This fic is considerably darker than my usual. It will only get darker as it progresses. Mature themes and language and possibly a few Adults only chapters in the future. You've been warned.

Title of story and chapter from Nine Inch Nails. Lyrics from NIN: Even Deeper.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

I woke up today

to find myself in the other place

with a trail of footprints

from where I ran away

it seems everything I've heard

just might be true

and you know me

(well you think you do)

sometimes, I have everything - yet I wish I felt something

She was poised on the edge of her mattress, her cell phone clutched tightly in her hand. The rain outside fell in a staccato rhythm that tore through her already aching head. She squeezed her eyes shut and gripped the phone tighter trying to forget the whining memory that woke her so early this morning.

With a sigh she rose from the bed and took in her surroundings. Sparsely decorated bedroom, a bed with the slightly frayed duvet, a dresser that bore scars reminiscent of a bar fight and a long abandoned desk, piled with paperwork she would never see the end of.

She padded quietly out of her room and over to the bathroom. She reached up and turned on the light and closed the door firmly, yet silently behind her. The effort to be quiet was not out of consideration for anyone else; she lived by herself now. But too much noise would echo through the tiny apartment and disturb the tentative peace she had made with the ghosts of time.

As it did every morning, her stomach lurched and she leaned over the toilet, coughing and spitting. Dislodging the bitter acid from the back of her throat. As always, it burned and tore at her already raw throat making her almost wish she had something on her stomach to make this worth the effort.

Food, however, would only supplement the agony. Would only cause her to fall to the cold tile on her knees as she heaved and struggled for breath and then her chest would tighten and the muscles in her abdomen would begin that familiar ache and she would be left nearly crippled from the pain for the rest of the day. Besides, she'd learned long ago she only had about a six hour window of opportunity in which she could be safe consuming anything solid.

She leaned back up and turned to face the cracked mirror over the sink. The lone lightbulb hanging from the ceiling doing very little to chase away the darkness. It swung gently back and forth, casting her in shadows one moment and illuminating her face a second later. Standing there, watching herself, she felt that familiar sadness that crept in on her. It was a deep, bone deep sadness that didn't call forth shuddering sobs and wails, no, it brought out tears that fell like the rain outside and dripped from her lashes in a way that sapped her of even enough energy to wipe them away.

Stripping off her night clothes she walked over to the shower and climbed inside the dingy cubicle she turned on the tap not bothering to wait for the water to heat up to its usual tepid drizzle. The cold water sluiced down her body causing her to shiver and her breath to catch in her throat. As she scrubbed herself, trying to get clean for a job that made her feel dirty anyway, her lungs began to ache. Rinsing away the soapy residue she turned off the water and climbed out of the tub. A raspy towel dried her body and she dropped it at her feet. As she walked out of the bathroom she could feel places in the linoleum sag beneath her weight, the support underneath a forgotten memory.

She walked back to her room and over to the closet. The louver doors already opened partway. Pushing them open farther she was greeted with her wardrobe. The colours and fabrics that belied everything about her life. The cloth masks she wore to shield herself daily, the props that helped her to play the part that much more convincingly.

Dior, Chanel, Prada, Donatella Versace, Nampijja and the rest. Once spoken with the intimacy of old friends, now looked upon like mooching relatives. She stood a moment to decide which overpriced costume to wear. Reaching up she pulled down a classic black pants suit.

"When in doubt, go with Armani." She thought idly to herself.

She pulled it on carelessly and moaned quietly when she saw how it sagged through the shoulders and hung too loosely off her hips. Stripping quickly she pulled down another she had recently acquired. It was dove grey, light wool and was bought on a whim. She never really thought she would wear it, assuming that it was far too small for her. But now it fit as though it was custom made for her. She grimaced as she took in what it meant. She had lost weight again. This was not something she was consciously seeking to do, just a byproduct of the ulcer she had developed that made eating nothing short of a chore.

But it was something that had made her the envy of the office hags. The courtiers to Stella Mirza, had all once shunned the young protegé but now they gaped at her in awe. Apparently a few pounds here and there can really make or break you in the fashion industry. Each time she stepped off the elevator wearing something thinner, sleeker; more captivating they began to salivate.

Many had come to her for her dieting tips. She had merely looked at them and smirked in her way as she walked off trying not to acknowledge the disturbing trend that was going on around her. These girls starving themselves to keep up with a weight loss regime she wasn't even on by choice. Really, she wanted to tell those girls, "If you want to be as thin as I am go work directly for Stella. Oh yes, did I mention you'll have Andrea dogging your every move?"

As she had moved up in the company so had her former boss. Now they were closer to equals but on occasion Andrea would bark an order and she would follow it accordingly.

Her outfit adjusted, her hair styled all that was left was her makeup which she applied carefully, but with little care for the process anymore. It had been years since she actually gave a damn what she looked like. Now she just went along with the dog and pony show and acted the part of grateful recipient when she was given praise.

Now dressed for another day she looked into the mirror above her dresser. She had covered the dark circles under her eyes, had masked the premature lines at the side of her mouth and had added more volume to her lack luster hair. She was just missing one last thing. Slowly, it crept over her. Like a cloud sliding over the sun, her smile stole across her features. Over the years it had grown less happy and more jaded. Less sincere and more ironic, less pleasant and more plastic. If anyone she knew could see her in these moments they would either be ashamed of her or fear for her sanity.

Too late for that now, she was already so far gone there was nothing that could bring her back.

TBC...