Model Behaviour

Going Home. (31)

News of our relationship spread like wild fire. I think we both knew it was bound to happen because we decided to confirm the rumours instead of letting the media invade our privacy.

The public loved our photos together on social media- the first photo that confirmed our relationship was our interlinked hands tagging each other.
I know it was incredibly stereotypical and extremely early, but publishing news prevented the media spiralling a story out of proportion.

Lily seemed genuinely happy for us, her previous hopes to harm Tom were long forgotten.

The trip was almost over, it allowed me to discover many things about Tom, and even about myself. Who could have thought that the one person who I thought I hated the most was the one I would end up in a relationship with?

Most of this trip was in fact, spent travelling from country to country. Most students were happy with the trip, a fairly cheap trip to Europe and good seats at world renowned fashion events.  

Tom and I were usually always shattered after events, as there were always after parties to attend, publicity events, filming etc. to complete. We were just travelling back home now, a slow and steady pace back to America.

It's not that I didn't appreciate my job- I knew that it was a ridiculously competitive job that held no real future for me. But the thing was, I've been doing this job for most of my life, and I had no real life: I never had to worry too much about my education because modelling came first. I never had the chance to be stupid and have embarrassing moments because my publicity agent had more power over my life than myself. I never really considered my career as long as I was modelling: my GCSE's weren't too bad- however I could never put my results in my portfolio because companies didn't care about my brain- just the outward beauty.

I seldom used my CV actually, just because my modelling portfolio was much more impressive and applicable in the modelling industry. I did appreciate these opportunities that I was given- yet I had started to hate it with a passion.

I'm only sixteen, and I've been sexualised in this job like no other. I was remembered by my body, beauty and the clothes that I wore. If they were revealing- I would be a target to angry slurs that I was a slut, and if I wore too much I would be called a prude and many other names.

I've seen enough starving models to last me a lifetime. The diet pill bottles that they couldn't help but taking in the bathrooms. The endless sound of tearful dry-heaving in the toilets after they consumed one calorie too much. I've had enough of comforting girls who had hurtful rumours spread about them. And I know that I will probably end up like these girls in the end- if I won't quit as soon as possible.

And I've never wanted to quit as much as I did now.

"Are you serious?"

"About what?"

"You just ranted about how much you hate your job, Gracie."

"Oh." I mash my lips together. I didn't realise that I was actually speaking my thoughts out loud. 

"If you do, I'll be there to support you." Tom carefully manages out, his words careful and deliberate.

And suddenly, all my problems in life were out in the open. Maybe I should have felt liberated, or free from all of these problems that have built up over time. But in reality, I was still only a sixteen year old girl who was still trapped in the modelling industry.

And I saw no way out.

.~*~.

We were flying back to America literally in minutes. The new and unfamiliar place that I have been calling home for the past few weeks would soon beckon me home.