(Sierra's POV)
A shift in the mattress causes me to stir. I peel my eyes open to find Demi creeping out of bed.
"Demi, what are you doing?" I groggily question, my voice raspy from sleep.
"Going to the bathroom. I'll be right back," she explains, rising to her feet.
I let my eyes flutter close, thinking nothing more of it. With a yawn, I roll over, willing myself to fall back to sleep. To my dismay, my thoughts begin to race.
What if Demi's harming herself or purging?
Sitting up abruptly with a gasp, I crane my head around frantically in search of Demi. I breathe a sigh of relief when I spot her tiptoeing across the wooden floor, cringing when a board squeaks.
I toss back the duvet and hurry to her, my bare feet slapping against the floor. I grip her wrist, causing her to hiss.
"Would you shut the hell up and go back to bed?"
"No way. I know what you're trying to do," I inform, struggling to drag her back to the mattress.
"You know nothing," she states. "And if you don't go back to bed, one of us is surely going to wake up Wilmer."
"I know that the food we ate has already been digested; therefore, you'd be purging on an empty stomach. As for Wilmer, I'll wake him up if it means helping you."
"It's not like I've never purged on an empty stomach before, Sierra," she reminds, causing me to wince. "And I don't need help; I'm fine."
"Really?" I snort. "Says the girl who could barely finish a salad yesterday."
My words cause her to tense up.
I know that saying that was a low blow, but Demi needs to get a grip on reality. She does need help, and she's anything but fine.
"That's rich coming from you," she sneers.
I roll my eyes.
"So, we're both mentally fucked up. Nothing new, Demi."
I manage to drag her back to the mattress. To my surprise, she obediently lays down. I pat her on her head.
"Good doggy," I sarcastically praise. "Now lay down, shut the fuck up, and go back to sleep," I growl, reclaiming my side of the makeshift bed with a huff.
Bitches should know better than to wake me up, especially at whatever this god-awful hour is.
I'm in that weird as hell drifting off to sleep but also semi-awake state, my mind conjuring up short dreams of murderers, monsters, and any other crazy shit that goes bump in the night, when I hear what sounds like a light switch being flicked. With a slight groan, I roll over, patting the empty mattress. Snapping my eyes open, I find that a dull beam of light is spilling out from a slightly ajar door in the hall. Wanting to know what's behind the door but also not wanting to take the risk of being murdered or kidnapped or both, I pick up my shoe from beside the mattress and chuck it at Wilmer, who's sleeping on the couch. I softly laugh as it hits his face.
"Sierra De La Garza-"
"Why do you just assume it was me?"
He sits up, rubbing his eyes.
"Well, your laughing kind of gave it away. Plus, you're the only other person in here. Speaking of which, where's Demi?"
I eye the illuminated doorway, slapping my palm against my forehead. I'm so stupid, thinking that a serial killer or someone else was in the house. My feeling of stupidity soon morphs into dread and worry.
"Please tell me that doorway leads to Narnia," I pathetically point.
He cranes his neck to see where I'm pointing. He curses, hurrying to his feet. I push myself off of the mattress, but I don't make it two steps before I manage to trip over the mess of blankets and pillows. My face painfully meets the hardwood floor.
"Thanks for the help," I snap to Wilmer's retreating figure.
Clutching at my now throbbing nose, I run after him.
Entering the bathroom, I stare with wide eyes, horrified at the sight of Demi, a woman who has inspired millions of people with her strength, so broken. She sits on the floor in a silently bawling heap with Wilmer behind her, supporting her. Let me tell you, silent cries are the worst. Although they can't be heard, the pain etched onto the person's face is enough to haunt you for the rest of your life.
Thin ribbons of crimson trickle down Demi's arms from self-inflicted gashes. My eyes search the floor for a blade but find nothing. I open my mouth to question it but snap my jaw shut upon noticing her trembling hands. Her sharp, black nails are caked with blood, along with the tips of her fingers. She scratched herself so forcibly that she managed to slice open her skin and make herself bleed.
My stomach knots up, sending a wave of nausea throughout me. I squeeze my eyes shut, taking deep breaths and willing myself not to upchuck all over Wilmer's bathroom floor.
"Why, Demi?" I mumble, opening my eyes.
"Because I'm worthless."
I cringe at how easily she says it. She honestly believes the words are true.
"You're not worthless," I shake my head, desperately trying to comfort her.
"Yes, I am!" she screams. "I'm stupid and worthless, and I don't deserve to fucking live anymore!"
She then squirms out of Wilmer's grasp, rising to her feet. I watch silently as she washes the blood off of her and rolls her sleeves down to cover her cuts and scars.
"I'm not worthy of life," she darkly mutters before pushing past me, exiting the room.
My gaze locks with Wilmer's. His expression is pained but, surprisingly, not hopeless. Instead, there's a fire burning in his eyes, a determined expression. He knows that she can conquer her demons again. With him and I working together, there's no way she won't be able to.
I follow Demi out of the bathroom and into the living room, sitting beside her on the couch.
"Can I have your phone for a minute?" I sweetly request.
She suspiciously arches an eyebrow but still passes me her phone. I scroll through her apps until I locate Twitter.
"So, you think you're worthless?"
"I slice my own skin open," she snorts. "Doesn't that make the answer obvious?"
I wince slightly at her bluntness and flat tone.
"What about your Lovatics?"
"What about them?"
"They idolize you."
"They'll forget about me and leave me soon enough. Everyone does."
Shaking my head, I type @ddlovato into the search box and scroll through the many tweets, then start to read some aloud.
"@demiestrupa: @ddlovato I LOVE YOU"
I glance at Demi through my peripheral vision, frowning when she doesn't react to the tweet in any way.
"@BelieveInDemi_: #LovaticsAreTrulyAmazingPeople We only exist because of you @ddlovato #ThankYouDemi
@ddlovato_newsgr: Demi @ddlovato is beautiful! it is good! she's smart! her pure soul and generous heart Demi, we love you!!!
@Demetriaswar: your figure is incredible @ddlovato
@BekahLovatic: One day i want to thank her and give her a big hug for all she's done @ddlovato RT IF YOUR THANKFUL FOR DEMI"
Putting the phone down for a second, I add, "That last tweet got fifty-one retweets and counting, by the way."
"Stop, Sierra!"
"@OurHeroDemetria: I love my fans more than Christmas AND new years! - Demi Lovato"
I look over.
"Do you remember saying that, Demi?"
"Of course."
"Do you remember why you said it?"
"Because..." she pauses, seemingly pondering over what she wants to say, before continuing. "Because my fans, no, my Lovatics have always stuck with me throughout everything."
"Then, why do you think that they'll leave? You're everything to them. You're the reason some of them are alive, Demi. If you think that you're worthless knowing that you have saved the lives of thousands..." I trail off, shaking my head.
"They saved their own lives," Demi mumbles in a flat tone.
"You helped them, though! Can you not see that?"
"I can't even help or save myself, Sierra!"
"Slip-ups happen, Demi-"
"This isn't a slip-up! I'm back to purging daily and eating sometimes only two meals a week! That's a slip-up to you?" her tone rises with each word until she's shouting.
"You can be fixed, Demi," Wilmer pipes up.
"You can't fix what has been broken."
"Sierra and I can."
"If you honestly believe that, then you must be a miracle worker. Don't get my hopes up."
"You have to want recovery, Demi," I tell her.
"I don't want recovery nor do I need it," she insists, but by the way her gaze flickers to the floor, I can assume that she's lying. "What about you?" she surprises me by asking.
"What about me?" I nervously twiddle my thumbs, avoiding any type of eye contact.
"What about you recovering?"
"I don't need recovery. I'm fine."
"You're both in denial," Wilmer snorts.
"Nobody asked you!" Demi and I snap in unison.
I sigh, suddenly feeling quite tired, even though I just woke up about an hour ago.
I glance down at Demi's phone, which is still in my possession. Determined to prove to Demi how amazing and inspirational she truly is, I exit out of the Twitter app and open the internet browser, typing her name into the search box. I expect to find positive articles praising her for, well, everything she does. Although I do see those articles, it's the newer ones that catch my attention.
"Uh, Wilmer? Y-you, uh, you might want to take a look at this."
"You look like you just saw a ghost, Sierra," he chuckles, removing Demi's phone from my grasp.
His jaw drops a second later.
"What's wrong?" Demi inquires.
"The bloggers... the media..." Wilmer stumbles over what to say.
I take the phone from him.
"Demi, it's nothing really."
"Bullshit, Sierra. Tell me."
"They're just stupid blog sites-"
"Well, then I should be able to handle it."
Her gaze is fierce but also a little nervous, possibly even scared. I hesitantly lick my lips and sigh.
"Just remember that you wanted to know," I mutter.
"Demi Lovato's dramatic weight loss: healthy or eating disorder related?
Is Demi Lovato cutting again? See the pictures that have us worried!
Wilmer Valderrama gets cozy, and it's not with his rumored girlfriend, Demi Lovato!"
I recite the headlines before closing my eyes, bracing myself for Demi's reaction.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
