It's not that I'm scared of people or anything. I'm not. People just always tend to abandon me when I need them most. It's better for me that I don't get close to people. It's easy enough to be a social recluse, too. Especially if you're rich.

I come from a family of extensive wealth. My grandpa hit the jackpot on oil a billion years ago or so – you know, back when dinosaurs roamed the earth – and my mom had her own fashion empire by the time my dad married her. We're something like the eleventh richest family in the world. That's the last time I checked, about five years ago. I'm not really interested in rankings like that.

Dad was amazing. I don't know why anyone wanted to kill him. But they did. Somebody blew up the room he was holding a conference in and he died, instantly, alongside twelve of his coworkers. Fourteen others were severely injured. Of those fourteen, six died in the ICU and two are still in comas. And they never found the guy responsible.

But anyway, like I was saying, it's really easy to disconnect from society if you have money. You don't need to interact with people. You can buy everything you want to entertain yourself so that you don't need other people. Sure, you have to get through the occasional dinner party, but all you have to do is smile and nod like you know what everyone is talking about and you get out of those just fine.

School is a different matter. I was tutored privately right up to my father's murder, but after my mom met this guy – a really successful doctor with his own chain of hospitals, the second-largest in Japan – and married him, he decided it's be better for me to be with kids my own age and sent me off to some horribly stuffy rich kids' school called Ouran Academy. I hate rich kids. I know that seems weird, since I am one, but they all are seriously awful. I hate dressing up nice all the time and speaking properly and eating rich food. I'm the type of girl who prefers a pair of sweats and some ratty converse and the occasional hamburger. I'm not sure most of those kids even know what a hamburger is, and I'm positive none of them own a ratty pair of anything like I do.

Dad let me live my own life. And I chose comfortable clothes and normal food most of the time, not fancy dresses with heels and gourmet food smothered on fancy dressings with names I couldn't pronounce. Mom doesn't approve. Heck, she's glad I'm going to Ouran. She thinks they'll drill some of that good old proper rich girl crap into me.

The uniforms are hideous. I hate yellow, and that's what the girls' dresses look like. They flare unattractively at the knees and have puffy sleeves. And don't even get me started on the damned white tights and the Mary Janes. Oh, god, the shoes. It physically hurt me to wear them. Seriously. My feet bled. They just rubbed in all the wrong places.

People there don't like me. I don't like to be social, as I've said before. I've had friends before, sure... but they all up and left me when Dad died. It was just too uncomfortable for them to be around me. So I don't approach people anymore. There, I'm the freak with the died auburn hair and scary gold eyes who paints her nails black and wears thick, long bracelets to hide the scars on her wrists.

Did I mention I cut?

Oh, yeah.

That's right.

I am a freak. A cutter freak.

So will you judge me too? Or will you listen to what I have to say? Because I have a story. And it desperately needs to be told.