It began as most bad decisions do, at a party that’s just a little bit too nice for her. She hadn’t snuck in, she’s been invited but probably more as a curious conversation piece than anything else. Her form fitting, silky black gown swished above the floor with every step she took and she looked down nervously. She wore a repurposed formal dress from her not so long-off sorority days. She hadn’t realized how filled out her hips and thighs had become since she started eating again and began working out. She cursed under her breath and muttered “its only been a year” as she watched her beautifully olive-toned right leg burst from her black dress and display itself up to the hip to everyone in the rooftop penthouse. She had to admit, she loved the feeling of power that sprung from this overwhelming feeling of humiliation. She saw herself as an object, “but a pretty object can make men do all sorts of things” she thought to herself.