Note: Rated R subjects involved (cutting; self-harm; starving one self, etc). This book is the first in a series, named "FAME". For more information, PM me. Thank you. -Chey xx


Prologue

There's always been a point in someone's life where nothing seemed to be better, where nothing could make it better. In that point, everything in their world is perfect and it couldn't make them happier then they already are. That's pure content in that small moment when they realize all of this, the sudden rush of happiness.

But before that rush of happiness, before that point, there's always been those hardships that led you to that point, whether it be your boyfriend breaking up with you, your parents divorce, or someone in your family (or possibly a friend) dying from cancer. Whatever it is, that certain hardship drains you of energy, and nearly kills you.

And for me? It was my fame.

Being famous was always something I dreamed of when I was a little kid. I would dance around in a colored tutu, and a pair of vibrant sunglasses and sing my heart out. And finally, when I reached the age of fifteen, I managed to catch someone's eye. I was flown out to L.A, and just like that, my career began.

It wasn't until two years into my career that I began to really get hate and death threats. In the beginning, they always fame would affect me one way or another. But the death threats that got worse as the years passed, I didn't believe that it would get that bad.

But still, I moved on as if it were nothing. I tried to keep my chin up, and stay strong throughout the whole fiasco, but eventually, I just gave up. It wasn't just a spontaneous one night decision either.

I cared less and less as the days grew by. I stopped being nice to fans, and I started snapping and giving out these bitchy, sarcastic remarks, even in interviews. For months, years even, people wondered what the hell was wrong with me. None of them, no matter how hard they tried, could figure it out until it was too late.

None of them knew that the fame had ruined me, that the hate and death threats sent me to my room crying every night. Nobody knew that I was almost past the point of no return - nobody, but him, my own savior.

When the scars appeared on my wrists, and my waist and pants size grew smaller and smaller, he's the only one that noticed and tried to stop me before my body was being buried six feet deep.

When I enrolled myself months later into a treatment center, they all put the pieces together: my own fame, and hate had hit me like a wrecking ball.

They always said fame would affect me, one way or another. I just never realized it would affect me in this way.