The air was too sterile for my room, the lights too blinding. Not even my mother, a clean freak, would wipe everything with alcohol.

Mumbling a little, I stretched to reach for Porkchop, my teddy bear, to find it gone. Weird, he sat on my bed 24/7.

I cranked open my eyes to find myself surrounded by white. Clean, pure, sterile white.

Curious, I tried to sit up, but the intense pain, especially on my lower body, stopped me. Sore. I was sore.

Suddenly, the events of last night began seeping back in my mind, the pungent stink of tobacco and whiskey teasing my nostrils.

No, oh God, no...

I was barely aware of me screaming, accidentally breaking off the IV drip, and curling into fetal position. All I knew was that I couldn't breathe, I sobbed and sobbed and gasped and gasped and no oxygen could reach my lungs.

"Cheshire!"

My family flooded in, along with a man clutching a whiteboard and sporting a long coat. He rushed towards me at once.

"GET AWAY FROM ME!" I howled, shrinking away from him. A man was a man was a man. A man had attacked me and left me bruised and used.

He took a double take, and Mom was there at my side in an instant. "Sweetie, he's just a doctor, he's here to help!"

"I don't want any 'he' in here!" I yelled, shaking all over. "He will do it to me, I know he will!"

Dad shook his head. "Honey, calm down," he urged, reaching to hold my hand.

I drew away from him, curling up in the smallest ball possible. "Don't touch me!" I had no idea what was going on.

"She's in shock," I heard the doctor mutter soothingly to my Dad.

"I'm not in shock, I know a man when I see one!" I snapped, gasping for air. I was suffocating.

Soon, a nurse came in with a needle. Whispers of "calming her down" soon filled the room.

"No needles!" I croaked hysterically. They were going to do this again, I knew it. They had brought me here to abuse me again. My parents probably sold me into slavery.

"Please, please please! Oh, please no!"

They did it. They stabbed me in the arm again.

But I wasn't going to go without a fight. "No! You can't... you won't..."

And everything was dark.

Funny thing was, my consciousness was somewhat intact. So I could think. But my thoughts weren't pretty at all.

I'm dirty.

I knew I was. Ruined, even. There was no turning back the clock.

They would scorn me for it. They would ignore me, or keep me at a safe distance from the rest of them, like I am some kind of horrible, ugly disease. And who am I to blame them? They had another perfect perfect daughter — Astra. No one needed to care for me now.

I began, subconsciously, to cry.

I did everything right. I wasn't dressed like a slut. I wasn't spilling all over the streets, cheeks pumping red from too much alcohol. I wasn't walking alone in an isolated ditch somewhere. I was in a safe neighbourhood, with my friends, strictly sober to the bone. I was supposed to be protected.

Now look at what I've become.

Whore chanted in my head.

Whore in the classroom, whore in the streets, whore in her own house, whore in her mind.

I couldn't escape anything now. Wherever I go, whatever I say. The old ones would go, "Tut, tut! Didn't you teach about this kind of stuff in school? The birds and the bees and the like? I bet you were asking for it." The young ones would learn about me in their textbooks, and they would go, "Thank God I'm not her."

Some would call it curiosity, some would call it lust. Either way, I just lost my virginity.

And I wasn't happy about it.

When I was able to actually wake up again, my sister Astra and my parents had surrounded me, and she was clutching my IV-hooked hand.

Oh, sweet Astra. Born two years after me, she had become quite the angel of the family. We may share the same eyes and nose, but her fair skin and highlighted chocolate hair had become the difference between 'family genes' and 'goddess'.

So what was a walking perfection like her doing, visiting a broken soul like mine?

"Don't touch me," I grunted softly, not surprised at how hoarse my voice sounded. I did scream quite a bit.

"Cat!"

"I said don't touch me," I repeated, raising my voice a little.

With obvious hurt in her eyes, she quietly withdrew her hand.

"Cat, you know you don't have to—"

I looked away.

Astra had called me Cat when we were watching Alice in Wonderland, way back when I was four and she two. She recognised my name from the Cheshire Cat, but Cheshire is quite a mouthful for a toddler, so Cat it was. After 11 or so years, I still took pride in Astra idolising Cat, admiring Cat, trying to be everything that Cat was.

Too bad she couldn't idolise a dirty slut.

The words slipped out of my mouth before I knew better. "Don't call me Cat anymore."

Mom and Dad exchanged a worried glance that I was barely aware of.

"What did I do wrong?" Astra asked tearfully. "Please, Cat, I can make it right."

I don't know what I was thinking, but I suddenly leaned close that our faces were a paper-thin distance apart.

"Cat was your idol, the girl whose footsteps you wanted to follow. Trust me when I say, Astra Oaks, you do not want to live in the shadow of a whore whose life has been ruined, her paths in front of her torn, her plans shredded and stepped on." Every word came out fierce and sharp, and she flinched.

"No? Yeah, I thought so." I sneered, wondering why I sneered. She was my sister, for God's sake! But still, nothing stopped me from glaring at her while she looked away, and began digging in her bag.

Timid like the sister she was, she handed Porkchop to me.

Like the wild animal I was, I snatched it from her, careful not to touch her skin. Wouldn't want to ruin you now, would we?

Mom opened her mouth to speak, but the bell began ringing for end of visiting time.

"You should probably go," I muttered, turning to set Porkchop up at a corner.

Stupid, stupid, stupid! Like they'd listen to a whore like you.

From the corner of my eye, I saw Mom's face crease with hurt. "Cheshire, you knew we didn't want this."

"You should probably go," I repeated calmly, evading their hopeful stares.

They glanced at each other and left, leaving me along with Porkchop.

~~~
Night. It was night.

The hospital lights were still on, thank god. I don't think I could sleep without them.

Hell, I don't even know if I could sleep anymore.

I studied my body under that enormous hospital gown, which, by the way, was a strange papery texture that I didn't enjoy. I was bruised everywhere, from my torso to my legs and arms as well. Big and ugly and purple.

Well, I suppose that was a fresh new reason for people to avoid me. After all, I was nothing more than a whore.

I wasn't clean anymore.