A girl sits on a bed in a room. The room smells like cat **** and Fabuloso (whatever the name of the yellow scent is). The black-out curtains are open, letting the moon shine onto the bottom of the bed. The lavender fitted sheet has come undone.
The girl hasn't slept in a day. She hasn't eaten in two days. There is an empty handle of Jack that she bought three days ago. The scabs on her leg were four days old, But she reopened them three hours ago.
The girl had chestnut hair that flowed, cascading to the small of her back, but she cut it herself, drunk in the bathroom. The girl has chestnut hair that spills in a mass of tangles to her shaking shoulders, uneven, moving with her as she readjusts.