Sober Up

[3] Defeat

Demi's P.O.V

"We need to talk."

Those words began to repeat themselves over and over as I struggled to stay calm.

"Yes. As a matter of fact we do. Why am I here?" I couldn't help but raise my voice. I was irritated and confused and that seemed like the only way I would get an answer from anyone as to where I was and what was going on.

I glared at Dr. Lancome, impatiently waiting for an answer. He looked puzzled and without a word he quickly swiveled his chair to the corner of the room, where there was a large, old fashioned television.

At the push of a button, music started blaring out, bouncing off the walls and circling the room. I jumped in fright, cupping my ears with both of my hands, as did everybody else seated in the room.

"Sorry about that." He said in a hurry as he quickly reached for the control, with a smirk on his face. Only when he realised that we were not the slightest bit amused, did the smug look droop from his face into a stern, apologetic frown.

I was still left without an answer to my long awaited question.

I began to gather up my thoughts, staring down into my lap as I twiddled my thumbs. I looked up at the mention of my name on the television. I lost all train of thought and suddenly all of my attention was focused on the television screen. I tried not to blink incase I missed a vital piece of evidence in answer to my original question of where i was and why i was here.

"Demi lovato touched down in Chicago 2 days ago."

CHICAGO?! what was I doing in Chicago?!

"We see her now, walking through the airport with her mother, Dianna De La Garza, and stepfather, Eddie De La Garza, sporting a badly beaten right hand. What has demi been up to and how did she hurt her hand? Let us know what you think. This is Chelsey from ENews. Back to you Paul."

Dr. Lancome pushed the power button with great force, before he stood up and began pacing the room back and fourth, as if warming up for a circuit lap.

I lowered my head in shame, researching the pattern printed on the carpetted floor beneath my feet. I could feel the stares of those around me, burning deep into my skin. I felt sick to my stomach. I felt nothing but guilt. Sickening guilt, but I still didn't quite understand.

"Does this answer your question Miss Lovato?" Lancome sarcastically snarled.

"Not entirely." I replied. "What has that got to do with this meeting?" The sighs and whispers echoing all around me from ear to ear.

Lancome sighed, picking up the pace before coming to a stand still. Placing both of his hands on the opposite side of the table to where I was sitting. He looked frustrated but before he could say a word, mom interupted.

"Demi come on. You punched Alex. She's your backup dancer! Your friend and you hit her!? This isn't like you, sweetheart. Whats going on? You can talk to us. We can help you!"

I buried my head in my hands as she spoke. Sniffling as a single tear rolled down my cheek, into the palm of my hand. I quickly wiped it away before anybody noticed.

Lifting my head up I turned to face her. She had that worried look in her eyes. She, herself, looked like she was going to cry any minute now.

"I'm fine! I don't need your help! I don't want your help!" I screamed. I needed to get out of here. I just wanted to go home.

The truth is, I had no idea what was wrong with me. It was nothing and everything all at once. One little thing, had progressed into so many little things.