I curl myself into a ball, the cold tiles of the bathroom floor keeping me grounded.

Bitter self-hatred tears at me like cancerous cells, devouring me.

I stand, shakily, clutching the edges of the porcelain sink with all my might.

He used me. Took what he wanted and cast me aside.

I let him.

I liked it.

In a way. All my life, I've resigned myself to this fate; a whore's fate.

By hook or by crook, that was my fate.

My mother always told me that.

I fought and fought; tirelessly. Relentlessly.

I would never lose myself. I would never be that. I would fight.

Either way, I look at myself in the mirror and I find myself wondering who stares at me.

Luciano Vitale had nothing to do with that.

In my mind's eye, I can see the girl I used to be.

I can see her fighting every man.

I can see her fighting for herself.

I can see her painting horizons and dream of being there.

I remember the stories she wrote, the songs she wrote.

I can see her, alone, huddled behind the crowd.

I can see her, but she's gone.

Now I'm a woman who can't look herself in the eyes.

My manicured hand, swiped a tear away, numbly taking a towel and wiping the makeup from my face.

I look at myself two grey eyes looking back at me.

Two very different grey eyes.

One full of fire, hope, and light.

The other dull, resigned, numb.

Blinking rapidly, the image changes.

Now two dull, lifeless eyes stare back at me.

I drop my head for a moment.

Then I glance up, staring back at my reflection.

"We could've been better," I whisper to her.

"We could've been so much better."

You know that girl you hated in high school?

You know that girl you hated in high school?

The Queen Bee?

The girl who slept with everyone, who bullied nerds, and geeks?

The one that sat at the popular table and wore too much makeup?

That girl was me.

That's why I'm so good at this.

Being a bitch, being an unapologetic slut.

So when I wake up the next morning, I put on a mask of makeup, making me ugly, burying the reluctant beauty I possess.

The closet is full of slutty clothes, so I put on the tightest shorts I can, the smallest shirt I can.

I strut into the kitchen, ignoring eyes on me.

There are about ten people in the kitchen; this is where the most important people eat.

The girls start whispering, casting shameful glances my way.

They're all mostly married, and prominent members of the Family.

I pay them no mind, grabbing a Poptart and chucking it into the toaster.

"You're beautiful," a voice says behind me.

What makes me turn is the fact that voice isn't a man's.

It's a woman's.

"I don't roll that way, sorry. You're cute but I-"

"Why do you hide under makeup? You're beautiful." She states.

I glance at her once more, taking in her image.

She's gorgeous, her blue eyes bright, black hair wavy, down her back.

Her skin is an unblemished olive tone, and her body is perfect.

She looks about my age, maybe a few years younger.

"I'm not hiding under anything. Now get lost,"

Slutty Barbie doesn't cut with her. She ignores my insults, determined to compliment me.

"Whatever you say. I'm Deena, what's your name?"

"Have I not made it clear, I don't want to talk to you?" I snap.

"You did. Have I not made it clear that I don't care?"

The bubble of laughter that comes from me is unstoppable.

God, this girl is awesome.

"I'm Savannah," I smile.

Something sparks in her eyes, something like achievement.

"Well, you just got a new best friend, Savannah. You'll regret it soon." She grins mischievously, wriggling her eyebrows weirdly.

"You're so weird," I chuckle.

"Meh," she shrugs. "Normal scares me."

Padding over to the toaster, she grabs one of my pop tarts, biting into it immediately.

"So why are you here?" She asks, a mouthful of my pop tarts.

"Why are you eating my food is the real question."

"I'm your new your best friend," she swallows, swaying her hand in a duh motion at me.

"You feed friends. Besides, you look you a lotta work, so I need energy."

Chuckling, I let it go, grabbing the other.

"Now answer my question. Why are you here?"

"I saw something I shouldn't have, got kidnapped and now I'm the Boss' whore," I shrug.

Deena nods nonplussed.

"What about you?"

"I was rescued," she replies simply, eyes dilating.

"Let's go to the game room, okay?"

There's a game room?