Welcome to Hollywood

Chapter 20

Life has returned to its normal crappy but busy state. After the doctors realized it actually was an accident they let me leave the hospital. The psychiatric team told all the production members necessary but the damage was done. I lost the TV show. My recording contract was put off until I am eighteen, and the movie is still up in the air. How was it that I lost it all for something not my fault? An accident ruined everything. Because I didn't have any jobs in the industry my parents made me come home. Fantastic, right? Fortunately, my spot was given back to me in La Cage. Only problem though, is that I got a slutty character so I'm basically in lingerie the entire time I'm on stage. Rolls, is what the audience will be paying for. When I came back to my future Alma Matter, it was with a cover story. Right now I was talking with my theater teacher after school. The conversation started with, "No offense but why are you back here right now?"

"Something happened that I couldn't transfer the credits and I was only supposed to be on that part of tour anyways."

"That's still a pretty awesome opportunity. That's stupid though."

"Yeah, not cool."

There was an awkward pause; I've always been a horrible liar. 

"It must've been awesome meeting your idol and stay with her for a few days."

I smile sadly, "Yeah it was."

"Was it like you imagined?"

"Yeah, she's such an angel!"

Bullshit. She left me, which wasn't cool even if I was that mentally ill. She shouldn't have abandoned me. A few days after she left, Demi apparently texted me but I never even read it. I’m still mad at her. She should have listened to me when I told her it was an accident.

"I read somewhere that you were in the hospital though."

I laugh nervously, "Oh yeah. I was cutting something with a knife and if slipped. I've always been such a klutz."

"True, I remember during your freshman year when Emily stepped on your hand at orientation."

I laugh and get a little sad remembering. All of that seemed so freaking far away. I mean, that was before I even knew who Demi pretty was. I know, I mark my life on a Demi timeline, pathetic. I just need to get over her already, it sounds like a damn break up. We weren't even that good of friends. More like an unrealistic fan-girl and celebrity playing along. 

Anyways I just get back to reality and say, "Oh my god, that seems like such a long time ago!"

"I know, especially since you have about two months until you guys are juniors."

"Oh god. Where did the time go?"

"I don't know." 

So much has changed since August 2012.  I went into high school with a relationship that I thought was going to be successful and high hopes that middle school would be a totally different experience than where I was now. I kind of pictured for me to go to Kickbacks and have a lot of fun. No such luck though. I thought it would finally be one of the happiest times of my life, wrong again. When high school started I was lonely with a slight case of PTSD from bullies but my problems never went any farther than that. Then I got a boyfriend, Christian. That was my second with that name and also the second horrible relationship I got in, both equally as damaging but in different ways.

Christian number one was a sweetie pie. He was also that weird ginger kid that I met in seventh grade. He had just moved to my town and had no friends so I was nice to him. Apparently I was unpredictable, to the intellectual mind, and that made me interesting so he asked me out. I said yes out of kindness but was straight with him from the start. We dated for a month and it was pretty great. He was a bit of a cling on but sweet. He treated me like a princess and that was something that never really happened before. But then I felt him liking me a hell of a lot more than I liked him, and I got scared. I broke up with him after that. He attempted suicide. That scared the shit out of me so we dated on and off for about a year because I could never get rid of that feeling. Even in freshman year I would talk with him a lot on and off.