Chapter Six

     “Alright, your schedule for the next two days is pretty full, Sofia, so you can't be late for anything. I'm serious, you can not be even a minute late, or it will throw the whole schedule off track, and things would not look pretty,” my aunt instructed me.

     A few days passed since the run-in with Harry, and his sister, Gemma. So far, they kept their word. They didn't even say anything about it on Twitter, or to anyone, probably not even the rest of the band. I felt really thankful that they both kept my secret to themselves. Ten points to Harry and Gemma.

     I spent the last few days obsessing over my Twitter, Tumblr, and Instagram accounts, and the messages I received. I don't know why I exactly obsessed over the messages sent to me, but I did. It hurt, seeing the harsh ones. They told me I deserved to die, that I had no real use here in the world. In a Twit-longer, I was told that I was making bad decisions, and based on those decisions, I was a real bitch and that I should just leave the music industry. I wasn't doing anything good. I had no benefit. I was only wasting people's time, preventing better talent to rise.

     Why I had let their words effect me, I wasn't sure. I spent a while crying as I searched through the messages, trying to find the root of the reason why people hated me. After a while, I eventually shut everything down and watched a few shows.

     Now, I was having lunch at Bit & Berry's, an organic restaurant that was absolutely delicious, with my aunt, discussing my schedule.

     “Tomorrow, the music awards will happen. You'll arrive six-forty, right after Katy Perry. Seating will start at seven-thirty, so you have to mingle with people in the mean time, and be nice for the cameras. And when seating starts, you're backstage for rehearsals. And-”

     “Aunt, I got it,” I chuckled, stopping her. “We went over this a million times in rehearsals, remember? They wouldn't let anyone forget.”

     Aunt Delilah rolled her eyes, sitting back in her chair. She lifted a hand and ruffled her auburn, curled locks. “I just want everything to be perfect, Sofia. You make my job hard to do with this reputation you're keeping up with.”

     I grimaced, and began twirling a finger into my hair to avoid looking at my aunt. I knew that keeping up my reputation was hurting me, it was one of the things I came to conclude the other night. I was absolutely sure that my own pride and reputation was the cause of the hate. However, I couldn't find it in me to simply stop. How could I, after all this time?

     “Just buck up, kiddo,” I told myself that night. “You can't be that weak, you can't show them you're breaking. Buck up. Be stronger.”

     And just like that, I decided to keep my reputation going.

     “Sorry,” I told my aunt. “I just... prefer that they don't really see the real me. Shit would go down like donkey-kong.”

     “Whatever,” my aunt mumbled, and glanced at the schedule again. “So, after the music awards, there's an after party you're going to. And then the next day, you're in the studio, writing music and finishing that recording of 'Night Like This'. Then it's released in a few weeks, so within that time frame, you have to go to a couple of radio stations. Here, you take it.”

     My aunt threw my schedule in my hands, and I caught it with ease. My eyes raked over the paper, and the times I had to leave. My aunt even wrote the times I had to wake up in the next week!

     I folded it up carefully, and set in my purse. I glanced at the clock on the wall, and cursed. I had to go pick up Ella from school today since Dad was busy with his client.

     “Gotta go, Aunt Delilah,” I said, picking up my purse and jacket. “I have to go pick up Ella from school today.”

                         ***

     “Is everything ready?” someone shouted into their mic. “We've got ten minutes to go. Katy, fix your face. You've got dirt on it. Oh, dear, Mark! Help Lady Gag with her outfit, it's an absolute no! Come on people! WE HAVE TEN MINUTES UNTIL SHOW TIME.”

     Backstage was an area no one wanted to be. The MTV producers were going absolutely nuts, trying to get everything perfect from wardrobe to make up to props. Lighting and sound technicians were running around the stage in a frenzy, trying to make sure everything was fixed.

     The schedule was tight, and we had to be on time for everything, or else one of the producers were likely going to rip us a new hole. The producers were very dangerous people if you ever pissed them off.

     Katy Perry was opening for the awards show, followed by the One Direction tribute and award, a few other awards, and then my performance, followed by Lady Gaga's. This award show was going to be strict and tight with the schedule as it had been for the past three rehearsals.

     “I think I'm going to be sick,” I muttered, covering my mouth with a hand.

     I haven't performed live in a long time. Just the mere thought of going out on stage when everyone hates my guts makes me shiver, and makes me want to hide. Suddenly, I didn't feel like performing. I didn't feel like making a fool out of myself in front of the whole damn country, possible the world.

     Before anyone could stop me, I shot off to the nearest bathroom, trying to hold everything off. My heels clicked against the tiled floors as I pushed through the crowds of people, trying to get out of backstage. The nearest bathroom was towards the entrance, and that was nearly on the other side of the building.

     Out of the corner of my eye, I saw a mop of curly hair, and a pair of green eyes watch me. I ignored him as the need for the bathroom increased.

     I finally pushed through the bathroom door, and ran into the first available stall. I collapsed to the ground as my stomach lurched forward. Tears streamed now my cheeks as I continued to vomit all of my insides into the toilet.

     Minutes passed, and I finally gathered enough strength to clean up and leave the bathroom. Pushing the bathroom door open, minutes later, I started walking towards the backstage area, where I came from, when a small girl stepped in front of me. She was short, with frizzy brown hair, and wore nothing but a pair of jeans and t-shirt.

     “Yes?” I asked, raising an eyebrow. “Who are you?”

     “No one you need to know,” she snapped, crossing her arms against her chest. Immediately she came off as stubborn and rude, and a lot like Tatiana – the typical person I didn't want to associate with (I had enough of Tatiana, why should I put up with more people like her?).

     “Then, why are you he-” I was cut off by the girl.

     She didn't say anything to cut me off, no. I almost wished she did. Instead, she took both hands and tangled them into my hair. She reached up on the tip of her toes, and started slamming my head into the wall repeatedly. I cried out in pain, and tried yanking her hands off me, to get her to stop, but the small framed girl had a death grip on me.

     “Stop it!” I cried out in pain, feeling my head ache. “Stop it, you're hurting me!”

     However the girl didn't just stop bashing my head into the wall. She threw me onto the floor so she could kick and pull at my hair as well. Laying on the floor, curdled into a ball, and having a girl half my age beat on me was something I wasn't proud of. Granted, if I hit back, I wouldn't be proud of that either, and would probably be more ashamed of myself then now.

     But I was just letting her beat down on me. Why?

     Because someone had actually found enough courage to beat me. They had enough hate to find me, and start acting violently towards me. One of my biggest fears came true tonight at the music awards. Someone found enough confidence, and acted violently towards me. They didn't just sit back on the sidelines. They walked out, proud and tall, and exclaimed they hated me.

     I've always imagined this moment as me becoming the biggest bitch I've managed to be, but I couldn't find the strength inside me anymore. I couldn't find the strength to stop the girl's punches. I felt weak. Broken. Torn. I no longer found it inside me to do anything about this girl, except let her continue.

     She was having fun, wasn't she? Beating up a celebrity so she could brag about it. She was going to earn a lot of respect for this, no doubt about it. She was going to get comments, praising her for her confidence, and how proud she was. People were going to praise her, not hate her. Because let's face it, they'd hate me a lot more then her.

     Moments later, I felt nothing anymore besides a horrible ache in my head and sides, and the tears rolling down my cheeks. I couldn't feel her punches anymore. Did she stop? I dared one eye to open, and saw a crowd of people forming around me. Before I closed my eyes again, I saw Harry yelling at the girl.

     “It's not okay to just go up and hit someone,” he scolded the girl. “It's morally wrong, and frankly, it's not a good way to get a celebrity's attention. I can't even say anything more to you. Here, take her away.”

     At the end of Harry's small rant, security showed up to take the girl away. Harry glanced down at me, and must have realized just how broken I must have felt. He knelt down beside me and pulled me into his chest.

     I didn't fight it today. Instead of pushing Harry away like I planned on, I clung onto his shirt and let him cradle me in his arms. I didn't mind that I broke down in front of people. I couldn't find the strength to be strong, to be hurtful and a bitch. I couldn't find it in me tonight.

     “Shh, I'm here, Sofia. I'm here,” Harry whispered into my ear. “You don't need to cry, love. I'm here as long you want me here.”

     Harry whispered nothing but sweet words into my ears until I pulled away. I wiped away at my cheeks as glanced down at my now wrinkled dress. Harry's fingers reached up towards my face, his thumbs brushing away the tears I didn't wipe off.

     “Please let me be here for you, Sofia,” Harry whispered. “I don't want to let you go.”

     “Give me your phone,” I mumbled quietly.

     Harry, though confused, gave me his phone. I quickly added my number, and sent myself a quick text so I could get his number in return. I handed it back wordlessly, and stood up as Aunt Delilah pulled me into a tight hug.

     “I've talked to the producers of the show. They asked if Taylor Swift could fill in for you, and she said she would gladly do it. Now come on, you're going home in this state.”

     My aunt's voice wasn't harsh and rough as it had been for the past few years; instead, it was soft and caring, almost reminding me of Elma's voice. I softened into my aunt's grip and let her lead me home.

     I still couldn't find the strength to do anything more.

     _____

     I literally feel for this poor girl.

     And just so you know, this is only the beginning for Sofia. All this sadness she's feeling, it's the beginning, and it's only going to get worse. I understand if you don't want to read this because of that, (I warned you all before. Remember the “trigger warning” post??? That's what that was, a clear warning for you all).

     This story is going to be sad and cute. Romance-like and depressing.

     It's going to give you feels, I guarentee you that, so... I warned you.

     - Chey xx