EDIT: This first chapter was updated on 07-19-09 because I plan on updating soon and thought the first chapter could use a few touch ups.

Author's Note: So ya'll gotta let me know if you like this or not. I'm just now trying out my part at the Death Sentence world of fanfiction so I'm not sure if I'll be able to stay true to the characters. Input is much appreciated.

Cinderella's on her bedroom floor
She's got a crush on the guy at the liquor store
Cause Mr. Charming don't come home anymore
And she forgets why she came here

"Are you gonna sell it to me or not, Rick?"

She gave a half hearted sigh to try and lessen the glare she was giving the old man in front of her. But she knew nothing could really weaken its severity. She was too determined to get what she wanted and what she wanted was two bottles of vodka.

"It's five o'clock, Harry! Isn't it a little early?" His voice was almost pleading but her glare didn't go away.

"You know it's illegal. You're underage and I could get in trouble for selling you this crap. And you could get in trouble for drinking it." Her glare leveled even more and the old man let his gaze drop to the liquor in front of them and then to the door when it admitted another customer. Harry didn't bother to turn around though. There was no way she was going to relent.

"You've never gotten caught before and I've never gotten caught before. You've never not sold me liquor!"

She wondered how many never's it would take before she got her point across.

"Harriet, you're like a daughter to me. I don't want to see you go down this road."

She sighed inwardly. He was breaking out the full names which meant it was going to take a few more never's.

"I've been going down this road for the past six months-" She didn't get to fit another never in. He cut her off.

"Does Eliot know you moved to Stockley Hall?"

Her mouth fell open for a split second before her glare returned.

"He's my fiance Rick, not my fucking father!" she snapped. "Besides," she went on, "he's not gonna know because no one's gonna tell him. He's not gonna know because he's never around to know!"

"What if something happens to ya? Stockley's not a safe place."

"So what? What would Eliot do about it? You and I both know he wouldn't care." There was a familiar burning in her eyeballs and she squeezed them shut, wishing he would just sell her the liquor already.

"Don't say such things, Harry!" Rick said. "He loves you or he wouldn't have proposed."

"If he loved me he wouldn't be staying with his girlfriend right now and I wouldn't be livin' in Stockley."

"If you weren't an alcoholic you wouldn't be livin' in Stockley, you mean," Rick fired back.

"I'm not an alcoholic, Rick! I just like my liquor every once in a while!" There was an undertone to her voice she hoped would go away.

"Every once in a while's everyday?" He had noticed her undertone and picked it out as a lie. "When's the last time you ate, Harry? You look like a sack of bones! You're spending all your money on alcohol instead of taking care of yourself."

She blanched again. He was actually acting like her father!

"I don't-"

"Just sell her the fucking alcohol, huh, Rick? Jesus!"

Harry turned, her dark brown eyes connecting with the most beautiful green. Her hands automatically rose to rub at the purple bags under her eyes. Just one look at this man made her self-conscious in a way she hadn't been in six months. He made her feel a fear she hadn't felt in months, too. He was at least a foot taller than her 5'2 form with a great muscular build and a smoothly shaven head that begged her to reach out and touch it. What looked to be some sort of tribal tattoos crept up his arms to his neck and probably all the way down to his waist. She wouldn't have minded if they did. She just wanted to trace them with her fingers anyway. And she would have bet her liquor that he was hiding a six pack under that tight black long sleeve shirt. Even as Rick started to ring up her liquor she couldn't take her eyes off of him. She wondered, if six months ago, when she was normal, if she ever would have met him. And for just one glimpse of his beautiful ice blue eyes she thought maybe everything else that had happened was worth it.

"30.75," Rick snapped in a clear tone. He was obviously sore about getting told what to do but there seemed to be almost a fear glowing in his eyes for this bald stranger.

She dug around in the deep front pocket of her cargos and came out with...six dollars and two cents. That was all she had left. The 2,000 dollars she had had six months ago was officially gone now and she was screwed.

"I'll pay you tomorrow?" she asked hopefully. Maybe just a little too hopeful because he was glaring at her now.

"What're you gonna do? Go out and rob a bank?"

Harry forced a smirk that she didn't really feel.

"Nope. I was gonna pickpocket a few people. I used to be able to do it when I was younger."

She doubted she could do it now though. She had lost her touch when Eliot had taken her out of the slums and put her in a life of luxury and paid for everything she needed and a few things she wanted. She supposed she could have started up again six months ago when she found out about his girlfriend on the side but she had started drinking instead. And then she had moved to Stokley when Eliot hadn't come home in more than two weeks strait.

"The more I hear come out of your mouth the more I want to pop you in it," Rick grumbled as he started to shove the vodka in a brown paper bag.

"Yeah, well," she told him, a satisfied smirk on her face, "you're not my father."

She gave him a nod as she gathered the brown sack in her arms and headed towards the door. The weight of the bottles was comforting in her hands and she couldn't wait to get outside just so she could crack one open and get her fix. She had finished off the last of her stuff last night...or was it early that morning? Hell, she thought, I can't even remember.

The door gave a tingle as she stepped through it and into the cold December air. It was a huge contrast from the heat that Rick had had going in the liquor store and it made her shiver.

If she hadn't of spent all her money on liquor and cigarettes, she could have bought herself a winter jacket because the spring one she was wearing now just wasn't cutting it for her. But then again, what was the point of buying herself a heavier jacket when she really didn't care if she got sick and died?

Right, she agreed to herself, no point.

She stopped on the corner next to liquor store to finally crack open one of her vodka bottles. The paper bag rustled for a few seconds as she struggled and then she was holding the cool clear liquid in her hand. It felt good to know she was going to be able to drink herself into a stupor again. She wanted to forget, forget everything that she had ever done wrong in her sad excuse for a life.

She finally stuck the bottle to her lips and took in a long few gulps and when she was done she let a silly and content smile spread across her face. She could still feel the familiar burning in her throat and even in her stomach, as she leaned against the building.

She heard the familiar tingle of the liquor store door again and turned to see the bald man from a few minutes ago.

He had a twenty-four pack of beer under his arm and a cigarette hanging out the side of his mouth. She realized with a sad frown that with her sudden brokenness, she wouldn't be able to afford to smoke now either.

But she shook the idea off when she realized the bald man was staring at her with his icy eyes. He looked so cold and rugged standing there that just the thought of what he was capable of gave her the chills. She wondered how many people he had killed. She wondered how many people he had threatened or beaten within an inch of their life. She had grown up on the streets after all and being engaged to a rich boy hadn't changed her street smarts.

This guy in front of her, with his tribal tattoos and his cold expression, was probably in a gang, maybe even a leader. And around these parts, gangs weren't to be messed with. They sold not so pleasant shit and they did even less pleasant shit. Gang initiations probably being the least severe. She had heard of worse. Gangs did just about anything they wanted as long as it amused them and gave them something to do.

"Fucking alcoholic."

She heard him mutter as he finally made his way towards what she could see was his car. His car had the same symbols on it that he did, anyway, and if that wasn't an indication of ownership she didn't know what was.

"Yeah, fuck you, too," she said, louder then she had intended. And she watched in fear as he stopped and turned towards her a little. "You think you're so much better than me?" She went on. She had nothing to lose anyway, nothing to live for. Why not go out by the hand of some feared gang leader? "Fucking drug dealer. I wonder how many lives you've ruined. I wonder how many people you've killed," she spat out the last part and then she was pushing herself off the wall. Her feet took her in the direction of Stokley as her hands pushed her bottle back into its bag. She was going to see how long she could last without drinking anymore of it. She had to save it up, she told herself. She didn't have any more money left and Rick wasn't going to just keep giving her alcohol.

She was on the floor at the foot of her twin sized bed and the hardwood floor was cold on her skin. It felt good, almost like it was the only thing she could feel. But that was the expected feeling. She didn't want to feel anything anyway.

The only thing she was feeling at that exact moment, besides the cold, was despair at the fact that she only had half of her first bottle left and it was only two in the morning. She still had the rest of the night to get through or at least the amount of time it would take her to finally pass out from lack of sleep or maybe even lack of food.

She couldn't remember the last time she had eaten. She drank. And drank. And drank some more. It was what her life revolved around these days. The only thing she wanted, the only thing she needed, was to block out the pain of her own unworthiness. She hadn't been good enough for anything in her life, after all. Not good enough for her boyfriend, not good enough for her father, not even good enough for herself. She had expected so much more out of herself after all. So much more then this drunk mess she had become and yet here she was.

No matter how much she hated herself for doing it, she couldn't stop drinking. She was just too addicted.

It took her a few minutes to catch on to the insistent knocking on her door but it only took her a few seconds to decide she wasn't going to get up and get it. Anyone coming to her door at two in the morning was stupid. Besides, she told herself, I'm way too tired to get up and get it. The only thing she could really bring herself to do was to mumble out a complaint that the person at the door couldn't possibly have heard.

As a few more seconds ticked by, the knocking finally stopped. The next thing Harry knew, she could hear the sound of the door banging against the wall and the sound of heavy footsteps floating down the hallway.

"Harry?" a deep voice called. She sighed heavily, licking her lips as she looked at the bottle. Maybe she was close to passing out and just hearing things. That's what it is, she told herself.

But the footsteps continued down the hallway and before she knew it a pair of nice leather shoes was standing in front of her line of vision.

"Harry?" the deep, familiar voice asked again. She slowly raised her head up as best she could but it felt like she was holding up a ten pound weight instead of her own head.

Eliot, her now (probably) ex-fiance, crouched in front of her, his eyebrows raised and his green eyes cold.

"Let me guess," his voice was just as husky as she remembered it being and his blonde hair was just as shiny. She remembered running her fingers through it when they were lieing in bed. She remembered washing it when they were in the shower and joking with him about how his hair looked better then hers. She remembered.

And she wasn't supposed to.

And she didn't want to.

"You're drunk," he finished as he fingered her second liquor bottle. He was spinning it on the floor now and the noise it was making was just downright annoying.

"Yes," she said proudly. "I am. Now stop spinning that damn bottle." She reached out to grab it, but he avoided her and stood up again. His chuckles were the only thing she could register for a minute.

"When I got a message saying that my fiancé was living in Stokley Hall, I didn't believe it. And then I went home for the first time in weeks to find all of your stuff gone." He let out another laugh but even in her drunken state she could tell it was forced.

"What the fuck were you thinking?" He spun around quickly and the expression of pure anger on his face was enough to make her cower. Even his voice had gone a couple of octaves lower.

It took her another few minutes to get herself together again and gather some courage. When she was finally done though, she pulled herself up to look him in the eye.

"Fuck you," she spat out. "Go back to you whore, ASSHOLE!" She screamed the last part as loud as she could, not even caring that she lived in apartments now and that other people were around.

The next thing she knew the bottle was flying through the room and smashing in front of her. Her hands flew up automatically to cover her face. She could feel the tiny pieces of glass hitting her arms and it made her gasp.

"You mind keeping the fucking voice levels down?" A roaring voice screamed as heavy footsteps made their way down the hall. She slowly let her arms drop down to her sides, hissing when glass dug into her palms.

She watched the door expectantly for the guest that had barged into her apartment, not even paying attention to Eliot who stood angrily in the corner.

It was the bald guy, she realized a few seconds later with horror, the bald guy from the liquor store. His nostrils were flaring and his bald head was gleaming in the moonlight that spilled through her window. He was wearing the same jeans he had been wearing that day but he only had a beater on now and his tattoos were on show along with his bulging muscles.

"Excuse me," Eliot bit out, roughly, "I'm trying to have a conversation with my fiancé here."

"Ex-fiance." Harry corrected him without thinking, her anger getting the best of her. "You honestly think I would marry you after you cheated on me with who knows how many girls? You're such an asshole." She picked her half full vodka bottle and chucked it at him, watching as it shattered against the wall between the new comer and Eliot.