A few days later, me, Dan, and Phil were at the Brit Awards. I decided to wear this:

I couldn't stop looking at Dan. He was so hot in that suit.

WHY IS HE SO HOT?!?!?!? Ok, Mar, calm the opposite of heaven down (Btw, I don't like to curse).

We took a selfie because Phil said he was, so ya.
A few minutes later, we walked to the red carpet. "Umm, you know what, I'll what for you guys right here, you can go ahead and walk on the red carpet." I said, backing up a bit. "What's wrong?" Dan asked upset. "Well, I'm totally not afraid of the paparazzi, that's for sure!" I answered sarcastically. "It's not that bad!" Phil said reassuringly. "No, it's fine, I'll just stay here." I walked away and sat down. I sighed and brought my legs to my body. All my life I wanted to walk on the red carpet, and now I'm scared!?
Then I saw a bathroom. Do it, you deserve it.
Do it, you know want to.
Without anyone noticing, I went into the bathroom and went into a stall. Then I took my cutting knife out and cut my wrists, leaving some scars. The pain stung really bad, but I deserve it for chickening out.
I looked at my other wrist, and saw previous scars I made a few days ago because I accidentally spilt someone's groceries. I felt really bad, so I thought I deserved it and cut myself.

I cleaned the knife in the toilet and then flushed. Then I put knife back in my bag, took out a tube of foundation, and spread some on my cuts so no one would notice.

(Filler chapter)