Katia Johannsen sighed as she looked at her reflection the mirror. There she was, as everyone in the world—or so it seemed—knew her. A perfect thin body without a scrap of extra fat on it. Long, well-shaped legs. A tiny waist. A flat as a washboard stomach. An amply supplied chest. A slightly long neck. A delicate face. Thick, shining brown hair that cascaded down her back. And then, of course, her eyes.
Katia loved her eyes, and they were all that she loved. Any of her other features could be found on anyone in the business she was in. The long legs, the nice figure, and even the long brown hair belonged to many other people like herself. But her eyes, they were her own. They were a deep, dark blue color that shone violet in the light.
The doctors had told her that violet eyes were very rare, and indeed, they had been right; Katia had never in her life met anyone else with the same violet eyes that she possessed. And that was why she loved them so. They were truly her own, and as long as she had them, she knew that she really was herself on the inside.
That was on the inside. On the outside, however, things were different. Katia was a whole different person. G-d, she hated that. On so many days, she wished that she could just give up the mask that she wore every single day of her tortured life and show everyone who she really was, or, better yet, just go somewhere by herself and never speak to anyone else ever again. Even better than that, take away her life and never again have to deal with the pain that life handed her.
But that couldn't happen. There were too many people working with and for her, too many people who depended so strongly on her that if she was gone, they would be as good as dead too. And even if she pretended to be confident and apathetic of people around her sometimes, the truth was that she cared about their well-being a whole lot more than her own. Besides, Katia didn't have the courage to kill herself. If someone else did it for her, well, that was that, but as much as she wanted to sometimes, she just couldn't work up the motivation to actually do it.
So, you're probably wondering, who is she, anyway? That's actually a very good question, one that Katia pondered as she lay awake many nights. She hadn't known the answer to that one since she was six years old, and she was left alone on this earth, to live, die, G-d only knew. Until social services came and solved that problem.
The only answer to that question, who is Katia, that she knew was the answer that other people hand. To the reporters, she was Katia Johannsen, world-famous supermodel. To women, she was someone to be insanely jealous of. To little girls, she was someone to look up to and mimick. And to men, she was one of the most beautiful women ever to walk the earth.
That caused her so much trouble and pain. Katia couldn't walk into a room anymore without guys, particularly the older ones, coming up to her, buying her drinks, asking for her number, trying to touch places they shouldn't be touching. Katia often came home in tears these days because she had been violated so awfully by drunk men.
Maybe it would have been different if she was so renowned across the world for something that was actually a talent. But..modeling? Katia, personally, hated it and did it without any thought. It wasn't hard—someone put on the clothes and makeup on you and you went out there and either walked down the runway or did what the director told you while someone else snapped pictures. And yet, it had gotten her millions of dollars. Katia didn't understand it. She didn't understand why someone didn't come up to her, slap in her in the face, and proclaim to everyone watching—for somebody was always watching Katia—that she was a fake, that what she was doing to get all of the fame was jack shit, and that she didn't deserve any of this recognition. Katia had wanted to do that herself many, many times.
Katia wished with all of her heart that it would happen someday. That her career would just suddenly be over for some reason that was beyond her control and that no one would ever pay attention to her again and that she could go and live undisturbed somewhere, and maybe finally find someone that actually cared about her for who she really was instead of for this fake character that everyone thought she was today.
Little did she know, there was someone who already felt that way, and he was closer than