"You're a fat, ugly whale. Why do you model when no one could possibly find you attractive? You need to quit and do something more productive for someone like you...food critiquing, maybe?"
I stared at the screen helplessly. Such words should never be strung together in a sentence, save poisoning the minds of every individual who has the misfortune of receiving them. Unfortunately, the frequency in which I received put-downs on my Facebook page was not only disheartening, it was dehumanising.
Issa's hand appeared on my arm. "Bub, that shit means nothing. You have three thousand likes on your page. I think that speaks for itself," she said, cutting across my venomous, self-defeating thoughts.
She was right, of course. But the words still ate through to my insides, rotting away my flesh until I was unwillingly distorted into a cardboard cutout of your typical people pleaser.
I felt the warmness of Issa's leather glove soak into my skin, seeking to calm my inner turmoil. "I know what you're thinking. Ignore the critics. They're everything we stand against. Whenever they find my Facebook page, they have a field day. But, I get their crap because they think their opinion about my looks is more valid than my own. That is no different for you."
I nodded, but still I reached for my forgotten cigarette packet.
Fifteen minutes later, I was helping Issa into her steampunk gear. The only item she didn't need help putting on was an impressive military jacket that I adored, because it once belonged to her brother, Jensen. I loved Jensen. But he went to Spain, and never came back. It was the stuff of sad poems.
"Are you ready for this, Ellie? If you want to stay home and watch movies and hate the world, we can do that."
I sighed. "I'll be honest, ice cream and horror movies sound good right now. But I can't let the girls down like that. They've been waiting for this for months."
Issa beamed. Her teeth could blind if they reflected light at the right angle; perks of having beautiful dark skin, of course. "Okay. Your car or mine?"
We took mine - hers had been out in the sun all day, and the steering wheel was now so hot that we deemed it untouchable. The heat had relented now; the sun was still beating down, but a breeze had picked up, blowing across the water and travelling to us, presenting us with sweet sea air to breathe into the core.
"How many are expected to be there again?" Issa asked, cycling through a playlist on her phone and settling on an Ingrid Michaelson song.
"Um, about seven of us, I think. You, me, Kelsie, Amber-"
"I think I heard Lav say she would be there."
"Yeah. I don't know who the two others will be."
"Newbies?"
"Could be."
We arrived at our photoshoot location at 10:48. Three of the girls were there, including a fresh face: her name was Jaymie, and I had no doubt that she was covered head to toe in tattoos. On the flawless pallor of her skin, though, the art couldn't be denied. The photographer, Adele, was there as well, and she and Lavender were deep in conversation.
The beach was busy already and, as the waves were in a good mood, plenty of surfers sprawled across the shoreline, looking out over their kingdom. We were gathered near the trees close to the road, so we were distant from the crowd.
Ten minutes passed, and the other two girls showed up: Amber, her hands gesturing wildly, was talking loudly to a beautiful redhead with a chest that made me think that perhaps female comic book characters weren't as unrealistic as I thought.
