Vale-fucking-dictorian.
Ivy League for undergrad.
Ivy League for grad.
All the best classes, and the best mentors.
Read all the best books.
Acquired the best network. Money. Money. Private Jet. More money. Multiple homes. LA, New York, Hawaii, Italy, Sweden.
But the voice, the fucking voice, it always followed — ever louder. Worthless. Useless. Imposter. Loser.
She snorts coke as she’s fired.
She snorts as each home is taken.
As her bank accounts dwindle to zero, she snorts some more.
On the street, blood trickling from her nose, the voice laughs.
“I told you so,” it says.
