A/N: Skip to the end of this chapter if you don't want to read about goody-two-shoes Christine. It's rather important in the long run, FYI. Also - this story will have adult content in the later chapters - like blood, language, ect. I think the "T" rating should cover it for now though. Anyways, enjoy the story and please review!

The Spoiled Girl (Prolouge)

"Darling, your going to be late!" My mom gasped after she cooed over my outfit. Her crisp British accent was much stronger when she was surprised. I smiled knowingly at her in the mirror, and shrugged. I was leaving for a two week trip to Europe with my whole family the next day, and I had wanted to look pretty for a good last impression when I went to school. My mom was great with choosing clothes, though, because she was a professional model up till she had my sweet kid brother nearly ten years ago.

"I'll get there on time, mom." I pecked her smooth cheek and headed out to my Camero, and took my time smoothing my expensive eyelet and lace dress and running a hand through my long dark brown curls, which were especially well-behaved that day.

"Bye!" I called as I zipped away and headed to my private school with a confident grin, though it felt weird not being in a car filled with my two best friends; Megan and Cara. I had to skip carpool so I could drive home after lunch and help with last minute packing.

I got to school eight minutes late, but I wasn't worried in the least. My first period class was Sculpture and my teacher positively loved me. I took only slack classes that semester because I was an overachieving student and had gotten all my high school credits by the beginning of junior year. Then I had taken A.P. Classes during junior year and the first semester of senior year, and decided that I wanted a well-deserved break and only took classes that would I considered fun for the last semester. So my schedule had consisted of; Sculpture, Shakespearian Theater, Advanced Chorus and Cooking With Style. Really, some of the classes my school had offered had been so silly.

When I finally arrived into my first bell, my teacher just beamed at me and told me she loved my outfit. Then I had sat down with Megan, my oldest friend. Megan had shoulder-length blonde hair and wide blue eyes, and a total dancer's body, with good reason, though. Megan had been the best dancer at my school, and could dance anything, from hip hop to point. She preferred ballet the most. After we gossiped and doodled for an hour, the bell rang and I headed out to Chorus. My sweet boyfriend was waiting by the door. "Ryan!" I had happily shouted, and lept into his arms.

"Blue Eyes!" He answered and spun me around. We were always doing stupid but sweet stuff like that. "I like your dress." My boyfriend smiled into my hair, and I sighed contentedly. Ryan had bright blond hair that was curly at the edges and kind green eyes, and was captain of the basketball team. We cuddled with each other till the bell rang, then with a parting kiss, he went off to Martial Arts and I went into the chorus room.

Singing was my passion. I lived for music. Just walking through the chorus doors would bring an excited smile to my face, and one teacher would whisper to another, "That one is going to go somewhere in the world!" whenever I sang. My preferred type of music was country or pop. That was my second period, and after that, was lunch. I ate with Meg, Ryan, Meg's boyfriend, some jocks and theater kids, and Cara. Cara was an already trained opera singer with thick blackish hair and tan skin. She was born in Italy, and spoke with a thick Italian accent. Though she acted haughty and proud, she was fun to be friends with and I enjoyed the envious stares we always got when the three of us hung out.

Lunch ended, and I slowly left the school grounds after a tearful good bye with my friends and a public make-out session with Ryan. Then I headed toward the parking lot and nicely accepted the many hugs and good lucks from the jealous people who wished they were me.

My house, okay mansion, was bursting with activity when I got there. My little brother had completely missed school that day, and was excitedly jumping around the house when I threw my keys and Dooney & Bourke bag on the kitchen counter.

"I can't wait! Just think, soon we'll be in Sweden and France and England and Ireland and Germany and..." And he continued to ramble for minutes while following me into my room as I pushed my Louis Vuitton suitcases down into the foyer.

"Joey, I'm just as excited as you, but I'm gonna get some sleep now." I said at ten when my brother followed me into my room yet again.

"Good night, Sis." He said sweetly and I smiled at him, but closed the door, then changed into my jammies and got ready for bed. Then I lounged on top of the covers, and stared out into my room, which was decorated with a beach theme. My walls were like the ocean, and my furniture was tan and cream and seashell covered. I guess I stared out for quite some time, because I heard my father's massive grandfather clock ring out twelve times when I finally broke out of my trance. Sleep was inevitable to me, I realized, probably due to my excitement, so I climbed out of bed and went over to my window nook. There was my collection of beautiful glass bottles, each filled with memories. I picked up my favorite one and twirled it around my fingers. It was light gold with a long neck, and I had filled it with sand form the last time I had visited my cousins in Sweden. My dad was Swedish and a famous movie producer, and most of his family lived in his birth country.

I had started collecting glass bottles when I was five. I had been sitting in the stairs as I watched my father's work colleagues file in to our house for a party. Soon enough, they all had been pleasantly intoxicated, and had I shyly went down the stairs and asked for the pretty purple bottle form which they had drunk, to play with. They all laughed at my cuteness, but I was given the bottle after my mom washed it free of the alcohol. The next day, I had climbed my first tree, and I had plucked a few leafs from it for a keepsake. I stuffed the leaves into the bottle, then my habit was first initiated. And I continued to get my father's used alcohol bottles and filled them with precious little things up till I was seventeen.

I went over to the corner of the window seat and pulled out a tiny, but hardy, aqua blue thumb-sized bottle out from the side and went back into bed. Like a teddy bear, holding the little bottle lulled me, and I soon fell asleep.

The day of my journey was clear and bright, and we left the California coast on a comfortable first class flight and arrived at Sweden on the expected date. I had a blast with my family, then we quickly visited Ireland, England and Scotland, then boarded a tiny but expensive plane to get back to the continent.

There was a young family of three, and old couple that was well known for being philanthropists, and a big group of vacationing friends on the flight as well. It started out a bit bumpy, I remember, but soon cleared out, and we sipped our hand-made drinks while exclaiming over the view. But then the clouds came, then the thunder, then the shouts from the cockpit as the pilot somehow lost control. I had always been afraid of planes and I grabbed my little, hardy blue bottle from my pocket and gripped it firmly in my hands while the old couple began to pray. The flight assistant hurried out to us and told us that it was fine, but we should buckle up. Then she ran back up front and disappeared . It just got worse and worse, then those little suction cup air-things fell out from the ceiling and the lights went out. Then it went black.

When I woke up, I was in a hospital room. It didn't look that way at first. Everything was shiny and white and bright and stainless steel with bouquets of colored flowers and huge paintings of pretty places hanging on the walls. It looked perfect. But it was perfectly wrong. The chairs next to the bed I was in were filled with my worried friends and my dad's brother. My dad's brother lived in Thailand with his missionary family. I tried to ask what was going on when I noticed my mom's parents sitting in the back corner, their eyes misty and sad. My three little British cousins were staring at me like I was an alien. I had just seen my cousins when we visited my mom's family in London. My mom's sister is a talk show host, and they all live in in the hub of the city. Our visit had been the first in years.

I again tried to voice my questions, but instead of surprise stopping me, I noticed it was incredibly hard to open my mouth. And I also realized that barely a second had passed after I had woken up. A second later, everyone was asking me about how I felt and crap like that. Then, I felt the pain. A dull, but steady ache at the side of my head and cheekbones, a sharp ache on my shin and a burning one at my wrist and hand. A painful shiver on my side. The rest of my body intensely felt sore,bruised and tired, as if I had just run an excruciating marathon barefoot in a desert covered with sharp rocks. It hurt to crane my head to look down at myself, instead of at the people surrounding me, but I did. Thats when I was able to use some much-needed energy and scream.

It was a pitifully quiet scream. My whole arm and hand was propped out of bed with a fat cast on it, my leg was pulled out from the covers, with a metal-looking brace thing on my shin and knee. I brought my good hand up and felt my face, then rasped, "Mirror!" I shot glares to all the sympathetic faces around me, till I saw Ryan. He had the grace not stare at me, and was busying himself with looking out the window. Then the mirror was brought forward, and I too, stared at myself . The right side of my face was bruised and swollen, with my lip split and my nose purple. My eye was barley open, and there was a thin red cut going from my temple to my cheek bone. Around my head was a huge and thick brown bandage. Somehow, there was a tube stuck into my nose. And to make things even better, my hair was sticking up in crazy curls in every directions imaginable. Well, except for a tiny section where the bandage began, that was shaved bald. I couldn't remember what horrible thing had happened to me, and why I looked so annoyingly timid and exhausted. Then I passed out yet again.

When I came to, I noticed what I should have noticed long ago. My loved ones were to still surrounding me. But my immediate family wasn't there. And I felt scared for the first time. "What happened?"

I asked to anyone in particular. They all began to whisper frantically to themselves, but I caught, "She really doesn't remember!" That was said at least ten times. Which made me worry even more. Thankfully, a nurse came in and started checking the tube that was hooked up to my nose. She fiddled with the monitors around me, scribbled into some charts and finally turned to me with a cheery smile.

"Well, Ms. Davidson, you certainly gave us quite the scare!" Her voice was high, but more importantly, she had an British accent. Which didn't make since. Then the actual doctor came in and checked at the charts she had scribbled on, then gave me a bright grin. "I'm glad to see you awake,." He was also British. Not a good sign.

And so I was forced to whisper, "Where am I? What's happening? Where is my family?" I saw that his name was "Dr. Steps."

Dr. Steps shook his head and regarded me with sympathetic eyes before saying, " Christine, I am Dr. John Steps. You are in London, England, near your Aunt Jane's house." His voice was calm and collected, but that was all he said. I had already figured out where I was. Then I painfully opened my mouth again, to get some real answers, but he continued, " Ms. Davidson, I am going to blunt. I think you would prefer it to be that way?" I nodded, so he resumed, "You were in a horrible plane accident last week. Today is Friday, your flight was on a Thursday. It seems that you do not remember anything beyond the ninth, which is the day before you boarded the plane." I nodded yet again, and he wrote on the paper, then made eye contact while speaking, " To say simply, you have broken all of the fingers on your right hand, as well as fracturing the bones in your hand and breaking many of the bones in your right arm and dislocating your shoulder. Your shin was splintered and your knee nearly completely twisted, you have a mild concussion, and required stitches along your temple and head. You also fractured a bone in your right foot and broke three of your toes, and have a bruised spine. You have second-degree burns along your side and on your palms, as well as being put into a medically-induced coma. And as you know, you don't remember the events of the ninth till now, the sixteenth. This all sounds horrible, but you will heal and be back to school with your friends in no time! Why, with the way you're already healing, you'll be out of here in a couple of days!"

I was supposed to stay here for that much longer! I already felt myself get angry, then remembered something even more important. "Where is my family?" I spat out, but it only sounded like a soft whisper. The doctor exchanged a look with the nurse, and all the other people in the room looked away from me for once.

"Christine, you need rest. All this talking had taken a toll on you. And I know you're in pain, so this nice nurse, Ms. Liz, is going to give you some medicine to feel better." He said, then waved to everyone. The kind-looking nurse walked over to me with a tiny needle-like thingie and stuck it into my breather tube. I soon felt sleepy...

~~~~~~~~~~~TWO WEEKS LATER~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

"Finally! I just want to go home!" I said to Ryan as he helped me into the car that would take me away from that hospital. My burns had been taken care of, my shoulder in place, my head wounds stitched up, and the broken parts all in casts. The five broken fingers on my right hand had been fit into a special long cast for my whole arm, and I was still incredibly glad to be left-handed. And now, I was on my way back to California. The only problem was that my family wasn't with me. No one would tell me where there were, and I often heard whispered debates about whether I should be enlightened on their location. The leading argument was that it would ruin my healing progress. So apparently, it was unanimous that I should not know, so I was heading home with my friends. All my relatives headed back to their exotic homes, I boarded a big boat the day after I was released from the hospital. I suggested going by plane, but everyone started at me like I was crazy and refused my offer. Though a plane accident had made me nearly crippled, I didn't remember it, and it was a lot faster then going by water. I just wanted to go home and watch a movie with my family in the big living room. We would always curl up in a big pile of pillows in front of the T.V., instead of sitting on the expensive couches, and eat at least two bags of movie-theater butter popcorn. As stupid as it sounds, it was when I always felt closest to them. Anyway, for whatever reason, I assumed they were held up somewhere, and thats why they didn't stay with me at the hospital and why I would live with Megan till I was more capable of doing things.

It was the day I would arrive in California when I saw it. The boat trip had bee uneventful, for me at least. Meg had met a British boy and disappeared for the duration of the voyage, checking on me every three hours or so. I had been cooped up in our big suite, with tropical smoothies and a stack of DVD's as tall as I was. It wasn't so bad though, because I was usually half asleep from my pain meds, and whenever I needed companionship, I would talk to Megan's mom, Mrs. Giry.

When we were three hours away from California, I had been channel-searching aimlessly on the flat screen in my room. Mrs. Giry had been with me, but she had gone to use the bathroom when I paused to watch the news. News never interested me before, but I had been a conceited girl, and I wondered if news about my plane accident would be featured, even though the crash had happened weeks before. The newscaster, a woman who looked more plastic than a Barbie, shuffled some papers, talked about current fashions, then said in a gravely voice, " Good news today, the sole survivor of the fatal air crash carrying beloved film director Gus Davidson and his wife, the model Whit Davidson and their family, left the hospital today. The sole survivor, Christine Davidson, daughter of the former mentioned celebrities, is reported to be growing stronger by the day, and heading back to her native California...On a darker note, Senator Ru-"

I remember staring at the T.V screen in horror. My hands grasped the remote controller in a death grip, and my mouth gaped open. I finally shut the T.V. off numbly, and started to shake. I felt huge tears course down my face, and my teeth start to chatter. I finally understood why my family had not been with me in England, or on the boat back home. They were dead.

~~~~~~~~~~~~Two Years Later~~~~~~~~New York City~~~~~~~~~~

"Lotte, get up! We gotta go...Get up, dammit!" A cold splash of water fell on my face, so I finally opened my eyes. I gave my best friend and coworker, Liz, an evil glare then got up too quickly.

"Crap," I muttered as the room spun, then settled into place. I blindly searched for my sparky mini skirt with one hand, and the other went up to cradle my aching head.

Liz watched me flounder around my room for a moment then said, "I'll go get you some apple juice." She started to walk away, already dressed for work, then turned back and snorted, " Baby needs to learn how to manage her drinking!" I merely grimaced at her direction, then tugged on the black skirt. I certainly knew how to hold my liquor, I was a pro, but last night I just hadn't been thinking. I had been reliving some painful memories, and just needed something to help me forget.

I normally never had those painful memories, so as I heard Liz poke around in our kitchen, I called, " I'm never smoking that shit again." My loud yell made my head ache, but I ignored it as I put on my tight push-up bra, then a sheer shirt thing on over it. I spread glitter over my body, and applied some smudgy eyeliner. Liz returned with the juice, which I greedily guzzled, then pulled out her phone to check the time. "We got two minutes before we go. You need to do something with your hair."

I looked up at her pre-maturely lined face gratefully, then ran some straightening gel through my short hair. I quickly scooped up my bag then gave a final look into the mirror. My dark brown hair hung a bit past the middle of my long neck, and was almost perfectly straight. My face looked pretty decent, considering that I had spent all yesterday and this morning partying, and now had a major hang-over as a result of being stupid. My long, curvy body looked fine in my skanky attire, and I slid my feet into some very high silver heels as a finishing touch. Liz sidled up to the mirror next to me, and checked herself out. She was twenty eight, 5' 9'' and blonde, with very tan skin and huge boobs. Her outfit was even sluttier than mine; a white bra like-thing and purple boy-shorts, with zebra-stripped boots. "Come on, prostitute, lets go." She gave me a pretend nasty look, and our loud laughing echoed down the hall of our apartment building.

I locked the door quickly and we headed out the nice building and down the block. Conveniently, our apartment was only a street down from a subway station. We quickly ran to the station, took the familiar train to a ritzy night-life part of town and nearly ran down two blocks. The streets were full of rich, scantily clad people, and once we caught our breathes, Liz turned towards me and said, " Not a prostitute, we're 'exotic dancers,' remember?" We shared another laugh as we went to a side door on a long skinny building labeled, "Heat". Heat was the hottest club on this side of town, and I was very lucky to have secured a spot there. We smiled knowingly at the bouncer by our door, and entered our "dressing room." On normal days, we would arrive at work and get changed and warmed up in the dressing room, but since we both had a busy night before, and were feeling lazy, we just showed up to work dressed.

We both took off our jackets, New York was cold already at this time of year, and begin stretching. All of the other dancers were already there, stretching or sipping some very yummy drinks. "Hey, look, Liz and Baby are finally here," purred Kate, the leading lady at Heat. All of the performers had the annoying habit of calling me "Baby", instead of Lotte, since I was the youngest of the group by at least three years, as well as being the most inexperienced. I technically wasn't even supposed to be able to work at the club, since I'm only twenty. But no one really gave a damn, because I'm hot, a great dancer, and usually dependable. I quickly did a couple of stretches, then pulled out a skin-colored medical wrap and twined it around my right knee. The extensive injuries I had gotten two years ago had healed perfectly, but I still had to wear a knee or ankle brace a couple times a week, so that I wouldn't tire out the weaker parts of my body. No one would even see the brace, the club had flashing lights, and I was dancing on a little glow-in-the-dark catwalk. The owner of the club, a filthy-rich man named Jack, waltzed into the dressing room. He had probably been hoping to walk in when we were naked or something. He was quite the horny schmuck, but he paid well, and made it his personal business to keep all of his dancers relatively safe from the perverts that occasionally make it into the club.

Jack put his arms around Kate and then said, "Where's Lotte?" Kate gave a pleased giggle as her boss felt her up, then said, "Oh, Baby is in the corner!" The room was filled with the sound of dancers laughing, "No one puts Baby in the corner," a direct quote from what has to be all of their favorite movie. I rolled my eyes to Liz, who had also participated in the Dirty Dancing quotation, and stepped into the light so that Jack could see me.

"Mmm, Baby, your looking fine. I just wanted to tell you that one of my friends from a high place is looking for entertainment tonight. He'll be wearing a gray shirt, his names Mike. Your just his type, doll face. Make me proud." He abruptly let go of Kate, and sauntered out of the dressing room. The other dancers gave me glares for being singled out, then Kate said, "All right girls, get to work." I chugged some untainted water, then went to my door, which led up to my little catwalk. I pushed it open and was immediately ambushed with the sound of loud music, intoxicated people laughing, and bright strobe lights glaring into my eyes. I tossed my head, and began to pulse my body to the beat of the song.

I let go of all my troubles, and even my hangover seemed to vanish as I kicked into the air and ran my hands over my body. I felt people watching me, I drank in their lusty gazes as I shook my ass and played with the latch on my flimsy shirt, which I probably wouldn't be wearing by the time my shift was over. I paused in my dancing when the song finished. I squinted down to the crowded dance floor, the strobe lights made it hard for me to see down below my stage, but I managed to look at all the people watching me. There were quite a few, there always were. I tried to spy out the man that Jack had said would be at the club tonight, but didn't see him. I had the feeling someone there was someone watching me from every angle, and for some reason, I felt spooked. But then the next fast song started, and I shook off my fear and began to dance again.

The first part of my long shift ended, and I gracefully grabbed the glowing floor-to-ceiling glass pole near my catwalk and slid down to the crowded dance floor. My job consisted of first dancing nearly naked on a stage, then going down to the dance floor and socializing, making sure everyone was having a great time. I shimmied around a few people for awhile, sweetly denied requests to find some where private, and ordered drinks for a huge group of people. When I at last had a moment to think, I realized that I desperately needed a drink. I sauntered up to the nearest open bar spot, and ordered my current favorite drink, ignoring the nagging feeling in the back of my mind that told me I shouldn't be drinking when I had a nasty hangover in the mix, one that would surely return once I got off my dancing high. My rarely used common sense also often told me that I should quite being a whore and drinking so much and do something meaningful with my life, because I had the talent...But I always ignored the that, and I chose to do so now as well, and chugged my bitter, high alcohol level drink with satisfaction, all the while conversing with a guy who was sitting by himself.

While I was doing that, a dark haired guy in an obviously expensive gray shirt strolled up to the bar and ordered a drink. I watched him, wondering if he was the "Mike" that Jack had been talking about. I decided he was worth looking into, and introduced myself flirtatiously while he got his drink.

He enthusiastically responded to my actions with, " Hell yeah, I want to dance. Lotte, right? Your boss is a real good friend of mine." I smiled when I heard his reply, he was the boy I had been responsible for.

I spent the rest of the night dancing, or grinding, whatever you prefer, with him. We talked occasionally, but mostly he just tried to feel me up. When the club had an hour to closing, he grabbed my arm and said, "Why don't we go a nice hotel and get to know each other more?" His other hand snaked around my waist and pulled me close to him. This always happened when Jack asked me to personally entertain one of his friends. I had only complied once, when the friend had been twenty-eight, rich and sexy. The next morning I had woken up to an empty bed, with 200 dollars and a note saying, "Next time I come to town, call me," with his phone number next to the card. I had felt dirty afterwords, but also sort of alive. Needless to say now, though, I was not going to have sex with the greasy Mike, no matter what he'd pay.

"Oh, I'm flattered. Maybe you can find someone else, though, I need to get home." I softened my reply by slinking my hands up his waist, then snaking out of his grip.

He gave me a weird look, then went, "I can pay whatever you want." I shook my head, already starting to back away from him when he again grabbed my arm and went, " Don't turn me down, stupid bitch," in a really low voice.

All of my fake sympathy vanished, I instead put on a laughing face and answered, " I really gotta go, hon. Ask for me next time you come to the club." He finally got the message, slipped a bill into my hand, then asked, "Who do you recommend for me to see?" I pretended to think, didn't bother checking the the cash in my hand, then answered, "Go see Luce, she's up on the catwalk now," over my shoulder as I hurried away from him. When I finally got through the pulsing crowds to the dressing room, I looked at the tip he had given me. It was a hundred, not too bad. I quickly put my shirt back on, then grabbed my big leather jacket, trying to rub off my excessive body glitter while I changed

I left a note for Liz on one of the mirrors, I was leaving the club really early tonight, then headed out to the cold New York streets, shrugging into my jacket while I walked. The streets were nearly empty, very weird for a Friday night, and I was feeling sort of spooked. I made it to the station, got on my lift till I was a street away from my apartment. I let myself in, peeking over my shoulder. I had the feeling that someone was following me. I continued to glance over my shoulder while I went up three flights of stairs. The elevator was out again. When I finally made it into my floor, I definitely knew someone was following me.

I nearly ran to my door, ignoring my aching head. My hangover came back full on. I let myself in, and leaned against the door,, sighing. I tuned and took a quick look through my peephole in my door, no one was there. "Wow, Lotte, you're really losing it," I sighed, but still locked the door when I turned. I walked into the small kitchen, poured myself some more apple juice and grabbed gulped a pill down, hopefully it would help erase the ache that seemed to live in my head. I ate some old microwave popcorn, then went into my room, the nicest in the whole apartment. I smiled up on the familiar faces of ACDC, the poster being the only decoration besides my shelf of glass bottles, changed into a huge t-shirt, then went into my very uncomfortable bed.

My room was really modern, it was different from what I've always liked and I hated it, so it was now perfect for me. I stared up into the dark ceiling, counting imaginary sheep, until I finally just got up from bed and went into the kitchen. I got a bottle of Heineken and drank it while watching an old T.V show, sighing . For whatever reason, I wished that Liz was home. I'm not especially fond of her, we just became friends out of necessity, but I felt incredibly...alone in the apartment. I got up to get another beer when I heard a faint rustling noise outside the door.

Instead of inspecting it, I just said, "Okay, one beer is enough tonight," and went into my room and back into bed. I was feeling scared in the worst way, but too tired to do anything about it. I must've fell asleep, because I woke up at a loud crash that sounded like it came from the living room. "Liz?" I sleepily murmured, getting out of bed and tugging my big shirt down. I went into the tiny living room but was met with darkness. "Damn," I cursed, I had gotten out of bed for nothing, or so it appeared. I went back into my room, then stopped dead. I had a full bed, but I only slept on the left side. There was never any exceptions to that rule, I just slept on that side every night. Even when I arranged myself on the right side, I always ended up back on the left. So the right side of my bed looked quite slept in, I knew something was wrong. Most would call me paranoid, but I went over to my bed causality, and sniffed the pillow. My head was strangely clear, and I knew that if someone had been there, more then likely a smell would linger. My pillow smelled like a rich, smoky scent, distinctly manly, yet not over-powering...It smelled delicious. "What the hell?" I gasped. Someone had been in bed with me while I had been sleeping.