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What was left?

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What was left?
What was left? Neomie wondered, sitting alone on her small, unmade bed. The last few weeks had been absolute hell and had left her with nothing. No pride. No dignity. No nothing and the media, the media of all people had done it to her. She’d worked for them. Trusted them, but they, the disloyal, back-stabbing jerks had turned around and spat in her face. So much for confidentiality she thought furiously.
Looking around the room, she sighed. She should probably clear this up, she thought sadly, her trashed possessions surrounding her. Getting slowly to her feet, her shoulders began to shake. Why? That was the only thing she wanted to know. Why had they done this to her? What did it do for them? They’d ruined her life and didn’t even care.
Breaking down onto her bed, Neomie cried into her pillow, wrapping her thick duvet around her emaciated figure. It was her life and they’d no right. No right at all. It had been her secret. It had been her responsibility, not theirs. She hadn’t even had time to warn her boyfriend. And now, now it was too late. Now he’d left her, unable to cope with it. Unable to cope with her. It wasn’t fair. And that was why it had to end. That was why she couldn’t go on. Nobody would miss her anyway, she thought. They probably wouldn’t even notice. Like always, it would be the top story for what? A week and then her name would be forgotten. Lost in cyber-space forever.
Some people would probably remember her though, she told herself. They’d probably be old loners trying to get themselves off, maybe watching one of her old ads. Those had been the good old days she reminisced, the faint outline of a smile breaking through her tears. She had enjoyed her job. Loads of people had asked her how she could bring herself to do it. Go on TV half naked and dance around like a stripper for Marks and Spencer’s. But that had been her love. It had been her passion in life. To be honest, what girl hadn’t once dreamt of modelling, even if it had meant using your body as a sex icon for all British lads to drool over?
Lifting herself to her feet, Neomie walked across to her dresser unsteadily. Studying the variety of different pills which lay in boxes all over the shelf, she quickly emptied a pot of aspirin into her mouth, quickly followed by a pot of paracetamol and a few long gulps of whisky. That should do it she thought, sitting down once more. Now they’d understand. See what they’d done to her. Now they’d feel sorry, but by the time they’d find her it would be too late.
Her vision swimming before her, Neomie sighed slowly as she heard the first frantic knocks pounding against her door. There was a loud crack as the door was broken down and all went black.





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