Two; chriselda

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        Mouthwash, Chriselda needed mouthwash. Not the cheap no name kind, but the strong stuff that makes your jaw hurt and your tongue go slack— and she needed it now.

        “You’re on in 5.” The photographers’ assistant said, and after a moment of observing the shaking girl who idly nodded her head as a response, added, “You ready Chris?”

        She took a deep breath and exhaled, though she immediately regretted it as the stench of three cream cheese bagels and a bag of Doritos drifted into the air all mixed in with the sweet smelling odor of stomach acid. Chriselda cringed hoping the scent wouldn’t waft into the innocent nostrils of the man; Daniel was his name, though sometimes they’d call him Daniekinz and poke fun at the nickname his mother had liked to call him when she’d visit.

       She was a sweet old lady; she had brought this lovely cake, carrot cake, Chriselda remembered clearly. It had been delicious going down oppose to when it came back up.

       Glancing back at him, she said something along the lines of “ready as I’ll ever be” though she said it so quietly it could barely be heard. She flashed a pathetic smile his way in hopes as redemption of her earlier feeble efforts. 

       The man didn’t say much after, simply shrugged and closed the door behind him. She sighed in relief; she did not want to be labeled as another crazy, thin thriving model as she probably would if her secret was to get out— even if she was one, she just didn’t want others to know.

        It wasn’t that she wasn’t thin, she just wasn’t thin enough.

        This was a problem because Chriselda could eat.

       Truckloads of bacon strips, liters of Coke, and throw in a gallon or two of Ben and Jerry’s and she’d have it all. She’d lick the roof of the truck and crush the bottles of Coke till all the substance had evaporated into her mouth and hers only.

        She could eat.

       After a truckload of bacon one could assume remaining thin would be a complication.  An easy way out it was really, the whole binging and purging. Some would call it a short cut to her inevitable death, but she more so found it a compromise between her stomachs consistent cries and her brains persistent mindset.

        She flattened out her fuzzy robe, and exited her dressing room. She tip toed onto the set where she was met with her stylist adjusting her curls and sweeping small strands away from her eyes.

        Chriselda was a regulated hottie, despite her decaying body, she was… pretty. Although, that was a given considering she is a model even if it was just for a small boutique. It was quite the high end little store, the kind of place where wealthy girls would buy an elegant dress for a posh benefit of theirs.

        “It’s show time everybody!” The photographer called out and everyone gathered round the set to watch the scene before them. Chriselda’s stylist help strip off her robe, trying not to wrinkle the elusive dress she wore underneath.

        Pose after pose, camera’s flashed, people smiled, it was a successful shoot. Though, with every shot and flash became a more self-conscious girl and as usual by the end of it all Chriselda wanted nothing more than to go on another binge. Perhaps this time she’d stop by Donut Time a cute little gourmet donut shop and get a dozen like she usually did on the days she felt really bad.

        It was comforting in this odd sense; she got to experience the euphoria of drool worthy delicacies and then feel good about herself when it was all gone, she got to feel empty, she got to feel confident.

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