A/N: Alright, Well Here's Another Creation From Me And I Really Hope Everyone Who Reads This Enjoys It. It Is Pretty Angsty, So If You're Not Into That Kind Of Story Then Turn Back Now. I Got The Idea For This Story Purely From Watching "Toddlers and Tiaras" And I Sort Of Based It Off Of How I Would Feel If I Were A "Pageant Girl". Here's Caged, I Hope You all Enjoy!

Caged, Prologue: Trapped

"The Ultimate Grand Supreme goes to," the pageant hostess paused dramatically. "contestant number eleven, Shiori!"

I sighed and plastered my best pageant smile on as I made my way to the stage to accept my crown. Applause filled the room as the hostess placed the over-sized, rhinestoned monstrosity on my perfectly hair sprayed locks. My heart should've swelled with pride like it usually did when I took the top title, but it didn't. Instead, I felt like a caged animal torn from its natural habitat and put on display for everyone to "ooh" and "ahh" at. I reflexively looked at my mother in the front row. Her face was flushed and glowing as if she was the one who won, her gray-blue irises glazing over with what looked like tears as she gazed up at me.

I had to force myself not to laugh. I knew better than to believe that stupid I'm-so-proud-of-you look she wore every time I took the Ultimate; she'd be back to treating me like her slave when we got home. Seated next to her was the only face in this world that could strike sheer terror into me with a single glance - my new "daddy". His thin lips curved upwards at the corners, forming a crooked smirk that sent an icy shiver up my spine. He was the only person not clapping; he just stared at me, his emotionless eyes burrowing into me with every second that ticked by.

I steeled myself as I walked off stage and back to my mother - I knew what was going to happen tonight.

…

I laid in bed and stared up into the darkness above me. I forced myself to suck in a shaky breath as I looked over at my alarm clock. 12:29 AM. I had just one more minute to prepare myself for what was about to transpire in this endlessly dark cubicle they so graciously called my room. I pricked my ears, listening to the echo of footsteps as they steadily came down the hall as if he wanted me to hear him.

"Sorry, I'm late," he said as he closed the door behind him with a soft click. He didn't sound at all apologetic, he actually sounded excited. "Hope I didn't disappoint you."

I swallowed hard and squeezed my eyes shut, tears already beginning to well up behind my lids. A soft whimper escaped as he slid into bed next to me.

"Shh, don't cry," he whispered soothingly. He reached out to run his fingertips across my cheek, causing me to instinctively flinch away. "it'll all be over soon enough."

I stayed motionless until the last of the footsteps faded away, leaving the pounding of my heart to fill the silence that followed. Once I was absolutely sure he wasn't coming back, I allowed myself to crumple, curling into a ball in my bed and sobbing violently. My throat felt as if someone had scrubbed it raw with steel wool and my eyes swelled to the size of golf balls; he was never as gentle as he said he'd be. I pulled myself out of bed and staggered blindly to my dresser, dropping to my knees and digging around in the bottom drawer.

My fingers skimmed something cold and rectangular among the various articles of clothing that served only to conceal two very important things. My hand closed around the object and brought it to my face, my thumb flicking it open and closed a few times before igniting it. An orange flame danced just inches from my face, the heat lapping at my skin until it felt like I was being branded. I held the lighter in front of me as I fished around deeper in the drawer until a serrated edge sliced at my hand. I barely winced at the shock of pain that coursed through my palm as I pulled out a steak knife. I examined the freshly-bloodied blade for a minute before heading back to my bed.

I rolled up my sleeves and stared down at the countless white scars that graced them, forming a web of pain and sorrow that took nearly a year to build. I took a shallow breath and held the edge of the knife in the flame of the lighter until it burned an angry red. Before it had a chance to cool off, I buried the blade in my forearm, slicing a jagged gash across my already-scarred skin. I bit my lip and sighed in relief as the iron bit into my skin, scorching the muscle beneath the mangled surface. I might not be able to control my mother's Jekyll-and-Hyde act or his nightly visits, but the one thing I could control was this.

I clicked the lighter shut and reached behind my pillow for a roll of paper towels. I tore off a few and pressed them firmly to the newest addition to my web. Falling back against my pillow, I remembered the precautions I'd prepared for the night when I'd finally break. Not yet, I rolled over to keep an eye on the door. They don't win yet.