Prologue.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip.

Drip drip.

Will that sound NEVER stop? Sarah thought, staring up at the plain white ceiling, counting the cracks that covered the cheap, dingy flat she was forced to live in. She drags herself out of the creaky, worn, single bed, and sleepily shuffles over to the bathroom to the noisy tap that had kept her awake. As she turns the handle to stop the insistent sound of dripping water, Sarah looks up into the small bathroom mirror, and is horrified at what she has become. "God, I look a state," She whispered, tears building in her sunken eyes, full of much grief and hurt for her age.

Although Sarah was only 20, she looked tired and worn out, with her make-up- less face, her sad eyes, and her waist length hair, pulled loosely back in a French braid. It had come undone during her fitful dozing, and hung, limp and greasy, in scraggly patches down her back. Once a once young, beautiful girl gifted with the most amazing imagination, with bright thoughtful eyes, and a healthy rosy complexion was now no more than a lifeless shell, now pale from staying inside, but the saddest spectacle was her eyes. The brightness has long since dulled, and the pouring rain reflected in those brown hollow orbs. Something had died inside Sarah a long time ago, and it had left her desolate inside, bitter with the dark world around her, and worst of all. Dreamless.

Disgusted with what she saw reflected, she tore her eyes from the harsh reminder of the failure she had become, and picking up the porcelain soup dish, she hurled it at the mirror, a scream muffled by strangled sob erupting from her throat. The mirror cracked in several places, distorting her image, bringing her some comfort, but not enough to ease the turmoil had been building inside her for the past 5 years. The tears that had been building finally fell, streaking tracks down her cheeks, and dripping off her chin onto the cold tiled floor. Sarah slumps to the floor, curls her legs to her chest, and quietly weeps into her hands. She cried for the mess she had become, the family she no longer had, the dreams that had been ripped from her when she had to choose between them and Toby. There was no competition. She had given up her fantasy, and the man she did and continues to love for him already, so what was a tiny bit more of herself. Anyway, Toby was always worth it.

It was well past nine in the morning by the time Sarah woke up, aches covering her body from the uncomfortable position she slept in, eyes dry from the tears the night before, and a morning-after worthy headache. Disoriented because of her unusual resting place, she bizarrely thought for a moment that she might be dead. Is it even possible to die from unhappiness? She briefly thought, but the twinges in her spine and legs, and the pounding headache brought reality crashing back down, and solemnly remembering the previous night, Sarah found herself almost disappointed that her first thought had not been true.