Model Behaviour

Conficted (25)

I'm kissing Tom.

I'm kissing the person who I supposedly hate.

I'm kissing him.

Somehow, I manage to pull away from his lips and embrace. His face peers down at mine, and I'm not so sure why I pulled away, he started the kiss. So technically, I finished it.

The kiss lasted just about four seconds, and I was the unresponsive one. Great, now Tom thinks that I suck at kissing. He starts the conversation.

"Well, that was an interesting turn of events..." And you guessed it, he smirked!

I dumbly reply. "...Umm..."

Someone's behind him. Someone saw the whole thing. It looks so familiar.

Oliver.

"Gracie, last time I saw you, let's say you didn't kiss like that." His voice hisses out. I look at Tom to see if he's heard it all. He did.

My blood runs cold. "Go away Oliver. I told you I didn't want to see your stupid face ever again."

"Aww, there goes my broken heart."

"If you had a heart."

Oliver smirks."That's where I break my promise, babe."

"Tom, go back to get changed. I'll be there in a sec." Roughly pushing him away from me, I square up to Oliver.

"Why are you doing this?"

"Because I want you back, babe." His hands snatch my wrists up before I can run. With one of his hands, he pins my wrists together, and with the other he holds my head. It's almost protective, but I feel the sharp pricks of pain instead of safety.

"I'll scream Oliver. Your career as a model will be gone out of the window." Traitor tears are almost making a reappearance.

He starts to nuzzle my neck sloppily. "Yes babe, I can make you scream my name, too."

"No you won't." Tom's voice rings out from behind me.

Oliver sneers. "And who might you be?"

"Gracie's boyfriend, who is about to smash your face in." Tom growls.

Suddenly, I'm pulled away from the sloppy neck kisses leaving the flesh wet from the saliva. The dull thump of a fist on someone's jaw echoes in the empty room. Someone's got hurt. I let out a cry of frustration.

Tom was the one who got hurt.

But he rebounds faster than Oliver expected, landing a right uppercut on Oliver's jaw. He punches again and again even Oliver is down. As I watch in horror, Oliver's nose is undoubtedly broken and currently he's sporting a split lip.

"Stop Tom! Stop please, he's going to have to go to A&E!"

I screech, my voice almost hoarse.

He finishes it with a final punch before crouching down to Oliver's level. "Next time, you won't ever touch my Gracie, or I won't hold back." Tom hisses in his ear.

I can't even describe the feeling that blooms in the pit of my stomach- sheer disgust and slight admiration.

As soon as Tom steps towards me, I flinch away from him, and slowly walk over to Oliver. Tom just stands there behind me, and sit beside Oliver.

"Call 999!"

"We have an eighteen year old boy who walked into a door..." He growls.

I can't touch him, if I do, the dress will be ruined and covered in blood stains. Not a couture look this season.

Ten minutes later, paramedics arrive and tend to his bruises. But by the time he even is permitted to stand up, Tom loops his hand around my waist and leads me away to the dressing rooms.

.~*~.

"Addy, I'm fine! For the love of sweet monkey butts, I'm okay!" I shift out of the dress. For the last half an hour I've been repeating myself to my best friend. Any teenage girl can relate to the pain of repeating a 'traumatising' event to a best friend. It's dangerous territory.

I feel her hands pull my blouse over my body, I'm so tired and just, numb. "So, Tom was the co-model who kissed you and then called you 'his'?"

"Yeah... Addy, can you pass me the herbal tea?"

She slides the steaming mug over to me. I take a big gulp of the steaming liquid and relish in the almost-blissful silence.

She collects the empty mug I managed to drain in a just a few minutes. "You're done. Just go to reception and wait for a taxi, your mother knows what happened with Oliver, so don't worry. Let's say that he won't appear on a haute couture magazine ever again."

Addy Winters is a small model that I was determined to sign with Evanline Apparel just because I loved the girl. Her qualities literally make her perfect for the job of a model, yet she also works as a backstage helper- for me. She has the most beautiful shade of skin, a light beige that contrasts so perfectly against her jade green eyes. Her cheekbones are to die for, something I lack in that department.

To me, she's like a big sister, aged only eighteen she moved to London to be based there. She showed me how to deal with many problems I faced when I was still in high school*.

"Addy, will I see you again sometime?"

"Paris. I have to take the Eurostar. Gracie, remember when we went to France?" Her nose crinkles.

"Justine, ou est mon Justine? Mon petite poodle?" I mimic the French guy who was trying to find his girlfriend. Not his little poodle. I distinctivley remember there was a poodle in the station and I picked up the scoundrel, and was trying to give the little poodle to the French guy. Thus, leaving me in total confusion why he didn't take the scoundrel from my arms.

"Your face when you just shoved the dog at him and ran away from him! What did you say after the situation?"

"I said 'Vile beasts, the scoundrels.' It's really not a big deal I mean-"

She gives me the sass stare. "You thought someone's girlfriend was a poodle."

"Mon petite poodle is literally my little poodle and I thought pet names are meant to be cute! Not some homeless, dirty, fleabag!" I scoffed. Addy and I had our differences, she being a dog person while I was a cat person. I was ideally, a no pet person.

It's just with dogs you have to pick up their business, walk them everyday, and they reeked all the time of wet dog.

All cats do is eat, sleep, poop, repeat.

And you didn't even have to pick up their mess, just the litter box. So the feline species are much more suited to my needs, ever since the Justine the poodle incident.

.~*~.

As soon as I slipped on my ankle boots and my clothes from the morning, I made my way to reception, said thank you and slipped into the taxi alone. I couldn't even comprehend why Tom started fighting. And I had to see him later, so I was dreading seeing Tom at the moment, so I was trying to postpone myself seeing his infuriatingly attractive face for as long as possible.

I was disorientated and the feeling of drowsiness washed over me. I gave in to the urge to sleep a few minutes after my eyes gave up and closed.

.~*~.

Buenos Dias!

*In England we have a different system of 'high schools'. For one, we mostly call them secondary schools but the kids call them high schools.

Also high schools in England start from the young age of eleven and finish at sixteen. So I'm guessing sophomore year?

Picture to the side is Addie, but imagine her a teenager. The main focus point is her eyes that contrast with her skin.

The British government makes us stay in a form of education until eighteen, so sixth form or college. Those two years are junior and senior for people in America.

Gracie's in her junior year, or first year of sixth form.

-Dominika, the sass queen.