Skyscraper // Demi Lovato // 5

7.

"I'm never leaving the house ever again," I stated, pulling my comforter over my head, only to have Demi yank it off and toss it to the floor.

"Rosie, you can't do that. You have an album to finish, not to mention Maia and I got you an apartment."

After the fiasco at Rosie's Pizza, Barrett returned me home after a trip to the hospital because I wouldn't stop complaining about my head hurting. I didn't remember anything except my panic about not wanting to be seen and then I was home, on the couch with a cold compress on my forehead. Demi had told me that everything was fine with my head and she helped me up to my room where I stayed for a week, only getting up to use the bathroom.

My hair was a tangled, greasy mess, and Demi noticed."Now, you're going to get up and get some clean clothes and take a shower or a bath or whatever. I'll come back with the basket and start your laundry."

I lay motionless, eyes locked on the ceiling.

"Rosalina Camila Lovato, right now. I need to strip your bed."

At that, I rolled over, feet landing on the floor, knees buckling. I heard Demi sigh as she started to pull my pillows out of their cases and take the sheet off. When I looked at her again after pulling some underwear out of my dresser, she was holding my phone, brow furrowed in annoyance at the device.

"What?" I asked.

"Nothing. It's just dead. Everyone must be trying to get ahold of you." She stuck the charger in and set the phone down to finish pulling off the sheet. She left to get a laundry basket and since my legs felt like they couldn't hold me up for another second, I went into the bathroom and started filling up the tub.

I tossed my dirty clothes into my room for Demi to pick up and wash and closed the door.

After a long bath, I got out and dried myself off before getting dressed. I wrapped up my hair in a towel and looked at my room. All my pillows were piled on one corner of the bed, my comforter in front of the TV stand and all the clothes that had been laying around were gone. I'd also had a large collection of empty bottles and cans and cups, and all of that was gone as well.

When the pain in my legs returned, I sat on my bed, picking up my phone. I had so many missed texts and calls and emails from all the songwriters and producers I worked with. The most recent missed call was from my manager Jeanie Hanson.

I listened to her voicemail and immediately wished I hadn't. She wasn't too mad at me because she said Demi had told her what happened to me, but she explained that my entire team was very upset because I had told them we were finishing the album soon and hadn't shown up all week.

Instead of calling her back, I called Taylor, a songwriter who I loved working with. We had gotten pretty close during the time we'd been writing and making music together and sometimes I felt like she was a sister to me. I hoped my absence wouldn't affect that.

"Rosie?" she said. "What the hell? You said we were gonna write the last song for the album and after it was recorded and all that it'd be done. Where have you been?" She sounded mad, and I flinched away from my phone at her harsh tone.

"I'm so sorry. I just... I freaked out because I was with a couple friends and the paps were right outside taking pictures of me and I just... I freaked out."

Taylor sighed and when she spoke again, her voice was much kinder. "I'm sorry, but you can't let them bother you. You have a job to do and you can't let anything get in the way of your success. I know it's so easy to just not do anything, but then you're sacrificing your life. Do you really wanna give up your life, your dreams, over some people with cameras?"