Monday, April 8, 2013

Paint Me Beautiful: a Tale of Anorexia, a Love Story, and the Rebirth of Claire Simone (A Duet)

“I'm dying to be beautiful.”
My story isn't unique. You've heard it before. I'm just a girl who doesn't eat as much as she should. See, I have goals, big ones, and nobody is going to stop me, not even a boy named Emmett. He has good intentions and he's hot as hell, but he doesn't understand what it's like to want something so bad that you'll do anything for it. I'm going to become a model, even if it kills me. Dream big or go home, that's what they always say, right?

Author Bio:
C.M. Stunich was raised under a cover of fog in the area known simply as Eureka, CA. A mysterious place, this strange, arboreal land nursed Caitlin's (yes, that's her name!) desire to write strange fiction novels about wicked monsters, magical trains, and Nemean Lions (Google it!). She currently enjoys drag queens, having too many cats, and tribal bellydance.
Always a fan of the indie scene and 'sticking it to the man,' Ms. Stunich decided to take the road less traveled and forgo the traditional publishing route. You can be assured though that she received several rejections as to ensure her proper place in the world of writers before taking up a friend's offer to start a publishing company. Sarian Royal was born, and Ms. Stunich's books slowly transformed from mere baking chocolate to full blown tortes with hand sculpted fondant flowers.
C.M. is a writer obsessed with delivering the very best and scours her mind on a regular basis to select the most unusual stories for the outside world.

“Yeah, I guess so, but that's okay every once in awhile, isn't it?”
“This is the weirdest first date I've ever been on,” I blurt. Emmett smiles.
“Same here.”
“Then why did you bring me up here?”
“You looked like you needed an escape.” I stare at him for a moment and then pull my phone
out of my back pocket. It's getting late, and I need to do some grooming for tomorrow's casting call.
The immediate danger my family was posing to my mental health and the size of my waistline should
be over, at least for now. Plus, I can always say that I ate with Emmett.
“I should get home,” I tell him, deciding that the truth is probably my best avenue of escape. “I
really do have an early appointment. It's an open call for a print campaign. Seriously, very rare.”
“Oh, come on,” Emmett says, scooting forward a couple of inches so that the toes of our shoes
are touching. “We just got here.” He rests his chin on his knees. “Tell me a little about yourself.” I
frown. This is my least favorite part of dating. I haven't accomplished anything in my life therefore I
have nothing to talk about. I've failed over a hundred casting calls and am as fat as a pig, not exactly
the best discussion topics to reel a guy in. At this point though, I am still not that interested in Emmett
Sinclair. Yes, I want him to like me, and yes, he's cute as hell, but he doesn't understand what it's like
to want something so bad you'd die for it. Nobody does.
“Ten minutes,” I say. “And you first.” Emmett sighs and slaps his hands on the wood floor on
either side of him.
“What do you want to know?” he asks me as I sit up straighter, disgusted at the rolls around my
waist. I doubt Emmett even notices or would care if he did, but it isn't about him – this is about me.
“What would you say is your best quality?” I ask him, thinking that I sound like a game show
host but unable to take the words back. Emmett thinks on this for a moment which, once again,
astounds me. He even considers stupid questions. Good for him.
“I'm trusting,” he says and then squinches up his face a bit. “Is that a weird thing to say about
myself? Maybe I should say I'm gullible?”
“And you're modest, too,” I add, smiling back at him. Emmett chuckles and shakes his head.
“Hardly.” He looks up at me, and the moonlight catches on his brown eyes, making them
shimmer with color and life. I think I could get a crush on this guy pretty easily. If I had time for
crushes, I would welcome Mr. Sinclair with open arms. As things stand, this could be our first and last
date. I decide that if it is, at the very least I should at least let myself taste those lips. They're puffy and
pink and far too nice to be on a man's face. Admittedly, I'm a little jealous. I scoot forward and lean
over, putting my hands on either side of Emmett's knees, dragging my breasts against his jeans as I
press my face close and let my eyelids flicker shut.

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