About this Fic:

1) This fanfiction contains controversial and tough topics: self-harm and depression, anxiety and alcoholism/substance abuse, domestic violence and psychological abuse, and, of course, an eating disorder (anorexia) although I don't think it will be covered as much as in my other fics. Now. This may be a spoiler, but this fanfiction also contains mature topics such as rape and masochism. Bringing up any of the above topics are meant to spread awareness and is not at all meant to glamorize the situation or dehumanize the people who suffer through these things.

2) I have not yet written a dream sequence for this fic. I know some of you are going to love that. For those who don't... well, there's plenty of flashbacks to make up for it, and towards the end a character goes through something that could easily be mistaken for schizophrenia... you know, that is if you don't believe in witches and the spiritual connections they can make. (Since the Descendants movie takes place in a magical world, the witch's characteristics are also somewhat magical and isn't really based on real life witches... just so you know and don't take offense to the inaccuracy, because I know some of you know by now that I try to do as much research as I can to be as accurate and non-offensive as I can be.)

3) The fanfiction will start off centering around the four main characters from the movie (Evie, Mal, Carlos, and Jay), but as you go further into the story Ben will also have his own "little" story-line and then sprinkling on and off until the surprise ending so does his mother. (Oh. By the way, did I mention I started to write the scenes out of order? Yeah. So, this isn't just me saying there's a surprise towards the end. Assuming you don't catch on quickly (God. That sounds like an awful thing to say to your viewers, but I don't know how else to put it.) then you should be at least a little surprised towards the end... and if you're not, then at least you will be left heartbroken... I'm such a horrible person. But that's why you love me, isn't it?

"I'll get better," Mal remembers saying as she sits on the edge of the faded tub, but the truth is she knows she will never meet her mother's expectations. She contemplates this, her head knelt down and her tired eyes unmoving. It takes a lot out of her to keep up the act, because the problem is the things she does, the things her mother would even slightly approve of, are no mere pranks or fun mischief. She moves her fingers until the light reflects off of the dull blade. She could have stayed content with spreading her street art all across the city, but the action seems to only displease her mother. So, even though it is fun, full of expression, and seems to be the only thing to relax her ever so slightly, Mal would never mention it to her mother again.

Not that her mother wouldn't find out, even if she hardly has enough time to do it anymore. No. She has to spend her time stealing candy from babies. Mal presses the blade hard against her thigh and forces it towards her, red starting to bead through the cut; however, it's not nearly good enough. All of the people who have suffered by her hand, like that little girl she had given poison ivy shampoo to just yesterday— she'd completely forgotten all about that one. Mal slowly shakes her head. What else had she forgotten about? She takes in a deep breath and holds it, before she forces the blade down her leg five more times even harder than before. The result is immediate and exactly what she had deserved, the blood proof that these cuts are real and not just mere scratches as the first one had been.

"Mal!"

Mal jumps slightly, taking in a deep breath as she looks toward the door, but she lets that same breath out in relief when she finds her privacy remains intact. "I'm taking a bath, Mother!"

"Now. There's no need to get annoyed girly. I'm just letting you know that your little friend has arrived for that slumber party of yours."

Mal places a hand to her head. What else could she possibly forget? "Tell her I will be out in fifteen minutes."

"Or," her mother prompts, "you could just finish up and come out to tell her yourself."

"Mother!" Mal seethes. "I literally just got in here. Please! Just tell her!"

"Alright. Alright," her Mother calmly responds. "Geeze pumpkin, you've got to lighten up. Live a little."

"Mother," Mal growls in warning.

"Alright. I'm leaving." There's a slight pause, and Mal feels a bit sick when she hears the smile in her mother's voice. "Take all the time you need."

Mal rolls her eyes. As if I'd be doing that right now. She looks back down at the bloody blade and frowns even more so than before. Her mother has no idea, but how could she? Mal's never thought of herself as much of an actress, her voice having the undertone of the typical lying girl. But, of course, someone would have to be observant to notice that, and all my mother ever seems to observe is herself. She lays the blade down beside her, and as she stares at it she still can't believe it. How did that thought first occur to her? When did it first begin? She shakes her head, too much filling her brain at the moment to remember anything. These past few years— everything's just a blur… but none of it matters. The past is the past.

She spins around and dunks her feet into the lukewarm water, before she slowly moves down into the dingy white tub. Usually this is the best part of her week, but Mal immediately finds herself disappointed. It's not nearly hot enough, not enough to keep her heat up for the rest of the week. She looks up in annoyance. It's not the first time her mother has taken too many baths to leave any hot water for her. It's like she wants me to die. Mal finds her eyes back on the blade, before she sits up and takes it. She lowers it into the water and cleans it. The water is already turning into a pale pink from her cuts, so she might as well do this as well.

Mal wouldn't admit it, but somewhere deep inside she knows. There's her thoughts, there's the knowledge that you're about to make that thought, and then before you have that knowledge there's just this feeling or sense. This sense tells her that she's spending too much time cleaning that object, but all she can do is picture it. Sometimes she wonders how far she could go. At what point does it go too far? If she were to continue punishing herself in this way, and if she were to continue to make sure the punishment fits her deed, then could there ever become a point that would be too far, a point at which she could die?

"Mal?"

Mal looks up at the door, hearing Evie's voice. "Yeah." She finds her voice to be calm, almost sad. No. It is sad, I think. Is it? How does sad feel like? On the Isle sadness is just another emotion considered to be weakness, so it's not like anyone has ever admitted to it; therefore, Mal has nothing to compare this empty, contemplative state with.

"Would you rather have cinnamon oat squares or banana bread?"

"The oat squares will be fine," Mal decides softly.

"Okay," Evie responds in the same softness Mal had used, and Mal can hear her shifting feet as if contemplating to leave. "And Mal?"

"Yeah," she says again.

Evie's nervousness seems to stop as it becomes quiet, but her voice still questions in hesitated concern, "Are you okay in there?"

"Yeah. Of course," Mal hears herself answer in that obvious lying girl tone of hers.

She can almost hear Evie nod sadly, "That's what I thought." before she leaves the bathroom door, crossing the squeaky floor and exiting down the echoic, spiral staircase. Of course she knows, but they've never spoken a single word about it.

Mal sets the razor blade back on the bath's edge, before she lies back down and remembers the day she suspects Evie found out. She had woken up later than her companion had, and as the day before they'd all ventured through the woods, of course Evie would want to clean the clothes she and her had changed out of the night before. When Mal walked into the kitchen that morning she had felt a sudden dread and panicked, "What are you doing!"

Evie looked at her like she was crazy, "Um. Washing our clothes." She laughed, and Mal could only walk forward slowly before sitting down next to her friend and the laundry tub.

"So, how's it going?"

She remembers how her voice slightly shook, but apparently Evie hadn't noticed. She said it was going fine, but that's when her thin eyebrows crunched up in confusion. Mal looked down at what she had seen, and she finds her mouth drop just slightly at the sight of dried blood lines on her leggings. "Mal. What's this?" Her voice was almost accusing but also filled with concern; however, Mal couldn't speak. This was exactly what she'd feared. She was vulnerable now. Her friend would for sure see her as nothing but weak now. "Mal. Is this blood?"

Mal nervously came up with an excuse and coughed, "Could be. Things can get rough on the Isle." She remembers smiling widely, "You know what? It could have been from those small branches we had to keep walking through yesterday." She looked back down at the vertical lines, "Yeah. That must be it." but it didn't occur to her until afterwards that the lines would have been horizontal if that were the case.

Evie commented, "I wish you would have told me. Peroxide should have been used. I don't know if it will come out now."

"Oh. Well, it doesn't matter," Mal reasoned. "It's on the inside, so it can't be seen."

Evie nodded, "And since it's under where the skirt would be, it won't matter even if it could be." and seemed to have put it together.

Mal takes a deep breath, sits up, and stretches forward, before she grabs hold of her shampoo and conditioner and the pitcher. She sets the hair products next to the blade, before she fills up the pitcher with water from the tub's facet. The first time is to get her hair wet, the second time is to rinse the shampoo out, and the third time is for the conditioner. She wouldn't bother with clawing the dead skin off from herself tonight. That kind of thing is always easier with showers, which she could probably find five minutes for in the next day or two.