Her parents: beautiful, rich, lenient, always away on business. They give her money when she needs it, never question why she comes home drunk at 2 AM, and are never around to say no to a party.
Her friends: Beautiful, rich, and agreeable. They never disagree with her, because she controls the school and they like the social connections. Also, her parties are great for hook-ups and drama.
Her boyfriend: Handsome, hot, and easy to get along with. He never argues, never questions her hanging out with other guys, and doesn’t care what she does as long as he gets laid.
Her: Beautifully insecure, richly poor, and extremely untrusting. She spends two hours getting ready every day and 10 minutes throwing up every night. She has everything that money can buy, and none of the things that are free in this world. She looks at everyone through a mirror, clouded by a haunted past.
Her parents: Only had her because everyone else was popping out kids. They don’t care what she does as long as their image isn’t ruined.
Her friends: Hate the control she has over them. They wish someone had the balls to knock her off her high horse.
Her boyfriend: Only dates her because she looks good on him. He doesn’t realize that she cheats on him constantly and only has sex with him to convince herself that he loves her.
And me. I am her dead twin sister. I was murdered by our uncle after he raped us. He let her go because she was the quiet one and he knew she would never tell a soul, and he was right. 10 years later, no one has ever realized that her promiscuity is her way of seeking the attention he once showered us with, that her sleeping around is her way of telling him that he never owned her, and that her cutting her wrists, and snorting coke, and throwing up anything that enters her stomach, is her own special way of telling me that she’s sorry he didn’t kill her too.