Underground

Black boots, bomber jacket, ripped jeans, scene hair, tactical boots.

I stare at my reflection in the dingy bathroom, water dripping from one of the faucets. The white tile is smeared with dirt and God knows what. But it's the only quiet place to think.

How did I get here?

It wasn't always like this. Only two years ago, I was a straight-A senior who also happened to be prom queen. And who had strong friendships, a loving family, and a doting boyfriend.

Now look at me. Someone who was associated with the tweakers and thieves simply for my appearance.

I clench my fists, my dark makeup smudged across my face.

How would I get out of this?