~*April 2002*~

"I drive myself crazy, drive myself crazy," *NSYNC crooned throughout Blythe's room by way of the both the retro white egg-shaped radio-alarm clock on the right side of her wickered dresser and the speakers of her Aiwa stereo perched like a boulder on the left side. The piercing, yellow windows into her soul faltered as her eyelids fluttered open like snagged window shades, her blurred vision into reality focusing on the clock flashing back '11:07' with urgent, red numbers. Stretching dramatically as if just awoken from a century's worth of sleep, her cowprint sheets slipped from her thin body to the clean, waxed floor, her white Gap tank sprinkled with sweat accumulated over the surprising muggy night and white shorts candy-stripped in maroon cladding her body. She heard a light "meow" interrupt Justin's whiny solo, Blythe's short dirty blonde locks chopping over her naturally golden skin as she looked in the direction of the sound, a white kitten (Aveolea) splattered with spots of gray and black as her powder puff paws made her skid into a few cans of paint sprawled across the bed, another black kitten (Tai) with a white drop in between his eyes rolling over his companion, both of them peering up at their owner with irridescent, childish eyes.

"Morning, children," Blythe moaned, the two kittens galloping clumsily like young horses learning how to walk over her legs to her chest, their fur like cotton just plucked from the plant over her skin as they licked joyously and hungrily at the nape of her neck, Blythe shuddering at the strange sensation. "I guess you're hungry, huh?"

Sweeping the bundles of fluff into her slim arms, the kittens swiping playfully at the hair that fell just shy of her shoulders, she scooted gently from her queen-size bed, slipping on some light blue Steve Madden slippers laying obediently at the foot of her bed. She took a quick glance around her room as if to assure herself that a pyrimad of vanilla candles and wreaths of dried roses and carnations of her creation still occupied her dresser and turquoise walls, the scents blending together into an appeasing aura. Pushing her padded foot forcefully through the small crack she strategically left last night between her white sliding Louver doors, she bumbled into the shadowed living room and dining room area of her and her father's modest 2 bedroom apartment located in the Upper East side of Manhattan. It wasn't much, even for only two people, compiled of bland gray walls and sickly maroon carpeting one would think to find beneath their dirty shoes in a trashy motel lobby. Blythe made it feel like a home, not just a simple apartment, Picasso's paintings tacked into the walls as physical proof that she wasn't the only tourtured soul in the world, her favorite and one she could relate to, "Girl Before a Mirror", hung beside her bedroom door with its circles of color as a reminder of what she must become. Decorative lamps with different plates of browns in the shades decored the two end tables propped at the arms of the blue couch, the couch turning its back reluctently on the light green curtain that hid the breathtaking view of the city skyline, at night, the skyline turning into a mesmerizing and twinkling dark paradise only one could imagine.

She crept soundlessly across the living room to her father's bedroom on the right, her hopeful smile fading like the dying day as she saw his bedroom unoccupied and flannel blue sheets neatly combed into their original positions. He never had time for her anymore. Being a single father trying to pay the bills in the most illustrious city of the United States wasn't an easy task. Then again, being a naive 16 year old in the hungry world of modeling wasn't a walk in the park, either. But it was fun...fun and deleterious.

'I guess I'll be missing my 4 mile run today,' Blythe silently cursed herself, trying to force her mind off her father's absense, letting her kittens leap from her arms like punching tigers to the carpet as she ambled onto the waxed floor of the kitchen, finally recognizing after glancing at the yellow note she left herself on the dark green marbled counter that she had to be at Cafe Pierre to meet her friend Jael for lunch before 12:30. Sightlessly, she crouched down, her bones mysteriously aching as if being twisted and bent in opposite, unhabitual ways, and opened the cabinet next to the black refridgerator, grappling for two cans of Fancy Feast in chicken, her childrens' favorites. She bopped her head along with Avril Lavigne's "Complicated" that seeped from her room like an invisable hand, pulling her head up and pushing it down as if she was a puppet, easily fooled and toyed with. Popping the tops of the cat food cans like she would a soda can, she shook the gross entrails of cat food into Aveolea and Tai's white and black dishes, arching her neck back and scrunching her nose to the side to avoid contact with the putrid smell.

"Here, guys," Blythe summoned her pets, clanking the ceramic bowls together as if she was hollering for a cattle call, Aveolea and Tai sprinting from the carpet and skidding to a stop before Blythe, their tails snakes of blissfulness as they danced as if in a basket, Blythe crouching down and placing their bowls under their anticipating tounges. With a pensive smile as they thrusted their heads and stomachs into their food, she gave them each an adoring stroke on the back before retreating to the left to the bathroom, her slippers sinking into the plushy carpet as she flicked the light on, cringing as she saw a ghastly face cringe back at her in the mirror.

Stepping foward, she dove for her CoverGirl Clear-Up Stick that had fallen into the porcelin sink and began to desperetly erase any blemish, any inperfection she intricately picked out on her face, even to the last insignificant beauty mark which looks like cest pools of dirt to her warped mind. She tried with all her might not to glance down at her body as she finished her face with mascara, shimmery eye make-up, and a little blush, feeling inadequate with her size even though she was as stickly-thin as they came. Sea green and light pink tiles lined the floor like a giant checkerboard, off-white crevases bonding them together, white wallpaper splattered with little imprints of pink seashells and sea horses surrounded her as if she was lost at her personal abyss of nothingness, sprinkled with artifical blissfulness to make her feel alive...or at least others think she is. Nodding confidently into the mirror, her reflection mimicking her for assurance, she made a mental note to start running 5 miles a day...maybe even twice a day. She had to be disciplined to be beautiful. She had to work hard to be beautiful. She had to sacrafice to be perfect.

Sure, she had an exotic look, an appearance all of her photographers claim to have never encountered before, natural dirty blonde hair tattered and wafting at her shoulders, golden skin like she was still basking in her homeland of Samoa and the brightest yellow eyes glinting like two minature suns at their zenith on a boiling summer day. But what she made up in her physical appearence she lacked in her height, a measily 5'3 peering up with fright as Wonderwomans just short of 6' ambled past her like she was invisable, like she had fallen into the cracks. Whoever said modeling gives you confidence was a crack head. It is the most intimidating and competitive business next to Pro-Football.

Picking at her limp strands of hair then blowing them away from her fingers exasperated, she frowned that she didn't have time for a shower, scratching at her chin as if deep inside her mind's thoughts. Customary to every morning of her transient life, she just peered at herself, up and down, like to burn the image of herself in her head like a farmer would brand their cows, as motivation, as punishment. She was punishing her body. She would pay for it. Someday, maybe sooner than she realizes, someone will come along and save her from self-suicide.........