The moment was profound.

The moment was mine.

The moment was all I dreamt it would be.

Little did I know the moment would expire, how was I to know that moment would turn into my satire?

As my glitters turned to glitches and the memory of his kisses turned sour, I was left loose around the edges and brokenhearted.

I snapped my head up when a loud thud shook me wide awake.

I turned my head and frowned at the stack of papers smacked down on my desk.

A set of perfectly manicured stiletto nails drummed the surface next to it.

Oh, shiz.

Somehow, through the sleepy fog clouding my brain, I registered that the claw belonged to the wicked witch of Vogue. I immediately jolted to attention and pushed my hair off my face only to find a neon pink sticky note stuck to my cheek. I Groaned and plucked it from my cheek then slapped it back down on the table.

I forced a smile on my face and looked up at Queen Vogue—Tiffany Harris.

I knew I was in trouble. I slept little to nothing last night to make today's deadline but there was no point in hoping Tiffany understood the concept of compassion.

Tiffany sighed and looked down at me like I was something she scraped off the bottom of her shoe. She had a sneer on her baboon-butt-pink lips. She lightly tapped the pile of documents on my desk. "Get these done. I want them on my desk ASAP." Her eyes slowly trailed over my appearance. "You're a mess, go fix your hair. This is Vogue, for crying out loud." She turned and cat-walked back to her office.

I frowned and stuck my tongue out at her. Knowing my luck, the witch probably had eyes in the back of her horns, so I quickly pulled my tongue back into its face hole.

The door to her lair closed and I relaxed until my eyes caught the wet drool patch on my desk calendar. Ugh, did she see this?

I slumped back into my chair and turned to the paperwork weighing my desk down. Adulthood doesn't get nearly enough credit for its uncanny ability to kick you when you're down.

I stared at the stack of papers that had just become my date for the evening. Guess it will be another late night.

I closed my eyes and rested my head against the chair. I thought about the little nightmare I had before Tiffany woke me and shuddered.

If only it had been just that. A nightmare.

I simply resorted to only referring to it as the 'The Moment'.

That moment. My inner voice announced dramatically.

I was 'blessed' with a noisy, obnoxious, and active inner little voice. I called it Miss Priss. Most people call it conscience.

"Melia!"

I jumped and gasped when I hit my shin against the desk.

"You're nodding off again?" Tiffany glared at me. "Consider your job on the line if you don't finish this by tonight." Tiffany pointed to the papers before she smacked another bunch of files on top of the heap.

I stared at her wide-eyed and nodded.

She shook her head. "Why are you like this?" She sighed then turned on her heel and walked away.

Good Question. Why am I like this?

You know why. Miss Priss shrugged.

Right. The Moment.

To understand it, or even attempt to empathize with my sad reality, one must wander down the crooked little road that led me to be a glorious mess.

It may not look like it now, but there was a time I shone brighter than them all. But that was a long time ago—four years to be exact.

These days, I just focus on surviving adulthood, paying my rent on time, and blending in with the cracks. But four years ago, my life was the complete opposite.

My senior year in high school was the beginning of the end. That specific period in my life was where it all went south, so far south that even now, as an adult, I'm still seeking north.

The moment was my prom night. The mother of all glorious nights. The highlight of my existence, at that point in my life.

The build-up to prom was exciting, and all the girls at my high school were fussing over it. Months of preparation and planning went into this one pivotal moment. I was ready to steal the show on the arm of the boy of my dreams, Gabriel Aims.

The gym was transformed into a fantasy world of endless wonder. The theme was Alice in Wonderland, a bit cliché—like most things in my life back then. All the tables were set for teatime and the principal was dressed like the Mad Hatter. We entered with awe-filled eyes, fighting the balloons raining from the ceiling to wander deeper into the rabbit hole.

My carefully thought out, once-in-a-lifetime, and absolutely perfect, pink glittery ombre dress sparkled under the flashing lights. There was no doubt that I was the belle of the ball.

My friends loved me, boys desired me, and everyone in between envied me.

Puppy love accumulated in the air to the point you could choke on it, but alas. I slow-danced in the arms of my high school sweetheart—Mr. Perfect. If I could tag him, he would be a heavenly hashtag list with the likes of:

♯Popular ♯TeamCaptain ♯Heartthrob ♯SexyGoldenBoy ♯TrustFundKid #ParentsApprove #MakeFriendsJealous #EyeCandy #OldMoney

Gabriel had been my boyfriend for three years, and in my naïve teenage mind, he was also Mr. Right. I had foolishly conjured up our entire future together—it was cushy and forever.

I was an idiot of epic proportions.

Turned out, he was none of those enduring things. Add one more tag to that list: #Cheater

Oblivious, I ran my fingers through his soft golden hair, and he tucked one of my bleached locks behind my ear. His name was the only one on my lips, and it felt more than comfortable. He twirled me one last time before the soppy love song ended. He pulled me close with an angelic smile and kissed my forehead to not ruin my sticky, fruity lipgloss.

We made our grand departure from the center of the dance floor as the 'it' couple. Immediately, we were surrounded by our adoring entourage and whisked apart. As queen bee, I smiled at the adoration, compliments, and sighs as we discussed in full detail just how dreamy my boyfriend was.

Bitches say what? Bitches say vain. Yes, I now realize that.

But I giggled and animatedly chatted away in fluent girlish with all the totally's, omg's, and absolutely lit's that were required to converse in the local lingo of my world. Thinking back makes my brain cells shrivel up.

All too soon the big moment arrived—the announcement of high school royalty. Who was to be crowned our next King and Queen?

Silence fell over the crazed crowd of hormonal teens when the Mad Hatter opened the sacred envelope to speak the everlasting and immortalizing words.

"And your Prom Queen is...Melia Williams."

Meeeee!

People cheered and parted like the Red Sea for me to pass. The spotlight found me, making my dress sparkle perfectly, just as I planned it. I pretended to be surprised even though I wasn't, let's face it, I had it in the bag. Nonetheless, I tried to act humbly and gracefully and made my way to the stage.

Waving the Queen's wave at the commoners at my feet, I waited perfectly poised for the principal to announce my King.

Where is he anyway? Miss Priss voiced with squinting eyes and hands on her hips.

"And your Prom King is...Gabriel Aims."

The spotlight circled the cheering crowd and landed on my King feverishly making out with some random girl in the corner.

He looked up from her still-puckered face and squinted into the bright light. His lips were smeared with her tacky lipstick and his hair was disheveled from her cheap acrylics.

Gasps sounded from the many shocked faces staring between him and me, their jaws dragging on the floor.

He finally let go of the busty blonde, looking sheepish.

She, on the other hand, looked like she just won the bloody lottery.

My breath hitched and tears started rolling down my cheeks, undoubtedly leaving ugly black mascara streaks in their wake. Was she prettier than me? I didn't think so, but Gabriel always had a thing for blondes. I bleached my dark hair to fit his preference. That asshole!

I blinked rapidly while my future dreams crumbled around me, and my protected little heart shattered into a million little jagged pieces.

Call me Carrie, with the exception of pig's blood.

I glared at public enemy number one then switched to full-on bitch mode, and I mean nails out, cat hissing bitch mode.

Just like that, my perfect night was ruined. It was all over.

I know there are worse atrocities out there in the real world, but in my perfect little world, this was cataclysmic.

I could have bowed out and taken the high road. That was what a lady would have done. But I wasn't a lady. I was a drama queen, and blowing things out of proportion was my party trick.

"How could you?" I yelled in all my royal glory from the stage. The Mad Hatter and student body snapped their heads back to me in surprise.

My tears washed my makeup down my face in streaks, my feet ached with the wishful thinking that heels will help me reach model height, and the itty-bitty illusion that was my waist gasped for air in between heaving but the too-tight corset never budged.

Pretty hurts, but pretty boys hurt you worse.

The celebratory background music died, leaving a painful silence while the glitter raining from the ceiling ceased.

There I stood, a glittery hot mess, heaving and snorting from crying like some rabid zombie princess.

It could have been his nonchalant shrug of disregard that pushed me over the edge, but, regardless, I lost it.

I stormed down the stage screaming a savage battle cry and bulldozing through the crowd towards the boyfriend stealer. In hindsight, I should have just decked Gabriel instead of the girl, but even at that moment I was irrationally devoted to him.

I grabbed her by the hair and slapped her across the face. Hard. Shit just got real, and I was in smackdown mode.

Everything was a glittery blur. I vaguely remembered someone pulling me off her while trying to stay away from the sharp ends as I clawed at, at...

At I-don't-know-your-name because you're irrelevant! Miss Priss roared in my head.

"Babe, come on, you're making a scene," Gabriel said in his signature bored tone.

I whirled around and stabbed an accusing finger in his chest. "You...you..." I just couldn't find the words.

He held up his hands. "What? It's not like you were going to give it up tonight, or ever. I have needs. Besides, did you really believe we were going to be together forever? I mean, high school is over," he said, looking at me like I was missing the obvious.

There was some snickering from his friends, and I noticed my apparent friends taking a step back from me. I was devastated, so I did what any respectable Prom Queen would do. I stomped my foot childishly, gave a dramatic yell, and stormed out of the gym.

Publicly humiliated, socially disgraced, and scarred for life. I lost my faith in true love and was left facing my happily never after.

Oh, how the mighty had fallen.

I had come undone like a sponge cake in water. I ran crying from the school's cursed doors into the forlorn night, never to return as the same perky and blissfully ignorant girl I once was.

But after all these years, I could finally say good riddance. That night was the first step in ceasing the charades and settling into the real me. I needed to be pushed off of my privileged pedestal to wake up and smell the bullshit.