This is a dark, thrilling lesbian romance that explores survival, lust, and the blurred line between love and ruin.
Trigger Warnings: Substance abuse, graphic sexual content, emotional trauma, explicit language.

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I close my door behind me, leaning against it for a moment like it's the only thing holding me up. My room's small but feels like mine.Walls painted in soft tones, old posters I found at the thrift store taped up neat. My bed's covered in a worn blanket, clean sheets I washed by hand. It doesn't look like much, but it's my safe place.

I pull off my hoodie and toss it on the chair, feeling the weight of the day slip off my shoulders. My eyes drift to the mirror propped against the wall. It's cracked in the corner, but it still shows me what I need to see.

I stand in front of it, studying myself like I'm someone else. My skin glows, catching the last bit of light seeping through the blinds. My shoulders are slim, collarbones sharp under smooth brown skin. My breasts are full and soft, enough to draw the eye.My waist dips just enough to make the curve of my hips stand out in my shorts.

My belly's flat, with a faint line that dips down and disappears beneath my shorts. My natural lashes are long and thick, curling over deep brown eyes that see too much. My lips are full and plush, always a little shiny with the cocoa butter I keep in my bag. My nose piercing glints in the low light tiny, delicate, but still sharp.

My hair's tucked under the deep wave wig I saved up for. Even though my real hair is thick and healthy, long enough to brush my shoulders.

I turn slowly, letting the mirror catch every angle, every curve. My skin smells sweet, something warm and honey like I dabbed on my wrists before school. I look at myself,eyes half hooded, lips parted like I'm breathing something new. For a moment, it's like I'm seeing me for the first time.

I let my hand drift up my side, fingertips tracing my skin like I'm testing if it's real. My heart thuds low and slow, a soft beat that only I can feel.

A noise from downstairs breaks the moment mama's laugh, cracked and wet. I swallow it down, blink at my reflection until my face is just a face again.

I slip on some old jeans and a cropped hoodie, tugging the sleeves down over my hands. My phone buzzes on the nightstand.

I grab my bag and head out, door shutting soft behind me.

Downstairs, mama's in the kitchen with some man I've seen around. His eyes flick up when I pass through slow, hungry, the kind of stare that makes my skin crawl.

"Where you off to, girl?" he asks, voice too smooth.

"School," I say, flat.

"You always look so put together. Gonna be trouble for somebody," he says, leaning back.

I don't answer. Just slide past him, out the door into the thick morning air.
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The bus stop's quiet. It's that early hour when everything's still half asleep. Smoke from nearby houses hangs in the air like a low fog, mixing with the scent of wet pavement and the faint tang of last night's weed.

I see a girl in a car parked across the street, window rolled down just enough to catch the faint beat of a song I don't recognize. She's got a lazy, easy look, dark eyes half-lidded as she watches the world pass. She doesn't see me. Or maybe she does, but she don't let it show.

The bus groans to a stop in front of me, door creaking open. I climb on, eyes down, and find a seat by the window. The bus is mostly empty two girls in the back trading whispers, an old man sleeping in his seat, a group of boys near the front talking too loud.

I lean my head against the glass, watching the houses blur by. They're all the same cracked porches, laundry hanging on lines, kids playing in dirt yards that aren't even green no more.

At school, the air feels different heavy and hushed. The halls smell like sweat and cheap soap, the lights too bright against cracked tiles.

Serinity finds me at my locker, all lip gloss and tight jeans. Her hair's laid just right, edges sharp.

"Mia, you good?" she asks, leaning in like she's looking for a secret.

"Yeah," I say, a soft shrug.

She smirks. "You always look good. You know that?"

I don't say nothing. Just smile a little and turn back to my locker.

In class, I sit quiet in the back. My notes are neat, every answer right where it should be. I'm not here to be seen—I'm here to get out.
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After school, I walk to Marty's Mart, the little corner store with the flickering neon sign. My money's tight,bills from babysitting and cleaning up after some lady's drunk brother. I buy a bag of chips and a soda, enough to keep me going.

The man behind the counter gives me a slow grin, eyes too bright.

"Those pretty eyes tell a million stories ya know that?," he says.

I slide my money over, voice flat. "You know a lot huh?."

His laugh is sharp and hollow.
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I walk out the store with the sun low and heavy, painting everything in that late day gold. The streets are still, just a few people moving slow, heads down like the weight of the world's pressing on all of us. My bag crinkles in my hand as I keep moving, each step steady. I feel eyes on me sometimes some soft, some hungry but I keep my head up, let my hips sway like I'm daring them to look.

Back home, mama's passed out on the couch, pipe slipping from her fingers. I move past her like a ghost, climbing the stairs to my room. In the quiet, I take off my wig and shake out my real hair, thick and soft. I press my face into the pillow and breathe deep, letting it all fall away for a minute just me, the girl in the mirror, and the world I'm trying to build from scraps.