Clean [Kaylor]

Prologue

Sometimes you wonder how you ended up like this. There are moments in which you catch a glimpse of your reflection in a mirror and you feel sick to your stomach. It seems like you're the only one who's able to notice how rotten you've become - it's like your own version of the picture of Dorian Gray: on the outside, you look as perfect as usual, with your shiny blonde hair and sparkling blue eyes and your signature red lipstick on a carefully crafted smile, but on the inside you're crumbling down, falling down a spiral of self-loathing and self-destruction that no one can see but you, when you look at yourself in the mirror. If only people knew...

Your car navigates the New York City traffic, and you stare out of the tinted windows, watching all those other people's lives passing you by, and for a moment you wish you were one of them. For a moment you wish you were just a normal girl with a normal life, going to work in a normal office, just a regular almost-24-year-old girl whose life isn't under the constant scrutiny of the entire world, a girl who doesn't hate herself and doesn't wish she could get drunk at ten in the morning on her way to work.

You have a flask full of vodka in your purse, but you don't dare taking it out and lifting it to your lips, because you're too scared you won't be able to stop and you will get wasted and fuck up the show. You can't do that. Work is all that has helped you keep a resemblance of sanity during these years; you've sacrificed everything in order to get there and you can't afford to make mistakes and ruin everything you've built to the detriment of your own personal happiness. You can picture the headlines: America's Sweetheart goes on stage drunk and ruins the Victoria's Secret Fashion Show. The mere thought of something like that being written about you makes you shiver in horror.

No, work is all you have left, and it's because of it that you're now alone, that you blew your chance at love and happiness, so you can't risk it now. You'll go out there, be your usual adorable self, smile at everyone and smile even more at the cameras, you'll sing your heart out and pretend you don't want to tear yourself to pieces every single moment of your life, from when you open your eyes in the morning to when you stumble to your bed in the evening, high as a kite, and you finally fall asleep.

The car stops, and you take a deep breath.

"Miss Swift, we're here," says Joe from the driver seat.

You close your eyes for a few seconds, inhale, exhale, let your mask slips back on.

You're Taylor Swift, America's Sweetheart, Grammy-winner, a perfect role model for little girls all over the world, and you're ready to go out there and perform one more time.

In all honesty, they should give you an Oscar for being the best leading actress in this fucking shitfest your life has become!