Wild Child

Chapter 1: The Arrival

This story is dedicated to all the rebellious souls out there

PLEASE DO NOT COPY THIS STORY FOR IT IS AN ORIGINAL.

*Plug in earphones, listen to "Physical Attraction" and "Burning up" by Madonna, or any songs of your preference while reading*

Btw, this isn't perfect or edited.

<3 you, and enjoy. ;)

Eva's P.O.V

What a busy morning in New York City. The smell of unmistakable one dollar slice pizza along with greasy base notes of Kentucky Fried Chicken combined with Golden Krust beef patties, and lingering hints of incense, sweat, exhaust, and—weed.

Ah, and let's not forget the sound of busy scattering greedy fucks walking around occupied with their crisp tailored suits and their iPhones glued to their ear.

It's like ten-thousand conversations going on simultaneously, the chatter of at least a dozen conversations near by, and let's not leave behind the extra sounds and sights like the sound of bus stops with big promotional signs plastered on it's sides and sky scrapers ripping from the ground all the way to heaven, while taxis honk by loudly.

It's so damn loud, it's fucking overpopulated, dramatic, and I love it. I have always considered myself a gypsy at heart, a rebellious soul with no boundary and one who is determined to move forward no matter what. 

And fuck whoever gets in my way and tries to bring me down.

Part of this mentality has a lot to do with me moving here to New York from Jersey years ago. It was a big step for me, especially when you have nothing but a few counted bucks and you're fresh out of the orphanage with no friends or family to count in, they have been incredibly tough years, although light was seen through the end of the tunnel when I saw a newspaper add for a starting cheap-knock-off magazine who wanted "fresh faces." The salary for the magazine was fucking good at that time so I took it.

And then I started modeling for quick money since I needed it and I was on the verge of starvation and I was literary homeless. I would model nude, with clothes on, with ripped clothes, with stuffed animals covering my goodies, for starting companies. For anything I could get my hands on.

Through this journey I have come across drugs of all kinds, alcohol and pretty much everything imaginable. Don't worry I have not tried them.

I will not try what addicted and killed my parents and sent me off to that horrifying orphanage when I was just seven.

Ah, and along the way of my modeling scavenger hunts I came across Judas.

Judas is now one of my closest friends, he's a photographer I met in a photoshoot for a movie extra I failed miserably in. Judas is a fucking crazy pot head with incredible amounts of IQ and an invincible talent for photography, his hair is long and golden and it smells like waterfalls and weed and he looks like a straight up messed up bum, with crystal blue eyes that make all the hippie girls flutter.

Well let me just say Judas discovered me and took immediate interest in me, he started persuading me to take modeling more seriously to apply to agencies and I did, I started climbing my way up slowly winning up to six-hundred bucks per photoshoot trying on clothing lines from Hot Topic to Forever 21 and modeling for their magazines and web pages.

But I am still looking for more, I want to be Vogue, I want fucking fortune, so with that set on my mind my agency recommended me to "Iconicà" one of the most prestigious modeling companies around the globe, located here in New York City..