The Fallen King | ✓

Chapter 25

Of course, that was a lie. Moira was one of the most stunning girls I knew with silky long golden hair and vivid green eyes along with a completion clearer than day but her personality tore that beautiful image in two. It was like spilling corrosive acid onto satin, all the beauty vanishing with the mere flick of a wrist.

All the makeup on the planet couldn't hide that monster.

She scowled at me, her forest eyes narrowing into narrow slits. "Watch your mouth, King. Better yet, watch out full stop."

"Is that a threat?" I challenged with a raised brow.

"No," she quipped, feigning innocence unsuccessfully. "It's advice. Just stay out of my way."

"Wasn't planning on getting within ten feet of you. Don't want the sewage smell seeping into my clothes."

She let a small grunt of shock, before trying to subtly smell herself. "Just fuck off, Harper," she snapped storming away, her gorgeous pink gown embroidered with gold detailing (one of Amelie's designs) swishing with her as she did.

"Oh and, Harper," she called as she was by the door, almost out of earshot. "Here's some more advice, from one model to another. Watch the carbs; it's pretty obvious that you had a lot of trouble getting into that corset."

My cheeks turned scarlet and she smirked evilly, enjoying my hurt reaction before she slammed the door closed behind her.

Of course I had to give her a stupid reaction. Now she was just going to attack me more. You're such an idiot, Harper. I berated myself as I took off the rest of my makeup, doing my best not to let Moira's words affect me.

I wasn't fat, I repeated to myself as I looked in the mirror.

I poked my cheeks and pinched my arms. See, I wasn't fat.

Although I knew it was true, doubt was starting to creeping into my mind as I recalled all the times I'd felt worthless in my life and all the times I'd doubted myself and my looks.

I tried to shake the thoughts away, reminding myself that I was fine just the way I was.

I wasn't ugly.

I wasn't fat.

Was I?

~*~*~

Later that evening, I was in the airport, waiting for my flight to board to go back home. I had gotten there early because I didn't have much else to do that night, not when I felt so down in the dumps thanks to Moira's words.

I had let her words get to me and now they were starting to chip away at my tough exterior. Her words were like a sharp knife being stabbed into my chest, sudden and beyond painful. It was that fact that she used to one of my closest friends once upon a time that made the blow all the worse.

I didn't care much about the tabloids or the harsh words of haters that would always try to bring me down, finding flaws in absolutely everything I did. I could've singlehandedly rescued a child from a burning building and there'd still be people to pick faults with what I'd done.

But when the words came from someone who used to be so close to me they stung. I mean sure, she wasn't saying I was an awful person but she was criticising my looks. That sounded shallow of me to care about — even in my own head — but for a model, those things mattered. Further than that, they mattered for my own self-confidence.

I knew what she was saying was false but the words still stung. If she thought that then maybe other people did too and before I knew it I'd no longer have my career to keep me upright. It was the only distraction I had from the mess unfolding in my own life and, right now, I needed that more than ever.