I retreat to my room and lock the door. Lying on my bed, my brain cyclones with thoughts of men and boys and boys and men. All making the wrong choices.

Darkness doesn't have fingers that twist into my flesh.

His chair glides a few inches closer and he's in my face, all shoulders and cologne.

A small metal marble pinballs within my chest, banging and clanging against all the routes inside me.

Lying on my bed, my brain cyclones with thoughts of men and boys and boys and men. All making the wrong choices.

The weight of her expectations crumble me. I've always done the right thing. She expects me to make good choices but I don't even know what good choices look like...

It's not the game, Zee. It's the fame. Everyone wants to be affiliated with a winner.