Her alarm goes off at quarter after five. It's an ungodly time of morning, a time she used to see only when she had yet to go to bed, but the disciplines of her career now insist otherwise. She rises easily, not bothering to hit the snooze button. She doesn't need to. She's not a morning person by nature, but her self-control knows no limits.

Her mornings all play out in a very similar fashion. Wake up. Stretch. Absentmindedly trace the curve of her collarbone; explore the concavity and depth of her clavicle. Her findings used to determine whether or not it'd be a good day but those days had passed too. She now lives her life in such a way that she knows without a single shadow of a doubt that she'll be happy with what she finds. No more breathless mornings, terrified and panicked until she felt for the hollow bone and put herself at ease.

Next, she showers. This was also once one of the worst parts of her day but she had long since conquered that too. Now there is nothing displeasing, no hair or blemish where it shouldn't be. Every Wednesday morning she is scrubbed, waxed, exfoliated and primped within an inch of her life. She also knows she will find the faint outline of bones where she wants them; her ribs, her hips, her spine. Now it's only the really bad days that she has to seek them out, pressing the bone deep enough into her skin to make her wince.

An hour later she exits the bathroom, looking like the Faith Willows everyone expects her to be. The Faith Willows she has always dreamed of being. It's a rare, special thing to achieve the ultimate goal you set for yourself as a child. For those desperate wishes, that thought of 'if this was my life, I swear I'd be happy' to actually become a reality. She has only improved through the years, physically and mentally. She no longer has any major flaws she wishes to fix. She is the best version of herself she can possibly be.

Next comes her phone. Most of her coworkers and friends are glued to the devices the second their eyes open but never Faith. She refuses to have her morning marred with stress of upcoming projects, with disappointing numbers. She is one of the top selling actresses in Hollywood but even for her, news is more often disappointing than not. It's simply the way the business works and Faith knows all about the business. She knows the rules and how important it is to stick to them. Those who try to change the game are not admirable, but foolish. They cause a brilliant light show, sure, have the attention of the whole world as they wait for the next great streak across the sky. But eventually the fireworks fade and with it, so do they.

Faith is not a firework. She does not explode, ignite and disappear. She is a star, unwavering and ever present. She intends to keep it that way.

She goes through her messages as she eats breakfast. Voicemail first. There are four messages. Likely two from her personal assistant, one from her agent and one from an acquaintance.

She is correct.

In between one half of a grapefruit and three egg whites, she checks her text messages. Of these there are much more, which never fails to irritate her. She has little patience for the mundane act of texting, although she does recognize its convenience and adheres to it accordingly. Don't change the rules, just stick to them.

Her days schedule is altered as usual. In about fifteen minutes, her personal assistant Lacey will be calling to confirm all these changes and run through the A-Z of her day. Faith has much appreciation for Lacey and always gets her something from Tiffany's for Christmas, along with a fat check. They are loyal to each other and have joked that they are the healthiest relationship they've each ever had. Sadly, this is probably true.

In the short time before Lacey calls and her day officially begins, she affords herself some peace. These are the relaxing days, the ones where she is not filming. Her schedule becomes entirely different when at the mercy of other during that time but she puts up with it. Not because of any deep sacrifice on her part but because despite her impatience and annoyance, she fucking loves it. Nothing duplicates the feeling of reading an amazing script for the first time, knowing she is meant for the part and no one else. Nothing enthralls her like the exhaustion that comes after finally feeling a scene click, having tangible chemistry with a co-worker and leaving the entire cast and crew in the room in a state of reverence because they know what magic has just occurred too.

The first time that had ever happened was with Landon.

No, not the first time. She had felt like that in acting classes, in the shows she had done before catching the eye of the rest of Hollywood. But this had been the first time it ever counted.

She remembers everything about that day, every last detail. She has relived it millions of times. She knows the cologne he was wearing, the brand of the dress she was in. She remembers the joke he made while they waited for the lights to be adjusted, making her laugh and spreading a surge of warmth through her she didn't know she was capable of. She remembers the way her heart pounded when the director called action. The scene itself was a blur; actors rarely remember their best work, they are far too involved. But when the director called out cut, she was breathless. There had been tears in her eyes from the scene and she was shaking. Landon's eyes were red and he was crying too. It's what the scene had called for but they did not just ace it, they ilived/i it. They truly transcended and she had heard a couple low whistles from several impressed crewmembers.

He had held her, after.

She remembers everything about that day, every last detail. It was the day she had fallen in love with him. It is a perfect memory and she keeps it safe in her mind, never allowing her poisonous thoughts to mar it. Faith is selective with her joy, about what she allows herself to feel and when. She never lets herself think about it anymore. She doesn't want to remind herself of the good. So she reminds herself of the bad. She reminds herself of the barely legal C-list starlet she had caught him fucking six months into their marriage. She reminds herself of the Doctor's kind words as she laid down on the operating table, ready to rid of the child that somewhere in her, she really did want. She reminds herself of every crass thing he had ever said, of every cheap insult he hurled her way.

She uses these things to be strong. She is done being weak. Despite her pain and despite her anger, she had gone back to him so many times. She had fallen into his arms at hotels and suites, had passionate, loathing, mind-blowing sex and uttered profanities about him to anybody who would listen.

But that is not Faith Willows anymore. That was who she used to be. The weak-willed woman who had allowed herself to indulge in destructive behavior, who had loved the wrong man, who had had all the wrong habits. Now nothing can get to her, nobody can come close to touching her. Her self-control is endless, relentless and she is everything she has ever wanted to be. She is not whole, but she never asked to be whole. She asked to be perfect. And she figures the sacrifices she has made are worth it.