
Topic: BRAND (01/12/17)
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TITLE: Fashion Icon | Previous Challenge Entry
By Brenda Rice
01/18/17 -
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Margo wobbled into her bathroom, and swallowed a handful of laxatives, and several uppers. Then she headed to the kitchen where she grabbed an apple. The uppers meant she could spend the rest of the night working out.
A few hours later, Margo stepped out of the shower hurrying to the toilet. On the way, she grabbed her waste basket and threw up. That combination of pills always made her vomit. “Good,” she said to herself. “My stomach will be flatter than a tortilla for the shoot in the morning.”
A beam of sunlight came through the blinds directly into Margo’s eyes. Shielding with her hand, she checked the time. “Oh this is just great! How could I have fallen asleep? I’ve got to get out of here!”
She sat up quickly, threw her legs over the side of her bed, and immediately fell to the cold wood floor. “Good grief! What’s the matter with me?” She asked the air around her.
She tried to get up, but crumpled back to the floor. Getting a firm hold on her bed covers, Margo tried again, but her legs failed to cooperate landing her on her bottom, on the floor. Then, she realized she had soiled herself.
Crawling toward the bathroom, all she could think about was being late. Emilio had zero tolerance for tardiness. Finally, she made it to the shower. As the hot water washed away the evidence of her disgusting ordeal, her mind wandered to her home, her folks, and the country church where she grew up.
“If they could see me now, they would be very dismayed. My parents tried to dissuade me from coming to New York, so far from Tennessee. All they asked of me was to finish college before taking the modeling job. I didn’t listen.” Her voice trailed off into a faint mumble.
Margo laid her head against the misty glass of the shower, as her salty tears mingled with the water heading downward, disappearing into the drain. “What am I doing to myself? I’m sick more than I’m well. I barely weigh a hundred pounds.”
Spasms gripped her abdomen, and dry heaves set in. Slowly she slid down until she was sitting on the tile floor; heaving until she passed out.
“Margo! Margo! Are you in here?” A voice came from a million miles away.
Drifting back to consciousness, Margo realized water was flowing all around her. Suddenly, someone was there.
“Margo! What’s wrong?” The shrill voice of her best friend, Dana pulled her back from the darkness.
“Help me,” she whispered.
Dana turned the water off, wrapped her friend in a towel, and helped her to the bed. “Oh, my goodness! This room is a mess!”
“I’m embarrassed for you to see this. I took a bunch of laxatives. But worse than that, I’ve missed a very important photo shoot. Emilio will fire me for sure!”
“When will you stop allowing that guy to control you? He’s not good for you!”
“He’s the best right now, Dana. His label is the hottest in the city.”
“Maybe so, but you can model for anyone. He hasn’t tattooed his label on you! He doesn’t own you!”
Dana cleaned up the bedroom in silence. Margo reflected on what Dana had said. She was right. Emilio’s label wasn’t tattooed on her forehead. She was free to do what she pleased.
She remembered something her daddy said the day she left home. “Daughter, I gave you to the Lord when you were a baby. I’m leaving you in His hands now that you’re grown.”
Suddenly, she felt disconnected from everything she had thought important. “Lord, I give you what’s left of my life. Give me strength, Father. Amen.”
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