Chloe was the queen. A hybrid of Regina George and Heather Chandler. Of Avril Lavigne and Harley Quinn.

Usually, she owned it.

Usually, everyone did what she said, whether it was with a scowl or a smile on their face.

Usually, she felt powerful.

But right now, she felt nothing but useless. A worthless little girl, whose plastic tiara had snapped.

Her father had found out.

Practically the entire school was goth or punk or something like that. Who could blame her for wanting to fit in? Who could blame her for falling in love with the fashion styles?

Who could blame her for going against her parents wishes?

It had started with just some clothes. A leather jacket here, some combat boots there. She bought them secretly, slipping out under the cover of darkness. She also wore them secretly, sneaking them to school in her backpack, and sliding them on in the dingy school bathrooms.

Eventually, it turned into a whole different beast. Color contacts and wet-n-wild black lipstick. Fishnet stockings and graphic tees from hot topic. Headpieces ordered on a secret amazon prime account. Temporary hair dye bought at the drugstore at the other end of town.

All of it was put on at the school bathrooms in the morning. She had started coming an hour early, sometimes more. A whole duffel bag of extra stuff sat in a secret locker in the girls locker room. She took it off before she went home, which was luckily much quicker, even though it still took a good half-hour.

In the last 6 months, she had taken a huge leap of faith and gotten her first piercing. Soon, she was addicted. Every night, she went out, until she had a metal piece in her nose, lip, eyebrow, a couple more in her ears, and one in her belly-button. She covered them up with thick concealer at home and started keeping some distance from her father.

Today, she had been in 8th period when her father had walked in with a big grin plastered on his chubby face. Once he laid eyes on his daughter, it quickly morphed into a frown. Remembering that they weren't the only ones in the room, he quickly slapped on his for-the-cameras-smile. Roughly and firmly, he grabbed Chloe's arm, almost lifting her up in his haste to get her out of the classroom.

Once they arrived home, the torture started. Out came his whip, away went his smile. Chloe curled into a little ball in the corner, bracing herself for the lashes that cut through her body. The roar of her father's voice seemed never ending as he berated her for "shaming their family" and looking like "a satanic demon".

That was were she lay now. Her father once again wrapped his meaty hand around he fragile arm, lifting her up without glancing at her.

He was leading her to the door.