To: kedwards@live.ca
From: dropdead@business.co.uk
Subject: You've won!
You've won! Congratulations!
Hello Kylie, it's Briana. Oliver's personal assistant. I would like to take the time to personally congratulate you on being one of the ten girls chosen for this contests. I'm so excited to finally meet you all in person.
You've won:
-A free first class ticket to England, to live with Oliver Sykes up close and personal for an entire month!
-A free two year subscription to Kerrang! Magazine!
-$500 to spend at Drop Dead clothing
And finally, the chance to become a full time Drop Dead model! At the end of your months stay with Oliver and the nine other lucky contestants, one very special girl will be chosen to become a full time model for us! A paid apartment and spending money, travelling all around the world, press, other amazing offers and deals with other designers, and so much more!
Your ticket has been mailed to your home address that you signed up with, and I'll be in touch with you shortly to discuss some minor details about your arrival. See you soon!
Sincerely, Briana Andrews
The email I had received made me nearly jump out of my skin. I was so excited. And I had won. I was more enticed by the modelling, clothes, and travel, than living with Mr. Oliver Sucks, but there are certain things, certain people, you must withstand to get what you want. And oh, I wanted this. The requirements for the contest were that you must be a girl, you must be over 18, you must have over 10k followers on your personal Instagram, and you must have previous modelling experience. I figured I would let all my wonderful followers know that I was one of the ten girls to win, as they were half the reason I won. I didn't know why I had so many followers, sitting at roughly 18, 500, because I did nothing but shit-post selfies and whine about everything all the time - and promote a few basic products here and there. I screenshotted the email and blurred out both email addresses before posting it and thanking everyone. The part I was least excited about, even more so than seeing Oliver, was the nine other girls. I had spoken via DM with every winner that had been announced so far, and did not like them at all. I didn't like them, and they didn't like me. They seemed nice enough, and they were pretty enough, but they weren't much for conversation. Minutes later comments started flowing in about how people were happy for me, or excited for me, or something along those lines. I got a text from my best friend Moose. Well, his first name was not Moose - it was Emile. Emile Johnathan Jackman. But everyone just called him Moose. It was Canada, what did you expect?
Moose - Won, eh?
Me - I think I might have a heart attack.
He called me and we talked for a few minutes before I hung up and decided I should likely tell my parents. I crawled out of my bed, where I had lied for several hours procrastinating my homework. I was in University for art, but art history made me want to rip my hair out. So I usually just didn't do it. I adjusted my loose black track pants on my hips, and opened my bedroom door. My room was the biggest in the house, and mostly empty except for two bookshelves, my bed, and a desk. Everything in my room was black or red, with the closest I could get to a Victorian-goth-meets-Motionless-In-White's-Reincarnate aesthetic. I had a walk in closet, that used to be a bathroom, until I bought so much clothing that I had no more room left for another portable rack in my bedroom. All the money I had, I made on my own, through modelling or selling art, or selling products online and that kind of thing. I walked downstairs and into my parents joint office. My mom was a lawyer and my dad owned and ran a posh day care: The Edwards Academy For Advanced Young Ones. A.K.A: A place for snotty rich people to leave their even snottier, festering shit piles that they attempted to glorify with the term 'bundle of joy'. I didn't like children. I really, really, did not like children.
"Mom. Dad." I said, leaning on the door frame.
"Stand up straight." My mother commanded. I stood properly with my shoulders back and my head high. She wasn't even looking at me, only typing away on the keyboard I was surprised hadn't completely worn down yet.
"I won the contest I told you about."
"That's nice. If you want it in your savings just leave the cheque on my desk and I'll deposit it on my way to trial tomorrow." She said over her shoulder. The bright light from their monitors on their face made them both look older.
"No, I- I didn't win money." Both parents stopped typing and looked at me.
"Well, then what did you win?"
"Ticket to England. The chance to become a model for a clothing brand. A magazine subscription. And a five hundred dollar gift card." They returned their fingers to their keyboards. "Well, I'm gonna be gone for a whole month." No reaction. "I'm never coming back?" Still nothing. "The boys I'm staying with may rape and murder me?" I sighed in defeat and returned to my bedroom. Those things would have worried them if they weren't so busy, surely. Surely. They were just preoccupied. I closed the door and opened the one to my closet. I squished my toes in the plush red carpet as I scanned the room. What to pack?
YOU ARE READING
Must Be 18 Or Over To Enter//Golden Boy
Fanfiction('Must Be 18 Or Over To Enter' is one of the titles, not a warning) Kylie has questions. She has so many questions - all valid - but Oliver isn't planning answering any of them. Kylie was not supposed to see. She wasn't meant to know. When Instagram...
