A/N: This is far too short, and not even really a fanfic as the character hasn't come into the program yet and isn't going to be Louise's niece's best friend even if she does. Louise doesn't even have a niece. Or a sister, for that matter (as far as I know). But... well... I was bored. And I don't know much about eating disorders other than what the few books I've read involving it say either. shot

They're all against me. My family, who are supposed to love me, are in on it, sneaking food into my room and hoping that if they just stay silent, I'll eventually scoff it; the teachers at my school, who go nosing around if I don't go into the canteen and whisper amongst themselves about me; my so-called friends, who are constantly nagging me ("Oh, go on, it's only a cake/slice of pizza/ice cream") and trying to force me to see someone about "it", whatever "it" is supposed to be. I hate it the most because when they leave food in my room I sometimes can't help myself. Stupid fat me pigs out on the meal, and then I have to creep past them and try to stop them from hearing or seeing me as I throw up. In our holiday home there's an outside toilet, but back at home I have to be very careful. Had, I should say. I don't think I'm going back any day now. That's what Marie says. She says you have to ignore the past and move forward, keep trying, keep working. She's a model too; she's prettier than me. When I came down here, I was a bit of a mess - I left in a hurry and didn't plan enough. When I went to the agency to see if they had work she spotted me, and rescued me. I'm staying with her, her and her partner. I've told her I'm a bit ill to explain all the times I've been throwing up. She's lovely and doesn't pressure me but I feel rude if I don't eat any of the lovely food her partner cooks, and then when I've started I find that I can't stop and eat everything. I think she believes me but she looks at me oddly every so often. Sadly.

I'm leaving soon, so the 'ill' excuse should hold out until then. I've done quite a bit of modelling since I got here, for various things, but now that's run dry Marie suggested I go somewhere smaller. "There's too much competition here," she told me. "No matter how beautiful you are it's tough - you should go somewhere smaller. I've an aunt who lives up north, she's the sort of person who'll know if there's any work to be had. Here - I'll write down her address."

I've got the scrap of paper beside my bed. I love looking at it; it lets me dream about success and happiness. I keep imagining the village. It's quite small, so I bet everyone knows each other. It'll be like those awful sickly books I used to secretly enjoy - everyone will be so nice. It won't be like here, and they won't try and force me to do anything I don't want to. They won't bully me and try to fatten me up. And it'll be nice to chat to people of my own age again - Marie's two years older than me and although she doesn't treat me like I'm inferior to her I can't help noticing how much more mature than me she is.

Marie's handwriting is beautifully neat, and when I look at my writing beside it it seems clumsy and blotched. I can close my eyes and imagine the words, and it never fails to make me smile. Marie's aunt is called Louise Summers. It's a nice surname, Summers, it sounds friendly. I imagine her as quite like Marie: tall, dark-haired, probably quite pretty. After all, she's not much older than Marie. (Marie's mother is only thirty-seven, having been eighteen when she gave birth - imagine, only a year older than me - and Louise is younger than her. My aunt's nearly fifty.)

And if she's like Marie then she'll look after me - so then I'll get work, and I'll be happy. And it'll serve my parents right for drying to drag me to a psychologist. A psychologist, I ask you! There's nothing wrong with me. I mean I'm only human but I'm fine.

Or I will be soon, anyway.