I look up from the reflection in the cracked mirror that is covered in a thin layer of filth. The young woman looking straight into my eyes isn't even recognizable anymore. Not even to its owner.

My once glossy and lively brown locks are now lifelessly hanging down my back as if they are weeping. My once vibrant, bright blue eyes now look like those made for a doll. They are cold and emotionless. Always opened wide. Looking for new forms of life. The purple bags etched under those same eyes started appearing about a month and a half ago. They make me seem as if I'm closer to forty instead of being in my early twenties. My face isn't the only part of my body that is suffering these long, sleepless nights. In about two months I'm estimating that I've lost nearly around twenty, maybe twenty five pounds. The clothing that I now own hang over my bony shoulders and my pants practically run toward my knees once I slip them over the sticks that I try to pass off as legs. Not to mention my ribs… I know that I used to be considered 'thin' and even 'skinny', but now I consider myself to be on the skeletal end of that spectrum. All of my ribs are visible, my hip bones protrude from body, and my cheekbones are way too sharp looking for my small face. I'm a walking skeleton. And it's only taken two months for me to get this way.

My life has taken a very drastic turn. Before I had my own apartment, good friends, a well-paying job, and even a love interest of some sort in my life… What happened?

I am now finding myself living in a cheap, dingy motel room somewhere on the outskirts of Seattle where smart people don't venture. The room that I now get the pleasure of calling home is small, but it's enough to at least fit in a twin sized mattress that comes equipped with a thin, cotton sheet that only has a couple stains on it and a brick for a pillow. Next to the bed is a nightstand that is topped off with a glass lamp that provides all of the light in the peeling room. The bathroom is about half the size of the "bedroom." Some of the yellow tiles are missing and the floor is covered in all sorts of dirt and God knows what else. The bathtub is right next to the small sink and only sprays out cold water. Oh, yeah. There's not heat anywhere in this motel. There is also a small window on the opposite side of the door that looks out into the alley outside. At night it lets in a cold draft of air which is when I know it's time to curl under my bed sheet. Sometimes when I'm lying in bed praying for sleep to take over, I'm able to hear some of the activities that occur just outside that window. I've heard a drug deal go on between three men, which eventually ended up with one of the men being jumped by the other two and getting stabbed a dozen times with a knife. One time an older man and a well-known prostitute fucked right on the other side of the window. After he was done he killed her. Right there. Just left her there like she didn't even matter in the least.

I didn't sleep for an entire week after that.

This is my life now. I'm cold. I'm hungry. I'm tired. I'm emotionally drained. I'm scared. I'm poor. I'm not the Anastasia that people once knew and pretended to love. I am forced to watch my back at every step and even then I'm still turning around to check if anybody is about to pull a knife out on me.

Standing in front of the motel mirror, I begin to think. No, not even think. I remember. I remember how my life pathetically ended up this way. It all started off with the fabulously handsome, and rich Christian Grey.