With her father on a fast track to political stardom, Anna's quirks and "out there" personality have always been looked down upon. After years of struggling with her stifled emotions, she ends up institutionalized, surrounded by strangers and lost i...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"Checking in for two. Should be under Clarke." Anna passes her father's black credit card across the counter, slightly embarrassed by her unintentional showcase of her family's fortune. Private schools. Clothes. Makeup. Food. University. Institutions. Even in an act of rebellion, she notes her reliance on her parents' money.
She was a double major in Art History and English Literature. She excelled in all her studies, yet her over achievements were close to ignored by her parents, who regarded her degrees as a "trading benefit." Factors that would make her more appealing to her future husband. They never actually paid attention to the merit of her work and for that, Anna always resented them.
With complete disregard for manners, the woman at the front desk assesses Anna. Her beady eyes roam up and down Anna's attire. Ruby red, sparkling flats with black-and-white striped socks. Torn light-wash skinny jeans. Cliche Misfits tee. Pink faux fur jacket. Runny makeup from the rain. All finished off with a cheap tiara, given to her at a party from one of her few childhood friends.
Number 4: Be who you've always wanted to be. Even if just for an hour.
"Clarke?" Harry pushes the number 8 in the elevator and blows hot breath on the mirrored wall. His slender finger draws a dainty heart in the fog and looks back at Anna. "I feel silly for never asking your last name."
"It's fine. I hate my name. You benefited from not inquiring." She rummages through her purse to locate the key she carelessly threw in. She pushes aside cheap lighters, half-empty pill bottles, and the like, until finally locating their gateway to the suite. "Got it!"
"This place is something out of 'The Great Gatsby.'" Harry steps out of the elevator. While he gazes around the hallways, intimidated by the high class art deco style of the hotel, he notices the pronounced wrinkles in her forehead. Her distressed breathing. He seems to know her better than most at this point in their new friendship. "You okay?"
Upset by her last interaction with her mother before coming to the hotel, Anna rips the plastic crown off her head and shoves it in her purse before inserting the key into their room's door. "I'm fine."
She slams open the door and stomps to the bed, throwing her back against the soft, foamy mattress.
"Where are you going?" Anna's mom leans against the doorframe of Anna's bedroom and mentally critiques her daughter's unconventional outfit. She's the type of mother that can speak paragraphs with the arch of an eyebrow. Show disdain with a simple squint. "We have some company coming over tonight."
"Oh, are you talking about Harry? I'm going to go pick him up in about an hour." Anna rubs her thumbs under eyes to wipe away stray specks of mascara off her naturally high cheekbones.
"No. A couple of senators from the states. Your dad's manager. The usual. Who's Harry?" She enters the room and begins readjusting all of Anna's decor. A turn of a flower pot. A fold of a throw blanket.
