She hated the daylight with a searing passion. She much more preferred to spend her lonely days in darkness. Darkness made everything not so real. She sat at the computer, in her darkness. Its glow constantly confirming that something did live here.

Something, yes. She thought. I cannot possibly be human.

She paused from her blank fixation on the computer screen. She had eaten to many Loratabs and her brain had checked out. Her eyes were barely open and she herself was hardly coherent.

She glanced at the clock. The bright red numbers laughed at her as she sighed in defeat. It was only 10:14, PM that is. It was still early. He wouldn't be online until at least one in the morning.

Him. He was the only reason she ever really got up at all. He was her lifeline, her everything. He had several times saved herself from the dangers of herself, kept the razors from her wrists. He knew everything about her and yet knew nothing at all.

She may be young and slightly naive, but she knew it was love she felt for him. And he breathed love for her too. Love. It was a notion not ever brought upon by her parents or fellow peers. Ha. No, she was a freak, remember?

Her heart began to beat faster as the memories came pounding back into her skull. They looked at her differently with malice and preturbance. She was a freak because hated society. Because she was antisocial and detached from the human race, and also herself. She squeezed her eyes close in effort to banish the reoccurring memories.

No, she'd rather sit in darkness, alone. She was always in her room. She was safe in there. She spun around in her desk chair and tripped over clothes to the stereo sitting on the stand against a wall of her room. She paused the music that came screaming through the speakers. And opened the mouth of her stereo to switch CDs. She hit play with her fingertip roughly, letting her arm fall heavily against her side. The soothing instrumentals of Nine Inch Nails came swirling in and around her ears.

"Damn," She said aloud. Her voice was hoarse. It had been nearly eleven hours since her vocal folds had air pass through them creating sound. She rolled her chair through the mess on the floor to the mattress that lay on the other side. She let her body go entirely limp and dropped onto her bed.

She had missed school today, something that wasn't really unusual. She had told her mom she was sick and her mom reluctantly succumbed knowing the truth but not really caring enough to challenge her. In return, she had popped four Loratabs.

The big ones, she thought, with the blue speckles in them.

She grinned. Being so far gone made life so much more livable. It made the hours pass like minutes. Days pass like hours.

She lay there as the mattress turned to Jell-O beneath her. She let her head fall on its cheek and her eyes shifting from poster to poster. They blurred into an array of colors.

I'm fucked up, she thought to herself or perhaps said aloud. Her senses were hardly in functioning order to decipher.

Her thoughts wondered to him again. She could hardly banish the excitement from herself at the idea of him. He was perfect. Their time together was a thrilling fervid era. It was conceivably unbelievable the longevity of their relationship.

She wanted to be with him now though. She no longer wanted to wait. It was time. There was nearly a year left of her incarcerated inside the walls. Nearly a year left before her emancipation from her insatiable self-inflicted misery.

He would rectify that. She was credulously sure of it. He would take her away from all this. They would get to be together, naked in their own sublime without sin.

A door slammed beneath her floor sending a terrific fear throughout the house.

She forced her cerulean eyes to focus in on the timekeeper by her stereo. 10:32, it read. Her dad was two minutes late. He was drunk as well, this man they called her father.

She heard the pounding of footsteps and she sighed knowing the routine. She was bored of this rut her life had become. Those relentless feelings of fear, enmity, and disgust that continually festered inside her.

It grew tiresome. These feelings had become worn out. They were horribly cliché and she longed to feel something, anything different from this.

As if for sanity or perhaps even survival purposes her body had killed off most if not all of its emotion. She lived her life numb. Well, except for him. He envoked passion.

She laid still on her bed and concentrated hard for her arm to move. It flopped around

franticly searching for her treasure. Her fingertips brushed over it, rolling the cylinder object. She retraced her movements and her fingers latched around the pill bottle.

She brought the bottle to her glazed over eyes and read the label. Tyler Keaton.

Of course she was not Tyler Keaton, but the pseudonym proved useful. If her mom or, pray it not be so, her father ever did stumbled across the bottle she could manipulate their findings. Her eyes scanned over the black printed words still.

Maxifed. In a former life the bottle innocently held allergy medicine. But now it was an accessory to her crimes. It held everything from Loratabs and Klonopins to ecstasy and even sometimes cocaine. She opened the child-locked bottle, a "small" feat for someone with intense painkillers pulsating through them. The pills spilled out into her dirty palm.

Six. She broke one in half and swallowed it before tossing the bottle back into the sea of disorder on her floor.

Savage screaming rang dangerously close to her sanctuary. She curled up her body, pressing her knees to her chest. She let her short raven-colored hair cover her eyes as she tired to block out the vicious sounds of her parents. The malevolence of her father crept closer to her. And she could feel him standing on the other side of her door.

She forced her eyes closed to convey nothing but sleeping innocence, but her body protested unwilling to be at such a disadvantage if the enemy did decide to enter her territory.

The enemy did, and seconds after her eyes submitted to reason he burst through the door with immense rage. She remained still as she felt her father's eyes burning into her. He kicked the mattress roughly and she moved slightly but didn't "awaken." Her father seemed satisfied by her response and left with a beast-like grunt.

She stayed in this position for minutes after his departure too petrified to move. She was too disconnected with reality to realize that he had left her unharmed. Slowly, she persuaded herself to open her teary eyes. Everything was exactly the way she had left it.

Se she told herself, nothing happened. She sat up now and picked up her cigarettes. With mild trouble, she found her way to the window next to her bed. Her flaccid arms created an obstacle in opening the glass protection. Once this had been accomplished she lit the poisonous stick and inhaled gratefully.

Her mind quieted as she watched the cigarette burn between her fingers. She exhaled and let the smoke blow out the window.

Ahh, she breathed satisfied. The music crescendo and it tuned out her surroundings for her. Her eyelids returned to their previous condition half lowered over her eyes. She felt her body again go limp and she lay there, barely able to put the cigarette to her lips.