Prologue Lila Beauty. Vanity. Perfection. Three words my mother adores. They mean more to her than her husband, her daughters, and life. Without these attributes, she thinks she’d be better off dead. Without me having these attributes, she would disown me. Be flawless. Shine bright. Never, ever do anything less than excel. These are her rules and the vanity that makes up my life. And my father isn’t any better. In fact, I think he might be worse, because even with beauty, perfection, and flawlessness, I’m still never good enough. The constant need to be perfect continuously overwhelms me and makes me feel like I’m going to be crushed from the pressure. Sometimes I swear my house can shrink and expand, that the walls can close in and then retreat. When I’m alone in my house, the space feels overly immense with too many rooms, too many walls. But when I’m in it with my parents it seems like I can’t get enough space, almost as if I can’t breathe, even if we’re on opposite sides of the house. Maybe it’s because I’m always doing something wrong and they’re always reminding me of my unforgiveable mistakes. Either I’m not doing enough to appease them or I’m not doing things well enough. There are always rules to follow. Sit up straight. Don’t slouch. Don’t talk unless you’re spoken too. Don’t screw up. Be perfect. Look pretty. We