Let's just pretend I didn't change the cover for, like, the sixth time

As for the late update, blame my cReAtIvItY, not me

[unedited]

[too short to be legal but--]

The number of notification pop-ups on my home screen is more than I can bear. With a swipe of my finger, they all disappear, leaving me with the time: 7:16 A.M.

I know I shouldn't, I know it's bad for me, but I can't help it. I type out my password and my phone unlocks to the WhatsApp page I left it on last night. Over a hundred messages. Probably even over two hundred. Or three.

How did so many people get my personal number? Did Skyler give it out? Or was my phone hacked? I click over to Updater before I can hesitate and am shocked at the amount of notifications. Sure, I'm used to the overflow on my Ava account, but on my Avaline Quinn one? No one ever associates with Avaline Quinn.

It hurts that I care so much about other people's opinions. It hurts that I need to know that my fans still like me. It makes me feel worthless on my own. It makes me feel self-absorbed and vain. And yet I can't help it. My entire life has been about this. Putting on makeup, pulling on wigs--and for what?

Actually, I know for what. So that people will like me. So that I will gain thousands of followers on social media and be known to the world as a beautiful top model. Maybe I deserve this. Maybe this is the universe's revenge. For stealing so many other model's potential jobs while they have true beauty and I all I have to give is...nothing. Nothing, not even a connection with another true model, Skyler.

"Avaline Quinn, are you ready yet?" My door is thrown open and I look up to see my mom standing in the doorway, her hands on her hips, glowering down at me. Her eyes land on the phone in my hand and she must catch a glimpse of what's on it, because her lips curl into a sneer and she almost looks amused. Then she snaps, "We're leaving. Now." and storms out, slamming the door shut behind her.

I stand up slowly, feeling almost as if I'm in a trance. Just yesterday I lost Skyler and got outed on social media, now today I'm going to an interview? What if they pester me with questions about my identity? What if they forcibly remove my wig? What if...what if they hate me?

I try to shut the narcissist side of me out as I slink out the door, down the hallway, and into the Mercedes Hannah's waiting in outside.

"Where's Mom?"

"She's taking another car." Because she doesn't want to be seen riding with you, I can almost hear Hannah add silently. I'm sure my mother would rather be with Skyler right now, accompanying her to some shoot where she won't be interrogated and shamed.

"That's great," I murmur, not in the mood to chit-chat with Hannah. Hannah casts a concerned glance in my direction, then fixes the bobby pin in her hair and starts the car, her face clouded with worry and...exhaustion.