Casey stepped back into her apartment after a long day with her modelling agency, pulling off her cream heels and tossing them aside. Shaking out her long hair from it's ponytail, she pulled off the jeans and jacket she wore, stepping into the shower. Hot water poured over her skin, hotter than it should be and stinging slightly as she winced. Stop it. You need this. You need this, Casey.
After ten minutes in the shower, she dressed in her panties and bra, before standing in front of the mirror. Staring at her reflection, her eyes trailed down to her stomach, her thighs and hips, a look of disgust crossing her face. "You're a fucking model for Christ's sake." she murmured to herself. "But you look like a goddamn cow. Who'll hire you when you look like this?"
The agencies loved her. However, subtly, they'd drop in the occasional "Oh, this dress looks a touch too tight", or even a "You're looking a little rounder today Casey." It was enough to cause Casey to reduce her eating, until all she was consuming was water, alcohol, cigarettes and a few small handfuls of things every so often. A stylist had even suggested "You know, throwing up? It really works wonders. 5 kilograms in a week."
Throwing on a jumper and tights, Casey wandered onto her balcony, lighting a cigarette and tilting her head back, breathing in the warm, welcoming feel. It was almost like a security blanket now. Each breath signifying each kilo slowly wasting away.
She'd even started to put off leaving her house unless it were for school or work. Wearing clothes that were becoming increasingly bigger on her already tiny frame. But how long could she do this till someone found out? How long until she simply broke?