Nikki Sixx prys himself on being in the sleaziest dirtiest rock band Motley Crue. He is considered the bad boy of Rock 'n Roll and has a reputation that proves it. He meets the highest-paid fashion model in the world, Iman Darlington who is the comp...
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I stared at my reflection in the mirror, feeling a wave of anxiety wash over me. My eyes traced the sharp lines of my cheekbones, the way my collarbones jut out just a bit too prominently. The Balmain fashion show is just hours away, and I can feel my stomach knotting with nerves. It's a dream come true, yet the pressure to look perfect is overwhelming. The corset digs into my sides, squeezing tightly, and I can't shake the feeling that everyone will be scrutinizing every inch of me.
My stomach cramps, a harsh reminder of the weight loss pills Afef gave me. She swore they would help me fit into the couture, but now I wonder if the price was too high. Each pang is a painful echo of the sacrifices I've made to be here. I press a hand to my abdomen, trying to ease the discomfort, but it's relentless. The mirror reflects my anxiety, the tension in my eyes, and the tightness of my lips. I feel trapped in this body, in this relentless pursuit of an ideal that seems just out of reach.
I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself. The show must go on, and I can't let this anxiety break me. But as I hold my gaze, I can't help but question the choices that led me here. The pills, the corset, the endless scrutiny—it's all part of the world I've always wanted to be a part of, but at what cost? My reflection stares back, a mixture of determination and doubt. I have to find the strength to walk that runway, to own it, despite the pain and the fear gnawing at me. It's my moment, and I can't let it slip away.
"Ms. Darlington!" One of the staff knocked on the bathroom door. "Are you alright?" She asks with her French accent.
"Yeah just... just give me a sec!" I breathed out.
I doubled over holding onto my stomach. I took several breaths in and out until the pain subsided.
"You got this Mani."
I looked at my reflection again then headed out. I had to get my hair and makeup done.
I shifted uneasily in the high-backed chair, the fabric of my dress rustling against the leather. The stylist's hands moved deftly through my hair, but each tug and twist sent a twinge of discomfort down my spine. My stomach churned, a persistent, gnawing pain that had been with me since morning, intensifying with each passing minute. I tried to focus on the mirror in front of me, but my reflection looked pale and tense, a stark contrast to the vibrant colors being brushed onto my face. The makeup artist's soft chatter was a distant hum, drowned out by the relentless, dull ache in my abdomen.
I clenched my hands in my lap, fingers digging into the fabric of my dress in a futile attempt to distract myself from the pain. Every breath felt labored, my stomach twisted in knots as if I'd swallowed a bundle of barbed wire. The room was too warm, the air thick and stifling, making it hard to focus on anything other than the uncomfortable sensation growing within me. I closed my eyes for a moment, willing the pain to subside, but it only seemed to grow worse, each wave crashing harder than the last. I wished I could just get up and walk away, escape the oppressive heat and relentless discomfort, but I was stuck here, waiting for the transformation to be complete, hoping that by some miracle, the pain would fade.
