Never in a million years did I imagine myself in a situation like this. Being that everyone sees me as the relentless, cold-hearted, narcissistic, "Queen B". You'd think I would be the last person to ever have a relationship in this form. Powerless, submissive, meek, abused. Howeveryou want to call it. Afew words to describe the shit hole I am in at this very moment.

But yet here I am, staring at the battered reflection in front of me. Unrecognizable.

The word thrashes around on my head. How did it even get to this point? I think to myself. Coming back to Rosewood, I was supposed to be protected. By my best friends, by the ones I love. Or more like the one I love. The only reason I ever came back to Rosewood.

But standing in the bathroom tending to the bruises starting to form around my thighs, and the cut oozing blood above my right eye, I can't help but think if it was ever worth coming back from the dead. Things are more worse than they've ever been. I was abused by Cyrus. Having a permanent scar to constantly remind me of that dreadful time in my life. You would think I would've fucking learn my lesson. But that's never the case.

I never would have imagined coming back to Rosewood would be like this