Flint pinned me to the floor and started kissing my neck, I kissed back as fast as I could, and his smile told me he liked what I was trying to do.

The door was closed shut, leaving me and Flint locked in this room, this auburn-coated room.

"What's wrong?" he said, panting constantly, taking him away from the kiss.

I didn't notice that I was blankly staring at the ceiling, I moved my head from his and soon sat up, completely getting away from his grasps.

"Just tired," I sighed, not looking him in the eye.

"You never get tired," he heaved an even heavier sigh, which made me anxious, and at the same time, useless and incapable.

I didn't say anything after he had said that, nor did he say anything, too. He just sat there, probably waiting for me to change my mind.

He is a football player, or basically what everyone in school label as a jock. He had a chiseled face and diamond-studded teeth, which made his smile looked like a very bright flashlight.

He heaved another sigh, even heavier than the last one. He does that to make me tensed, and he knows that it will control me.

He twitched his lips and finally stood up. He made a shadow cast upon me and just intentionally walked out the room.

"Where are you going?" I said, though my mouth was frozen by the anxiety, I can feel my fingernails come off.

"It's one time we can do this," he said, looking back at me when he said the word "this" and made a mocking frown at me.

I just nodded and watched his eyes brighten up like a Christmas tree.

He pushed me harder against my bed, I winced, but he didn't ask what was wrong, he kept the smirk he molded his face with.

He started to give me even torrid kisses, and that bothered me, I feel his hand caressing my bra.

"Why aren't you kissing back?" he said, his eyes glinting with annoyance.

I moved away and slightly propelled him away from me.

"I am just so fucking tired."

He didn't say anything, his face changed to something that a wolf would make if it let his prey escape.

I was the prey, apparently.

"I'll go home, go rest and stuff, fix yourself tomorrow," he said, giving me a last glance that made me feel frost.

He slammed the door, and his distant footsteps were all I have remembered that day.

I cupped my face with my wrist and started to force myself to weep, I know that he doesn't love me, or anything he claimed to feel.

No tears came out, and just left me with dry, hollow eyes.

We were crowned Prom King and Queen last year, and the fame brought us together, the applause of fellow students brought us together.

I crashed onto the bathroom floor and finally, the tears came out. Flint won't know that I cried. Flint doesn't want to know that I cried.

I stood up with my shaking knees and pacing in front of the mirror.

Dina was the one who put makeup on my face, and did my hair. She was a cheerleader also, the captain, perhaps. Dina claimed that she was my best friend, and I kinda believed her, too.

But the way the mascara was dripping down my cheeks said something, that no matter how many people you are affiliated with, you will be alone. It's inevitable.

I learned that from the last book I have read, perhaps the first book I've read. I couldn't even remember the title and the author.

The words just made way into my head.

Everyone leaves.

I twist the faucet and ran my hands through cold water, more tears dripped down my neck. I couldn't avoid looking at the reflection in front me.

I was crying tainted, black tears.

From all the makeup. From all of the chemicals they put on my face. From Flint.

My eyes were gray, with ironic black liquid coming out of it, dyed by mascara.

I felt degraded, perhaps, I degraded myself. I want to stop, I really do. But that's what my school made me do, to label myself, to call myself perfect.

For two years I believed that.

"Diane is better than this," My eyes became heavy and scratched, almost as if I was punched.

I kept repeating and repeating until my eyes became sore. And as every tear falls down my shirt, the fact I hold dearly fades, that I was perfect, and beautiful. It all fades.

"I am beautiful," I said, but clearly, I knew that from this day on, Diane will never be beautiful. That she will always lie to herself.

I splashed my face with the frigid water with my hands, moving closer to getting all of these bullshits off my face.

Makeup lies to you.

Makeup will just make you cry out mascara-dyed tears in front of the mirror, and you will continue to make your eyes stream.

I stepped into the bathtub, and switched the shower on, scrubbing Flint Eastwood out of my body, out of my face.