"The stunning top model Ashley Perkins caught drinking Pepsi at the car valet at KFC! Did she breach her contract with Mojo Garden with her unconsiderate action?"

I'm flustered as soon as I read the article. Who the fuck sent this to the press? The more Mom tries to calm me down, the more I freak out. Molly Tedford isn't going to be happy. She's my agent and knows better than anybody that I can't afford to screw up.

"Come on, Ashley," says Mom, "it's just an advertising contract! They can't be total jerks and force you to only drink those disgusting... I don't even know how to call them!"

"Mom, it doesn't matter. What matters is that someone took me a picture behind my back and sent it to the press! Molly is going to kill me!" I literally pull my hair as I panic. My breath is ragged and my face has just turned beet red. How can I get out of this mess?

"Molly isn't God. She'll understand. Do you really think she can destroy your career just for a Pepsi during your free time?" If, on one hand, Mom isn't completely wrong, the point is that I'm under a strict contract and was supposed to respect it. Instead, I chose to follow my instinct. That's going to cost me my stay at the agency.

"I hope you're right. If not, I'll have to start sending job applications again." I put my hands in my hair and sigh. How can my actions hurt my reputation, and to what extent? Why do I feel like I have to show off an unreal personality to the point that I have to cancel my true self? How long do I have to bare with the pressure of being perfect before I realize it's too late?

I decide to write a long e-mail to Molly, apologizing for the incident but also telling her that I'm going to make a difficult but much needed decision. Whether she likes it or not, she has to accept it. There isn't much I can do now apart from waiting for an answer.

***

I walk out of the coffee shop, enjoying my temporary freedom after being released from that contract. There are so many opportunities out there to explore, I can't stick to just one, especially if I start to see its dark side.

Before I can realize it, I hear my phone ringing. Hoping it's good news, I pick up. "Hello, how are you-"

"Ashley, have you seen Molly's last Instagram post?" Mom's frazzled voice shatters my chance at having a good day, void of stress. "It looks like she's going full blow mode on you."

As much as I'd like to see exactly what that snake wrote about me, I decide not to. She belongs to the past. I'm not supposed to deal with any more negativity.

This is why I reply, "Well, I don't care. We both made a choice, after all. If you happen to see any more posts by her, just tell her to piss off."