Piper Mclean was just like any other high school popular girl. She was rich, thanks to her movie-star dad, she was unbelievably gorgeous, there was not an inch of fat on her bones, she had amazingly clear skin and way too many friends to even remember all of their names.

But even the prettiest girls have things that go on behind closed doors. Or more specifically, for Piper, behind closed bathroom doors.

It began as her just being obsessed. Counting her calories a little too closely, staring at the mirror a little too long, standing on the scales a little too often. Then she started noticing those tiny, practically non-existent, pouches of fat. She had to get rid of them.

It's not like she was ever fat or she ever thought she was. It's not like when she saw people with a little chub, that she thought they were disgusting, because they aren't, it was just for herself.

One day she just caught sight of her reflection and thought, "Yes, those thighs are too big. That stomach sticks out just enough to be called fat. Those arms definitely jiggle around. Some less fat around that waist couldn't hurt."

And from then on, every time she saw a bit of food, that's all she could think about. She got that sick feeling in her stomach with every mouthful of food, like she had ate too much when in reality, she hadn't eaten nearly enough. She knew she had to get rid of that sick feeling and there was only one way she knew how to.

She swore to herself, only once, only once and nobody would find out that the amazingly perfect Piper Mclean had stuck her fingers down her throat. Only that one time though.

Piper knew it was wrong. But then the uncomfortable feeling in her stomach came back and she thought, "Twice. That's it, that my limit."

Oh, but this little habit continued on for a long time. She thought of it less and less wrong, and more and more of an escape. She wouldn't stop until all that gross flab was gone, until her stomach concaved and her thigh gap grew to the size of her thigh. Until her arms were so thin, she felt like she was floating and her stomach so empty that she could float.

She was so paranoid about her weight, that she didn't notice those small warning signs, telling her to stop. She didn't realise all her so-called friends stopped wanting to be seen with her, until she was eating, or more accurately, not eating lunch by herself. She paid no attention to the drops of blood in her vomit, or the scabs on her knuckles.

She didn't think much of her rotting teeth, just scrubbing away at them to rid herself of the taste of vomit. The ribs that showed were satisfying when she should've been scared to death of them.

Slowly, but surely, her hair began to fall out. If her arms were strong enough to lift a hairbrush to brush her hair, perhaps she would have noticed. But she didn't. Everyone seemed to notice that constant smell of puke that surrounded her except herself.

If only she could see what everyone else saw. A girl so tiny that the slightest brush of something against her ever-so pale skin left dark bruises, a girl so damaged it would be impossible to fix her completely, a girl who was once so beautiful.

When she looked in the mirror, she didn't see that girl. She saw a girl with thin, straggly hair, thighs still a bit too thick, coarse, dark hair on her arms, blood under her fingernails and puffy cheeks.

She didn't look fragile at all to herself. In fact, she looked tough, like nothing could stop her.

And nothing ever did stop her.