Today's the day that I will meet Demi Lovato. Anxiety and nerves form twisting knots in the pit of my stomach. I've thrown up a few times this morning, and it wasn't even on purpose. I didn't even have to force myself to expel my breakfast from my stomach. I couldn't sleep well last night. I kept waking up, drenched in a cold sweat with my heart hammering in my chest, from nightmare after bloody nightmare. I've conjured up dozens and dozens of scenarios of how this day will go, none of them have been in my favor. My reflection in the mirror is appalling. My skin is pale and pasty; my hair is wildly tangled. What I feel on the inside is even worse. My eyelids feel as if an invisible force is weighing them down. I'm emotionally and physically exhausted. Basically, I'm a train wreck both inside and out. I turn on the hot water for a shower, letting the steam awaken my senses. I test the water with my foot before cautiously stepping in. The hot water pours down on me, reviving my aching, sleep-deprived muscles. I wash my hair and my body while blocking out my demons. No way am I going to let them get the best of me today. I turn the water off and step out of the shower. I wrap a towel around my body and wrap my hair in a turbine before exiting my bathroom.
"What to wear," I mutter to myself, eyeing my heaping piles of clothes that I'm too lazy to properly put away.
I rummage through the piles of clothes, trying to create one decent outfit. I manage to find a sleeveless, grey top that has a skull hand with the middle finger pointing up and some ripped, white skinny jeans. After getting dressed, I lace up a pair of black combat boots and clasp a vampire teeth necklace around my neck. I apply dark eye makeup and black lipstick. I also paint my nails. I leave my hair to cascade down in it's natural, brown waves. On a last minute decision, I cover both my wrists with stacks of black bracelets because, although I never have cut my wrists, I love bracelets. I toss my phone, ear-buds, blade, and wallet practically bursting at the seams with hundred dollar bills into my purse. I perform a final glance over in the mirror.
"You think you're pretty, don't you?" My demons question. "Well, you're not. You might as well stop trying to impress her. You're nothing to her."
I clench the counter top so tightly that my knuckles turn white. Why can't they just leave me alone? Knowing that if I stay here any longer I'll surely give into my demons' wishes, I smack my stained black lips and adjust my necklace before exiting my bathroom. Making sure the halls are clear, I quietly slip out of my bedroom and through the corridors. I stealthily make my way down the the stair wells. Instead of leaving through the front entrance, I take a side door that's technically only supposed to be used for emergencies. I think they can make an exception for a Lovatic about to meet her idol. When outside, I notice that the sky is oddly dark for the time of day. A thickness looms in the air. It's going to storm soon, I believe. I walk to the corner bus stop and scan the list for what time the bus stops here. To my fortune, the next bus will arrive in about twenty minutes. I glance at the bench that serves as a sitting area for those waiting for the bus. Eyeing the bird poop, cigarette butts, and wads of chewed gum, it doesn't take me long to decide that I'd rather stand. I remove my ear-buds and phone from my purse. Plugging my ear-buds up to my phone and stuffing the one comfortable one into my ear, I shuffle my play-lists and quietly hum along to the music. A tap on my shoulder causes me to turn around. I see a girl around my age, possibly a few years younger, with dark brown hair and even darker brown eyes. Her skin is flawless and is tan. I'm assuming she has some Spanish in her. I remove my ear-buds.
"What're you listening to?" She wonders.
"Uh..." I stutter, thrusting her my phone.
She takes it from me, removing my ear-buds but muting the volume. She hands me my ear-buds before looking at the song choice. She nods more to herself than to me.
"You're a Lovatic?" She questions.
I shoot her a look as if to ask her how she knows that.
"Fix a heart," She explains, handing my phone back to me.
"Yeah, I'm a Lovatic," I reply, returning my phone and ear-buds to my purse. "Are you?"
She smirks and softly snorts.
"You could say that," She replies with a tone that suggests that she knows something that I don't.
Suddenly wary of the girl's knowing smirk, I'm thankful when the bus pulls up.
"I'm Jordan," She introduces as we shuffle among a small crowd to the doors of the bus.
"I'm Bailey," I inform over my shoulder.
I elbow my way through the crowd of people, trying to put as much distance between Jordan and I as possible. Ignoring the curse words and startled exclamations directed towards myself, I hurry up the stairs of the bus and claim an empty seat as far back as possible. To my dismay, Jordan takes the empty seat in front of me.
"You seemed to be in a hurry there," She observes as the bus begins to move. "You do know that the bus isn't going to move any faster just because you're on your way to a concert, right?"
"How do you know I'm going to a concert?" I ask, ignoring her question.
"I just assumed with you being a Lovatic and all."
"Are you attending the concert?" I inquire out of mere curiosity rather than actually wanting to talk to her.
"Concert and VIP," She confirms in a egotistical tone.
"I'm just going VIP."
"Why?"
"No reason really," I lie with a shrug.
She eyes me as if I'm a specimen under a microscope. I shift uncomfortably in my seat, deciding to stare out the window. Thankfully, she doesn't say anything more for the rest of the ride. When the bus finally stops near the Patriot Center, I pay the driver and exit the bus.
"Want me to walk with you to VIP?" Jordan questions, causing me to jump.
I honestly forgot about her for a second.
"Sure," I hesitantly reply, not having the heart to tell her 'no'.
With a smile, she hooks my arm with hers and leads us to the semi-long line.
"I think you'll be the last one in line," She informs, unhooking my arm from hers and standing on her toes to peer over the heads of many people.
"Wait, what do you mean?" I confusedly wonder. "I thought you were going VIP, too."
She smirks that knowing smirk again, making me want to smack her across her face.
"I'll see you around, Bailey," She winks before moving forward, ignoring the people standing in line.
"Wait! What are you doing?" I call after her, but my voice gets swallowed up by sudden, loud squeals and yells from various people.
At first, I assume it's fans demanding Jordan to head to the back of the line, but then I actually start catching snippets of what the people are screaming.
"Jordan!"
"Jordan, over here!"
"Oh my gosh, it's Jordan!"
"Jordan, can I get your autograph?"
"Jordan, how about one picture?"
What the hell is going on? I try to peer around and over the excited crowd of bodies for Jordan, but I can't see her. Why is everybody screaming her name? Why is everybody practically begging for pictures and autographs? Is she famous? Maybe she's local talent or Demi's opening act. I fish my phone and ear-buds out of my purse. I plug my ear-buds up to my phone and shuffle my music play-lists, letting Demi's killer vocals drown out the chaos of fellow Lovatics.
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