A Symphony of Devotion: The Start [Demi Lovato]

[1] Grey

"Kill yourself," she spat out, as the impact of a cafeteria tray colliding with my head caused me to fall to the ground. "No one wants you here anyway."

The girl knelt down, and a throbbing ache began in my side when she kicked me.

I tried to stop crying as I staggered to my feet, only to be pushed to the ground again. Tears streamed down my cheeks as my head smashed onto the edge of a table.

I jerk awake screaming, rasping sobs escaping my lips as I drop my head into my hands.

The lines of reality and memories blur for a second, but that's all it takes for the flashbacks to drop on me.

As I convince myself that it was just a nightmare, I wait for my brother to burst into the room; knowing that he usually comes in once he hears screaming, then wrap my arms around myself as my breathing rate begins to climb.

Just a nightmare. My heart continues to beat too fast for my liking. Just a nightmare. I'm still sweating. Just a nightmare. The tears continue to roll down my cheeks. Just a nightmare.

"No, stop, it's real!" I scream, before realizing what I've shouted out into the quiet night air and clapping my hand over my mouth as I cry silently.

My brother still hasn't made an appearance, and I don't have the heart to wake him, knowing that he had stayed up to help our father with his business and he must be exhausted.

Parts of the nightmare begin to drift away too far from recalling, but the memories are still real. It's not something I can forget. The fact that I'm in America now and not England is just a reminder of what had caused everything.

My fingers trace the scar on my left elbow, and I'm left to remember the blade of the knife that pierced my skin; the screams; the sound of running feet as the bullies rush off before they could get caught..

No, stop. Rewind.

Happy place, I struggle to tell myself. Happy place, happy thoughts. Happy place, happy thoughts.

My hand tightens into a fist around the material of my blankets as I cry out almost inaudibly.

I get up, my legs barely able to support my weight as I stumble to my bathroom in the dark. My hand finds the switch, and a second later, the room is bathed in light. I squint at the brightness that momentarily blinds me, then head for the sinks. I splash water onto my face, again and again, hoping that maybe it would wash the bad memories and the haunting thoughts away.

At last, I stand, panting, water dripping off my chin, staring into the hollow eyes of my reflection with my hands propping me up on the sink.

I know I'm being guarded by some of the finest security in America; the whole mansion is, but a lingering fear in my mind is afraid of being alone, of perhaps seeing a little ghost girl suddenly appear in the pupil of my eye in my reflection, afraid that masked men will suddenly burst in on me.

Such fears are uncontrollable. I sink to the ground, my hand catching on a case as I fall, which lands with the soft sound of impact.

You don't want this, I try to convince myself. It's bad. You don't want to. You won't ever want to.

My own persuading doesn't work. The fears are creeping in on me, creating an inpenetrable shield around me that holes in the voices in my head and the insanity that is my mind.

I can't keep my eyes off that small case on the tiled black floor. It's silver, entirely hiding what lies inside, and to anyone else it might just be an ordinary lipstick case. But, to me, I see the silver case reflecting the shiny pieces of metal within; tempting me.