The Devil Wears Prada (An AU) - Part Five

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Ooooh here she is— Part Five :p

TW: Swearing/cursing, mentions and discussions of anorexia, fainting, mentions of one night stands/sex, mentions of alcohol/hangovers, more chaotic Narrator being a mess :p
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Date Written: June 25th, 2020
Word Count: 5003
POV: Omnipotent Narrator, 1st Person

Remy is at the office incredibly early the next morning. Before everyone else. It's a good thing that he has a key, as the first assistant, because even the receptionist isn't there to let him in. The elevators are powered off, so he takes the stairs. The steps he takes are heavy and long, zombie-like. The sun rises alongside him, visible through the windows as he ascends the stairwell on feet that are unsteady in heels that sound too loudly against the marble flooring. Remy isn't really one to do more work than what's asked of him, so why is he here at this hour?

Well, Remy hasn't exactly been sleeping the best as of late. So, why lie awake when he could be here?

He's spent his evenings parading around downtown, letting beautiful and less-beautiful strangers buy him drinks until he can convince one of them to come home with him. This is normally not too out of the ordinary for Remy, except that his standards have stooped so low that they're almost non-existent. He doesn't care anymore. The one-night stands are no longer exhilarating, although, it's not as a result of any lack of effort on Remy's part. He goes all in, maybe even double his efforts from before. Sometimes, he even goes through two in a night. Remy himself can't really explain this sudden change in him. And how do I, as a storyteller, explain something that the character himself can't identify? You could argue that I have more context and information than Remy has, even about himself. You could also point out that my only purpose in this story is to communicate to you the information you need as a reader to comprehend and experience the story to its fullest. These are both fair points. Although, I must confess, I may not know everything that you wish I did. I can, however, give you my best guess as to why Remy's lost any self-respect or indication of self-care, which is a notably dramatic shift in his character from the beginning of this story, when he only seems to care about himself and his own happiness. I'll share with you what I think, however it is mostly speculation, so I ask you to please take what I have to say with a grain of salt. At least this time.

If I didn't know any better, I'd say that Remy is avoiding himself. He's trying to prevent himself from getting caught with no one to confront except his own darkening thoughts. You see, there are a few things that someone can do that feeds into a cycle of low self worth and mental health, and I'm sure that you yourself could name a good number of them. Also, I'm not a medical professional with the authority to diagnose Remy's behaviour as toxic to himself or not. However, I can present you with some behaviours that have emerged lately in him, and you can perhaps draw your own conclusion. He hasn't had a good night's sleep since he and Emile fell out, and he's making up for it in hangovers and coffee. Well, less coffee now, because with Fashion Week steadily approaching in only a few short weeks, Remy has taken it upon himself to become as thin as possible before it arrives. So, he's not exactly eating either. Perhaps it comes from his expanding feeling of the lack of control in his own life. Perhaps he just has more self-loathing than he's letting on. It's hard to tell. However, considering the environment he works in, neither would be much of a surprise.

But, I believe, well actually, I know that Fashion Week in Paris is a glimmer of hope in the darkness for him. It keeps him going. Remy used to watch the news coverage of the event when he was little. Back when his parents still spoke to him and let him live under their roof, Remy would watch the news reports of it early in the morning, before his parents would wake up. He'd put on his older sister's sparkly ballet flats, and would sit cross legged in the gray pre-sun light on the floor in front of the television set, watching in awe of the glamorous red carpets. He'd tell himself that one day, it'd be him up there. It's been one of his dreams ever since. Regardless of what he might admit, and what other goals he may have, the childlike wonder of the Paris Fashion Week still flutters in his heart.

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