They all wanted me to the It Girl, the girl every one of her peers envied. So I combed my hair, started wearing contact lenses, putting on makeup and wearing dressing. I did what they wanted me to do. The music from the party shakes the walls, and Clara can see through the musty kitchen window the crowd of guys laughing, jeering, hooting and hollering. A few girls squealed in delight when a blond frat guy sprayed beer on them. Soon after arriving on campus, I knew things would never change. The thing was, it was not just college, it was afterwards until the day I died. My whole life was a never-ending series of tournaments, one competition after another. Every friendship, romantic relationship, and connection was bought and paid for. And the price was my soul. She feels suddenly like vomiting, and Clara runs down the stairwell into the basement, hoping a drunk couple would not be making out in the darkness while she pukes her guts out. Instead the feeling subsides, and she looks up the stairs at the light from the kitchen encircling her in a protective shaft, leaving blackness around her. โYou have too much to drink. Youโre a light weight,โ a manโs deep voice says. Clara swallows hard, a sinking feeling in her stomach telling her this is a grown man and not some young, fratty punk. This is an alpha male gangster, and there is desire in his voice. โIโI am not drunk. Just nerves, thatโs all,โ she says wiping the spittle from the corner of her mouth. โCome on out where I can see you.โ From the darkness, Clara hears the man get onto his feet, his shoes scraping the concrete floor. A draft of cold air runs up her spine as his marbled Adonis-like face emerges from the shadows. โOh my,โ Clara says. โYouโre handsome.โ