'BREABULIMIA.' It covered the front page in ugly block letters, with all caps for extra bonus. It crowned an image of her crouching over a toilet fingers down her throat. She still remembered it, the smell of piss, stale blood, and the sushi she was gagging out.
She sighed, and threw the paper across the room. One girl, who wore too much eyeliner brimming with temporary insecurities, one girl with her head in the clouds, brought crashing down by the ends of her extensions. One girl told she was a bad fuck. Let her boss fill her with drinks, and false sediments, and shes gagging her guts out half an hour later, for it was the only thing to do that made sense.
All it takes is one tipped of preteen, with a mobile phone, and she made headlines. Two months later she still was. It doesnt matter that when she woke up the next day with a killer hangover, looked in the mirror and decided that dried puke, couldnt be good for the skin, doesnt matter that the shaggy haired pizza boys moans were enough to prove that she still had it, and it sure as hell didnt matter that she never did it again. She was a labelled bulimic. The media had a field day; Brea Bulimia was her new name, and she could never go to the bathroom without raising suspicion.
Brea however was not one to be messed with, and revenge wasnt a foreign concept to her. So when she posted photo-shopped pictures of her ex-boyfriends dick on the internet, she was disappointed she didnt think of anything better. When he called her two days later to confess that he was gay, and thats why the sex wasnt exciting him, and claimed that his prospected boy toy ditched him when he saw the images, she didnt feel the slightest bit of guilt. After all at the end of the day, it gave her more publicity, and she was probably doing him a favour as well, he and his crappy band needed all the coverage they could get.
She was the most talked about thing since Pete Wentzs dick, which was not what he attended when he slipped that blond whore a note to meet him in the ladies bathroom. It wasnt at all what he attended when his blow job was cut short by the sounds of puking. However the opportunity was too good to pass up, so he grabbed the her phone, and took a couple of images, tipped her off to the newspapers that would pay the highest, and it was all set.
The results were great, much greater then what he had planned. He was overshadowed, and didnt like that at all. Pete knew better then anyone that bad publicity was the best kind, and it was a lesson to Brea that when your Pete Wentzs favourite bad publicity was all you seem to get.
The continuous influx myspace comments comforting her that her insecurities were unfounded, shameless myspace whores asking how to get their hair as rad as hers, and 13 year old suck-ups hoping to get on her good side, and be Fall Out Boys next groupie were sadly a waste of time. Brea didnt have a good side, and she rarely had any insecurities.
She was gorgeous and talented, and she knew it. So when she left home at 16 with her band mates in their early 20s, with nothing but a bag of clothes, her dads old guitar, and 600 quid, she had no qualms about using her body to her advantage. Tight tops, and short skirts, were all the filled her small gym bag. It was her body, and goddammit it was going to feed her.
Her band mates were a worthless bunch, quite happy with staying a garage band. So while she climbed the ladder of importance, she left them on the lower rungs, and grabbed more along the way. Except Seb, he had more sense then the rest of them, and a pretty face to match, and whether she would admit it or not she had a soft spot for him.
She only fucked a guy once for her own uses. He was the owner of a small record company, and was going to record their demo with a little persuasion. She was 17, he 27. He was fat, with greasy hair, and smelt of eggs. She didnt care, she closed her eyes, breathed through her nose, and moaned every once in a while.
A month later Pete Wentz discovered her and her band, ElekricChaos; but mostly her, he was smart enough to know that sometimes a pretty face was better then a pretty voice. A few days later they were signed on Decaydance, and Pete proclaimed then the next big thing. Brea was his favourite they were seen together at all the right premiers, and parties, and acted like the best of friends. Behind the fake smiles, and black eyes, there was no regard, occasionally respect, for they both knew that each would gladly stab their mother in the back to get what they wanted.
With their success came the fact that everyone wanted to know about there past. Rumours of a small record label owner, willing to give an exclusive interview reached her ears, and she paid him a little visit.
She offered him money, drugs; she offered to suck his dick, anything to keep his mouth shut. Turns out Pete offered more. The interview was printed a week later. The slut comments followed it by fifteen minutes.
She was mad, so fucking mad. She stormed at Pete with words no one else dared to say. He simply put his arm around her, and laughed.
"Sit back and watch it explode babe, by the end of the week your name will be on everyones lips."
So thats what she did. After all theres no such publicity as bad publicity.
Loaded words, and loaded friends.
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