Fake It To Make It Pt 06

Chapter Eleven:

Nev

If I had to take even one more bite of this disgusting salad I would throw up. Jeremy bought it for me, saying it was healthier and probably better for my "weight-loss goals" than the burrito I ordered and had DoorDashed to the studio. I sat across from him and one of the other models at the small table in the main dressing room. After a rough week, I wasn't in the mood to deal with his lectures, but I had no choice.

"That dress won't just expand to take in your massive titties, Nev." He clicked his tongue and rolled his eyes at me and I wanted to punch him. I wasn't normally so violent, but my thoughts hadn't been collected in days. My head hurt; I felt nauseous, and despite knowing how important fitting into that dress was, I couldn't control my appetite.

"Do you have to be so harsh?" I asked, staring into the salad. The blue cheese dressing was my least favorite, so I'd mostly eaten the leaves without it on them, but it still made my stomach churn. Or perhaps it was dehydration doing that. Jeremy barely let me eat. I wasn't allowed a soda or cup of coffee, only water. And my stomach was in constant knots.

"I'm doing you a favor, sweetheart. You know this industry. I'm sorry it comes across as harsh, but if you're not going to tell yourself no, someone else has to. I think you've gained weight and you're supposed to be losing it." He stopped short of poking my boob but made it very clear that my chest was the area of my body he thought had grown. He was ridiculous, of course. Women didn't just gain weight in their chest, though I had noticed a slight uptick on the scale too.

"I'm just feeling sick. I think I'm retaining water because of this stupid diet you have me on." I squirmed in my seat, a sudden case of the hiccups coming on. I belched too, the aftertaste of the disgusting dressing on my tongue.

The other model, whose name I had a hard time remembering at the moment, smirked at me and sipped her protein shake. She was a fucking twig, never had to lose weight, but also had breast implants too. At least my body was one hundred percent all natural. No one could ever look at me and accuse me of having had plastic surgery or implants anywhere. I worked hard to maintain my physique, even if it wasn't exactly what my agent demanded.

"Sick?" he said snarkily, chuckling. "Baby, you should be purging hourly for as much as you eat."

My cheeks burned with rage and I decided right then and there that if I got this gig in Paris, I was going to find a new agent immediately afterward. No one on God's green earth deserved to be treated like this, and I didn't want to put up with it any longer.

My stomach rolled again, and this time I lost the battle. I pushed away the salad dish and clutched my belly, walking over to the trash can where the entire contents of my lunch came back up. I was sure it ruined my lipstick but I didn't have a choice, and the minute it was out of me I felt better. I hovered over the trash can for a few minutes, waiting for the residual nausea to pass before I found a napkin and blew my nose.

When I turned around, the other woman was gone and Jeremy was staring at me with a stupid smirk on his face. "There ya go. Now you'll start to see some real progress." His cocky head tilt infuriated me and I felt like putting on my street clothes and going home. The thin white robe I wore over my bra and panties felt too vulnerable for a confrontation with him again. Then he said, "I hope you're not preggers, babe," very sardonically and I scoffed and walked away.

The man had some nerve. Cici had complained for years about how awful Drew and Beck were to her as a teenager, but they had nothing on Jeremy. His attitude was so awful, and he had zero emotional tact. Not to mention he just didn't care if he hurt my feelings if it meant I'd do what he said and make him some money.

I locked myself in my dressing room and fought the tears as I thought about what he said. My days and nights were so busy between work, caring for Beck and worrying about Cici that I hadn't even noticed my cycle was more than a week late. I reached up and squeezed my boobs, finding them tender and definitely a bit larger than normal, and my heart sank. The condom broke that night and Beck just unloaded into me. I tried to keep it out of my mind, but it had caused a mini panic attack a few times.

My shoot for the day wasn't done, but after throwing up there wasn't much Jeremy could do to keep me here. Besides, if I really was pregnant, my career was over anyway. I already had one abortion to save my career and I wasn't going to do that again. Not only was it mortifying, but I had nightmares for months. The guilt was suffocating. I couldn't live through that again. What I did last time was done to save myself from the agony of being forever linked with the piece of trash I was dating.

Plus, it was my out. Keith had been so abusive he broke my wrist one time. I worried about what would happen if he did something worse. Cici helped me get away from him and that was that, but the shame of having killed my baby still destroyed me if I thought about it for very long at al. No, that wasn't' an option this time, which meant if my fears were correct, and I really was pregnant, L'Oréal was going to someone else.

I dressed quickly and left without saying anything to Jeremy, though I did scrawl a note and leave it on my vanity for him to find. He'd be pissed, but it wasn't the worst thing. He wouldn't fire me over it, not after having seen me throw up. And he needed me if he wanted that L'Oréal account. All of his other models had been rejected, probably because of their fake exteriors. All of them had been surgically augmented in one way or another. I was the only "real" model he had.

On the way to my apartment I stopped by the drugstore and picked up a pregnancy test. My hands shook as I pulled out the cash and paid, and the woman working the register offered me a compassionate expression, though we said nothing to each other. I must've looked terrified on top of how my hair was probably messed up and my eyes brimmed with tears.

When I got to my place, I didn't waste any time at all. I headed to my bathroom and dropped my pants while I tore open the test box. I'd had a few scares in college too, so I didn't need to read the package insert. I just squatted over the toilet and pissed on the wand, then laid it on the edge of the bathtub and finished relieving my bladder.

All sorts of paralyzing thoughts went through my head as I waited the full three minutes. I could've checked it sooner, but I was scared and nervous. Would Beck deny it was his? Would he be angry? And how the hell was I going to raise a baby in New York City by myself if he did deny it? Not to mention, what would Cici say about all of this?

I wasn't ready to be a mother. I still felt like a kid. When things happened that made me feel vulnerable, I still looked around for an "adultier" adult to handle things. And my apartment wasn't baby proofed or anything. I didn't know how I could fit a car seat in here, let alone a crib and playpen.

My head sank into my palms and I planted my elbows on my knees, trying to shut out the million reasons why this was a horrific thing. What woman in the prime of her career would be happy about this? Especially someone like me in an unattached situationship that was fake? Beck would hate me.

So when I finally pried my tear-filled eyes open and looked at the test to find two solid pink lines, my heart sank. Life as I knew it was over.

My hand rested on my lower stomach and I sobbed. I didn't even move from the toilet. I sat there dripping piss and snot and tears, thinking of how I'd ever tell Beck and Cici. I thought of how I'd find a doctor, what my body was going to go through. I thought of the pain of childbirth, and the fear of being a mother and raising a child in this terrifying world.

Then I thought of Beck, and how he would even fare being a father. It felt like my world was spinning out of control. Cici was right. I shouldn't have gotten involved with him, or at the very least, I should have been more careful.

What the hell was I going to do now?

Chapter Twelve:

Beck

After talking to Gran the other day I had a lot of time to think. I was grateful to Cici that she hadn't told Gran everything that happened. I knew I would never hear the end of it if my grandmother learned how awful I treated Cici. Trying to keep her and Beck apart was one thing, but I knew I crossed the line sending his ex-girlfriend to his house to seduce him. I just never knew Cici was going to be there when it happened. I thought she would be having donuts with me.

I had enough ammunition to beat myself up for months, and my inner critic had no problem using it. I'd confessed to Cici that I was the mastermind behind the pranks pulled on her in her teenage and early college years. I made it seem like Drew was the bad guy, though I hadn't done it with the intent to keep them from dating. Never in a million years had I thought my best friend was going to end up falling for my sister. I just didn't want her to know it was me and be angry.

Now, as I drove around trying to clear my head, I regretted all of that. All the pranks, the way I followed her around and chased guys away from her, and the way I mishandled my concerns over her dating Drew.

I turned down a familiar street, passing by the liquor store where I would have normally stopped to get a bottle of whiskey. When I woke up with Nev on my couch I realized my drinking had gotten out of control. It wasn't the first time it happened either, so I knew it was a habit I had to get control of. It wasn't easy making that decision. Everything inside of me wanted to stop and get just one drink, but if I was going to start taking things seriously and really show Cici I was sorry, I had to make major changes. Starting with my addictions.

My chest pounded--withdrawal symptoms I was certain--and I focused on where I was going. I had no exact destination in mind, but having no alcohol in my system made this the first time I felt like I was thinking clearly in weeks.

I thought of Drew and all the things he'd taught me about finance. Without him I'd be stuck behind some desk doing boring accounting work for a measly salary that barely made ends meet. I was fortunate to have him as a friend, and I regretted how my actions had hurt him too.

Then I thought of my parents and the day they were stolen from me. I was so young, only eleven years old, but I was old enough to remember hearing the sheriff tell the babysitter that she could go home. We waited, Cici and I, until Gran and Poppop drove in from their home outside the city to stay with us. No one told us what really happened for days, until the funeral. Or maybe they had but I blocked it out. When they lowered the caskets into the ground, everything in my life changed. I changed.

I blinked a few times, again trying to clear my head, and realized I had driven to my old neighborhood. The familiar streets weren't as welcoming as they once had been. Instead of the old elementary school and playground, there were chain link fences and large, boarded-up windows on the buildings.

A property development firm had moved in, bringing their gentrification processes with them, and the place I once knew and loved was changing. I remembered running these streets with a few boys my age, playing at that playground and climbing those trees. Very little even remained of what my memories told me was true.

I was surprised when I turned onto the street my parents' home was on. Every home on the block had been updated except the one I spent my early years in. It had a for sale sign out front, and one hung in the large picture window too. It tugged at my heartstrings to see the place for sale knowing Gran and Poppop had already been through so much heartbreak. The family to whom they sold this house had been close friends, but even that changed as time went on.

I spotted an open parking spot and finagled my car into it. Without the proper permit to park on this street I would get towed if I stayed here too long, but I had to sit and stare up at the house. With my head back against the headrest, I sighed and realized how much life really had changed.

Not only had Cici and I grown up and gotten places of our own, but the trauma of losing our parents formed us into two very different individuals. I knew the love and affection of our parents, while Cici hardly remembered anything about them. To her, our grandparents were the only family she'd ever known. Now, it showed.

My anger stemmed from loss. Mom and Dad were torn away. A friend in college lost a battle to cancer and it scarred me. A young woman I dated took her own life--not in any way my fault, but enough to destroy my mental state at the time. And all of that added up to me feeling like the rug could and would be swept out from under me at any time. Life had proven it to be so, and I lived in fear like it would happen again and again. Which made me control Cici at every turn. I couldn't lose her too.

Thousands of dollars of therapy taught me those things but did very little to actually help me feel better. I gave up when I started drinking because alcohol did for me what my therapist could never do. It drowned those feelings of vulnerability and inadequacy long enough to give me peace--at first. Now it just made me do stupid things and act like an ass to everyone around me. I needed something different.

Or maybe I needed something familiar.

I stared at that for sale sign for a long time until I got the nerve to climb out of the car. It was warm for early fall, so I left my jacket in the car. I headed across the street and up the steps to the house. Nostalgia washed over me, making it challenging for me to focus on my task. I wanted to get lost in the conversations I'd had on this very stoop, the memories that warmed my heart and gave me hope that things could go back to that sense of normalcy.

When I knocked, I wasn't sure what to expect. The older couple to whom Gran and Poppop sold this place had to be in their late eighties. Surely by now it had changed hands a number of times. And with the gentrification going on around here, it wouldn't last long. Someone would swoop in and pick it up and it would be passed from one buyer to the next, losing its charm and heart.

The door opened slowly though, revealing the same familiar face of the elderly woman I remembered who baked us cookies the last time we came to visit with Gran. Her hands were withered, her hair white. She smiled politely but I could see not all of her lights were on upstairs. But she still looked just as sweet and kind as she always was.

"Mrs. Baxter, it's Beckham Adler. You bought this place from my parents' estate." I waited, hoping something would trigger her memory but she only smiled and nodded at me. Her hand had a slight tremor and she looked thoughtful for a moment.

"You remind me of my Henry. Well he was just a little boy the last time we saw each other but he promised to send a letter. He's in the war you know." Her smile never faded even when a younger woman who very much resembled her appeared in the doorway behind her.

"Grandma, let me talk to this nice man, okay?" The younger woman ushered Mrs. Baxter away from the door then returned with her arms holding her sweater shut, crossed beneath her breasts. "I'm sorry. She has Alzheimer's disease and it's progressing. My grandfather passed away only a few weeks ago and she doesn't remember where he went. She thinks he's at the war."

"I'm Beck Adler," I said, thrusting my hand out. "And I want to buy your house."

She smiled at me and held her hand out toward me, and I shook it. This place was exactly what I needed for myself and to help heal what was going on between me and my sister. Nev's plan was great, and it was working--slowly. But this would supercharge the process and force Cici to take notice. Besides, I needed something to bring me back to my roots and remind me of why I did what I did--to care for my sister, so she never had to feel the way I felt the moment my heart was torn out of my chest.