By the time Harper stumbled out of Sean’s house, it was early morning. The previous evening—and all through the night—was a blur. She felt incredibly light and full of too much energy to go home.

Instead, Harper drove straight to the gym, thankful it opened at five in the morning. She peeled off the torn and stained dress, crisp with countless orgasms. As she pulled up the leggings and a skin-tight wet-wicking tank top, she got a glimpse of the thick peach fuzz that had started to crop up on her arms. Harper examined her face, neck and chest in the mirror. Fucking lanugo. After the elliptical, she’d have to do a full-body shave in the gym showers.

It had been almost a full day since she’d eaten. Sean had instructed her on what to have for lunch yesterday. Having him direct her, complete with strict orders on what to eat and how much, it was like she’d been given permission. For once, she’d been allowed to eat without counting calories. Not once did she assess how easy a bite would be to purge.

Normally she’d be hungry. She was a morning eater on good days and forced whatever small bites she took to sustain her throughout the day. But today was different.

“You’re addicted,” she’d laughed into his ear last night. “Insatiable.” It had been after their third fuck, and the black robe made her feel safe.

“I’m okay being addicted to you,” he’d said.

That line rang through her head as she began the endless rounds on the elliptical. It empowered her. It wasn’t just the strength of his response, but the power she felt in not eating. In not even being tempted. The thought of food didn’t intrigue or disgust her. She simply wasn’t interested.

I can be anoretic after all, she thought. Fuck Alfie. Not eating, combined with these kinds of workouts, that would show the naysayers. All those pretentious clients who thought it was easy to starve yourself. To be a size 00 when you’ve got Amazonian proportions. It is easy. It is.

Harper broke her own record with 150 minutes on the elliptical. She’d bested two different girls who hopped on the machine beside her. As always, they stole glances at her numbers. One was probably the same size as Harper, but four inches shorter. The other was encased in layers of fat, easily a size eight.

She could see the judgment in their eyes. Who does this gangling redhead think she is? They’d both glared at her when they got off the machine, incapable of keeping up with her.

With a high she’d never reached before, she completed the two and a half hours and slowed her legs to a halt. Water. I’m just taking a break for some water.

But when she stepped off the machine, it was like getting off a trampoline. Her legs trembled and didn’t understand the new ground. Harper made it halfway to the water fountain before she fell.

Even as her palms hit the hard linoleum, all she could think was, Please, God, don’t let people stare at me.

“Harper?” The familiar voice sounded miles away, though she saw the shadow right over her. “What’s wrong?” It was Molly. When did she get here? “Helena! Helena!”

Was the whole fucking house here? And since when did Helena work out?

Helena and Molly hovered over her, along with one of the bulked-up trainers who overtly stared at Harper’s ass whenever she walked by. “Give her room,” the trainer said. “She needs to breathe. I know CPR.”

Harper couldn’t focus on anyone. Molly and Helena looked faint with blurred edges. Helena, your crow’s feet are gone, she wanted to say. It almost made her laugh.

“Her heart’s racing,” the trainer said. She felt a light pressure on her wrist. “Jesus, this can’t be right, two hundred and twenty beats per minute.”

“She has the high blood pressure,” Helena said quickly.

“Yeah, I train in L.A.,” the trainer said shortly. “I know high blood pressure is a side effect of anorexia.”

It is? Harper knew her blood pressure had slowly increased over the years, but thought it just happened when you got older. And tried to force yourself to be a smoker.

“We have to call an ambulance,” the trainer said.

“Yes, is best,” Helena agreed.

“No!” Harper shouted. It came out louder than she would have liked, but at least she got her point across. “I’m okay, I just went too hard.”

Helena looked dour. “Harper, is not good. You need the professional help.”

“Listen to your mom,” the trainer said. “I’m calling 9-1-1-.”

“I’m not her mother!” Helena said with utter disgust. “How old you think I am?”

“No ambulance,” Harper repeated. She made herself sit up, though it caused her world to spin.

“If you’re … Christ, you’re an adult,” the trainer said. “I can’t make you. If you’re sure …”

“I’m sure.”

“Let’s get you some water,” Helena said. As the trainer helped Harper to her feet and towards a bench, she became aware that the entire gym still stared at her. Was that girl on the treadmill trying to take a covert picture?

“Here, drink,” Helena said, and shoved a pink bottle into Harper’s hands.

Molly sat beside Harper and gently rubbed her knee. She tried not to wince. Molly hit the bruises from last night just right.

“You, uh … let me know if you need anything,” the trainer said. He sized up the three tall, thin women. A redhead, an older eastern European, and a half-black girl. She could tell he tried to make sense of their relationship, but struggled.

“I still think ambulance is good idea,” Helena said.

“No, I’m fine. Really.”

“Oh, really? Then what’s this?” Helena asked as she traced an accusing finger along the lanugo on Harper’s arm.

“Haven’t waxed in awhile,” Harper said sullenly.

“Look, I make you deal. You get to my car okay, no help, then no ambulance. Molly, you have banana?”

“Oh, yeah,” Molly said as she started to dig through her bag.

“All sugar—” Harper began.

“Exactly,” Helena said. “Eat. Molly, is okay. Go back to your workout, I time you from here.”

“But I—”

“Go. You going to listen to me or not?”

Molly got to her feet and walked slowly back to the treadmill.

Helena sighed and looked around. The gym had largely gone back to their pre-drama self-obsession. “Harper,” Helena said softly. “Your body, it can’t take the restriction like it used to.”

“It can. I—”

“I know better than you. Some girls, is easy,” Helena said with a shrug. “They starve their whole life, and is okay. Some girls, they’re body not so tough. Is nothing to be ashamed of.”

Harper hung her head. Weak, just say it, Helena.

“Can I make suggestion? If I were you, I would start looking for other type of work.”

“What? No! I’m just twenty-five, I—”

Helena laughed, but there was kindness in it. “Just?” she asked. “Harper, maybe models don’t all have to be thirteen years old anymore. But twenty-five? Is not young. You keep going like this, you die.”

“I don’t have anything else,” Harper said finally.

Helena patted her hand. “You eat,” she said, and pointed to banana. “Why look like a corpse for no reason?”

Harper’s mouth dropped open. A corpse? I wish.

“Every model’s career ends some time. Your time, is just a little earlier than others.”

“I don’t want it to end,” Harper said. Her hands started to peel the banana, though her mind resisted. It was like somebody else was in control of her fingers.

“Look, I like you. You good girl,” Helena said. “For that, we wait two weeks before I tell management company that you’re done. In that time, you find other place to live and work. Is good?”

“Two weeks?” Harper asked. She bit into the sweet softness of the banana. Real sugar, not that Stevia crap, coated her tongue. Somewhere in the distance, a tiny animal made happy mewling sounds. It wasn’t until she was halfway through that she realized it was her.

“Two weeks is long time,” Helena said. “Lot can happen.” She sighed. “Molly, she not as committed as you, look.”

Across the gym, Molly languidly walk-jogged on the treadmill as she stared intently at the television.

“I go whip her in shape. You stay here, I drive you both home.”

Harper knew it was pointless to argue. She pulled her knees up below her chin and finished the banana. One hundred and fifty calories, thirty grams of sugar and carbs, who gave a fuck? She’d just un-raveled the past two and a half hours of work.

As she watched Helena yell at Molly to go faster, a rage boiled up inside her. Harper closed her eyes and disappeared into a dark place. Fat, heavy tears spilled down her face.

Done? At twenty-five? What would her mom say? Or P, or the rest of the fucking modeling world? What about the show?

What about Sean?

She couldn’t imagine how disappointed he’d be in her. Who was forced into retirement at twenty-five years old? “Are you okay?” Harper opened her eyes. An unfamiliar stick of a girl, likely not out of high school yet, looked her up and down. She was a model, Harper could tell. It was in how she carried herself, shoulders back and pelvis forward.

“Fucking fantastic,” Harper said.

The girls’ eyes widened in fear and she scuttled away towards the elliptical. It was the same one Harper had abandoned. She hadn’t even had a chance to wipe it down.