You stare at the toilet bowl and it stares back. Beckoning you to cave into your desires, to do what you know you want to. You defy the message it shouts, telling yourself that you won't go back there, that you won't be the next victim.

But deep down, you know that fight is already lost. It's now just a question of when, for it's bound to happen sooner or later. Sooner rather than later, you muse, as the feeling within you rises and pushes you to your feet.

You amble towards the bathroom and hear the door shut with a click. The moon shines in through the window, creating an ethereal halo around the bowl. You take it as a sign that you're doing the right thing; otherwise this, this is too much.

You lower to your knees, tears streaming from your eyes, yet you can't explain why. You're doing this to make yourself happy, but the doing of it makes you sad. You want to laugh at the irony, but your's heart too broken. Your soul's too dead.

You tie back you hair and that's when you know it's going to happen. Once the hair's tied back, you know that's where you can't go - back. You force yourself to think of the positives, the reasons why you're doing this but it doesn't make it easier. You want to stop yourself, but the motivation that drives you outweighs your conscience. Every time.

You wish someone would come and save you, but there's no-one left to come. You pushed them all away because the minute your father left, you told yourself you'd never rely on anyone again. Your first port of call would have been Serena, but thinking of her just makes you all the more determined to do this. To show her that you can be just as perfect as she is. More perfect.

Every time you think of Serena, you can't help but think of Nate. He had you, then he lost you and somehow, you lost you too. Your head lowers to the bowl as the pain becomes too much, and you grow in confidence, deciding this is the right thing to do. There's no-one to stop you now, not even Chuck.

Not that you'd want Chuck to stop you; he's the reason you're here, he's the reason your friends and your boyfriend have left you. The tears flow harder as you think of his words. Even Chuck Bass - the renowned egotistical pig - doesn't think you're worthy anymore.

"You held a certain fascination, when you were beautiful.."

Were, you think to yourself. Were, as in no longer. You think to yourself that that alone is reason enough itself, but you decide if you truly thought that, it would mean this was all down to Chuck. Even though he told you, straight to your face that he didn't want you (that no-one would, unless you do this) he's still controlling you if you let yourself believe that this is down to him.

So you claim this victory as your own, your way of breaking free, taking control and obtaining release.

It is now that you allow your fingers plunge, and you have a second wave of release - the contents of your stomach. Over and over again until you reach finality and you relax, legs crumpled beneath you with tear tracks obscuring your face.

You remove the proof but secure the memory, harbouring the emotions so come tomorrow, you can do it all again.