Romans & histoires Death To The Supermodels

“Cocaine certainly wasn’t in the deal.” Kaia winced, remembering something from her research on Eton prior to their meeting: Eton's father had died from overdosing. “But I haven’t seen even a hint of that scandal when I researched you, so you must have hushed it up?” “Of course I did. But it wasn’t easy with the deaths involved. And I don’t do drug trafficking, so I didn’t have the necessary connections. I ended up spending millions to hush it up and owing a lot of favors to people I’d rather not owe anything.....

It was my death certificate. Mom picked up a pen but didn't sign. Instead, she threw it heavily to the ground and tore the document apart until it was in pieces. She said, "I'm not signing it. Flora isn't dead! Why should I sign a death certificate for someone who's still alive?" Then, Mom yanked Cindy up from the floor. "Come home with me. Flora pulled this stunt when she was younger. She jumped into the river and made everyone think she was dead. And what happened? Didn't someone send her back the very next day?"

My life or death meant nothing to him. My dad sat in his wheelchair, crying like a broken man. His lips quivered as he said, "Vic, how could this happen to you? I'm sorry. I didn't protect you…" My mom was already sobbing uncontrollably. She kept inching toward where my body was placed. She was desperate to see me one last time, even if all that was left was a disfigured corpse soaked in formalin. The forensic doctor said solemnly, "Based on our examination, the deceased had clear surgical scarring on her liver. She appears to have donated it while she was alive."

I heard the clicking of camera shutters, but no one called the ambulance. My blood drained dry. My body became cold. Finally, Yvette Skye was no more. I died all alone at the corner of the street. No one cared. My corpse was not a pretty sight. My eyes were wide, unseeing, and there was a large hole in my stomach. My legs were twisted together. One of my arms was flung by the side of the road. My legs were useless now. I was ugly. No wonder the little girl cried. Floating in the air, I stared at my mutilated corpse.

Models are simultaneously both the catalyst and the product of the world they live in. The fashion industry which has been arousing, feeding off and slaking the illusions of billions and billions on the planet is a double-edged sword that wounds even the select few who wield it. Rina has seen it all: fellow models OD’ing on coke and heroin, an anorexic friend starving herself to death, another jumping from the infinity pool of a high-rise and landing smack dab on the hood of a classic silver ’51 Jaguar. The press called it “the most beautiful suicide of the twenty-first century” and three more fashion models followed suit by jumping from the exact same infinity pool all through the following

she mumbles, her eyes wide. I exhale a huge lung full of smoke and relish the calm feeling for a second. “He’s not only the Flying Death, he’s the reaper and I’m pretty sure your time is up lady,” Missile says, laughing as I hand him back the joint. Just then the rumble of some motorcycles filters into the lot and I can only crack my neck. Her eyes gloss over and her heart rate goes bonkers. I like seeing her sweat. “Have you had any other children,” I ask, rubbing my beard.

The glow in those eyes were growing brighter, and Annabel had this uncomfortable thought somewhere in her mind that if the sculpture got too angry, it could explode, killing her. “No.” Her voice was weaker this time. Still, she could not bring herself to killing a man that had done nothing to him. You just have to think it. What? Think it. Wish him dead. Make it happen. The voice snaked all the way into her mind, caressing it. Slowly, she was getting overpowered by whatever it was the statue was doing to her. She could not fight something that could speak in her mind, something that could, perhaps, control her mind.

But as time went on their weekly meeting turned into twice weekly meetings, and then without us even noticing they had started spending all their free time together. We were all happy for them when they told us about six months ago that they were an official couple and moving in together. Which we didn’t think was that big of a deal considering they both had suites at the pack house, but now they only have one. After losing a mate often, the living mate dies shortly after, but I think that they both helped save each other from that fate. Sinical Will on the other hand says that because they both had probably given up on their mate bonds they were no longer as strong yielding them less powerf

"Get out of my head you dumbass. Don't answer anything unless it comes from my mouth." We both burst out laughing. "Junior, it was really bad. I thought I was going to die. There were so many other creatures like him," pointing at Kran, "with chains around their necks and legs. They were made to work with whips raining on them like no man's business. The only break they had was once in a day, just for a meal. A meal that could barely fill my stomach. I thought I was dying. That mean doctor offered me food that I had never seen before, so I refused to eat it."