Chapter Seven

        I STARED at the text in front of me, flabbergasted.

The past hour had been spent, flicking through Tumblr and Twitter posts, looking at all the things people have said about me. I still don't know why I did this, but I did it it anyway. I kept coming across the usual things people said about me, how I was a whore, a bitch, useless, talentless, all the things I've heard before. I was just about to get off before I saw the next Tumblr post.

"Sofia Adams... We all know she's a bitch, and she's made some pretty bad and disgusting decisions. BUT, you all saw that video of the girl beating on her. You saw how she reacted. You saw how weak, and depressed she felt. You saw how broken she was when she cried into Harry Style's chest. You can't tell me you didn't see all that pain come out of her. You cannot tell me you didn't see that video, and felt at least a little bit of pity for her.

"Sofia was attending the music awards as just another celebrity, and was going to perform up until this girl came and beat on her. I don't know about you, but that's pretty mean. How would you feel if that was you getting beat on, and getting hated for it, huh?

"You all need to back off Sofia. She's still human, and she doesn't deserve hate. Maybe a smack in the head, and be directed in the right direction, but not hate. Never hate."

For the past few days, I'd been curled up in a ball, crying every so often. Up until I saw this post, I made no move to leave my house, afraid another attack would happen. Up until I saw this post, I'd been unmotivated,and unwilling to work.

If someone had been willing to put that much effort into seeing what was really there, maybe there was still hope I wouldn't get attacked, I thought.

I quickly sent a text to Aunt Delilah.

Me– Is it alright if I go to the studio now?

Within minutes, my aunt called me. I answered the phone, knowing my aunt will be asking questions.

"What's this about?" she asked right away. "Why are you so willing to go back to the studio?"

Honestly, as much as I loved my aunt, I didn't want to tell her the real reason --which happened to be hope for mankind-- I wanted to go the studio. With the luck of Bella Swan, I managed to come up with a great lie .

"I don't want to lose my career," I told her.

Okay, so that might have been partially true. I didn't want to lose my career due to my biggest fear, and my cowardly ways. If I wanted to keep what I loved doing best, I had to get over it.

"Yeah," my aunt said. "It's alright. Give me about five minutes to call Management back, though. They'd want a heads up to know you're coming in today."

"Alright," I spoke into the phone. "Well, I'm just going to go get ready. I'm still in my pajamas."

"Sofia!" my aunt cried out, laughing. "Why are you in your pajamas still?"

I shrugged, even though she couldn't see me. "I dunno, I didn't feel like changing. Do you think I have to change to go to the studio? Because I'm really comfy in these oversized sweatpants and merch t-shirt."

"It's your favorite one, isn't it?" my aunt guessed.

My cheeked heated up as I ducked my head. "Maybe..."

My aunt only laughed. "Sorry, kiddo, but you have to change."

I pouted, and mumbled something about getting changed. I hung up on my aunt, and quickly checked my messages to see if I'd gotten any messages from Tatiana, Ella, or my parents.

Instead of seeing a message from them, I saw a message from Harry.

Harry– I can't believe it took me a day and a half to figure out you'd put your number in my phone.... Lol, how are you?

A small giggle escaped my lips as my fingers flew across my keyboard.

Me– Haha! I'm great, actually. I'm heading to work in a few minutes here, though. Caught me at a bad time.

Harry– Aw, well, text me when you're not busy.

Me– I'll make that a pinky promise, Styles(;

I left my phone on the table, and went into my room to change. After pulling out a black ugly sweater (Hey! It's November, I think it's okay to start wearing ugly sweaters)a pair of bootcut jeans, and my navy blue Converse shoes. After I was dressed, I hid quite a bit of my snarly hair into a beanie, and satisfied my outfit with my crescent moon necklace.

Heading back to the living room, I checked my phone.

Aunt Delilah– You're free to go to the studio, darling. Tom said you were going to write new songs, and plan the next album, though. Just a heads up.

Shoving my phone in my back pocket, I headed out to my silver car.

**

“Alright,” I said, leaning back into the couch. “So we've been at this for two hours, and we've got nothing. We really do suck.”

I had a team of three writers with me in one of the rooms used to write and plan albums. The three of them included Zachary Armstrong, Christie Dawson, and Rodney Andrews. They were pretty nice to me, and didn't ask anything about the music awards incident.

“And it has to be something different from your last two albums?” Christie asked, running a hand through her ginger hair.

I nodded my head. “Which means sex, drugs, and partying cannot be in the songs, as well as swear words.”

The four us groaned simultaneously. A few of us dropped our head into our hands, letting the frustration take over. These past two hours have been a complete waste of time. Trust me, we did everything in our power to come up with at least one idea. Sadly, though, not one of us had a good one.

“Why don't we ask people on Twitter?” Rodney suggested. “I mean, granted, quite a bit of them don't like you, but they could also sprout some great ideas...”

Immediately, my eyebrows rose. I lunged for my phone, and pulled up my Twitter app. No matter how fast my fingers were flying across the keyboard, it didn't seem fast enough.

@SofiaAdamsOfficial: What would you guys prefer to hear in my music instead of drugs, sex, and partying?

The response was almost shocking. The messages sent in said mostly “uplifting” and “relatable songs” instead of the previous ones I sang about. I even managed to get a Twit-Longer about how most artists don't even take in their listener's opinions. The Twit-Longer also said more, and more artists write and sing about pointless things, that maybe I should take the change and write something different from everybody else.

“So something relatable and uplifting,” Christie tapped her chin. “And how the hell are we supposed to do that?”

Zach shrugged. “I have no idea. I'm thirty-seven years old, and what's relatable to be, probably isn't relatable to Sofia's listeners.”

Christie and Rodney both agreed. “I agree. We're too old to relate to teenagers nowadays.”

I couldn't help but snort in laughter. “Come on, you guys. You're not old. You're just... wiser than everybody else.”

After a few minutes of joking around, we started listing relatable things we could write about. When we finished a one-paged list, I looked over it.

“You know, most of these suggestions are too vague to even write about,” I tapped my chin, paper in the other hand.

It was true; fandoms, your favorite food, best friend back-stabbing you, family love... It was all too vague, and even some of them were too definite, like getting judged for being in a fandom, grumpy Monday mornings, and going to school late.

“Maybe we can just mash them together..” Rodney rambled. “You know, like a fun song to sing. I mean, they wanted relatable things and something uplifting, so...”

My eyes widened. Immediately, I shouted “yes”, and began to scribble on some of the left over papers.

For the next few hours, Zach, Christie, Rodney and I were writing the next song we'd managed to get an idea for. Granted, we didn't have an idea for the whole album yet, but that would come later. Right now, our focus was on this song.

___

*Cries*

THIS CHAPTER IS SO RUSHED< AND JUST. MEH I DONT LIKE IT. That's why I'll work EXTRA hard on the next chapter, I pinky promise. HOLD OUT YOUR PINKY! *pinky promises* 

But really, if someone wants to  help me write this song, I would love you forever. I kinda want to write this song myself, buuut I'm thinking I'm going to need help. So if you're up for that, PM me!

Anyway, thank you for being awesome.

-Chey xx