A/N: I guess this is my take on Demi's whole situation, but I kinda made it Camp Rock friendly? Obviously, only some parts are what Demi's been through and the rest are pretty much my imagination.
Discalimer: The only person/thing I really want to own is Demi, but unfortunately I don't even own Demi. Life Sucks:)
Her smell captivates him. He's just walking past her one day, when he catches a whiff of coconut and vanilla with hints of cinnamon. It's just too cliché for him, so he doesn't stop and inhale, but in the back of his mind he's thinking about the brown haired girl who smelled good.
The brown haired girl is thinking of guitar riffs and bands long forgotten by the teenage population of today. Her mind is full of a long, soulful, riff, stretching out forever, desolately above all of her thoughts. Her head is ducked to avoid eye contact with anyone, and mournful chords ring through her head. To her, the music can be a curse.
When they crash, it's all too perfect, and all too fake. So after a few mumbled apologies, they carry on as normal. He notices the girl's blush and the way her eyes harden when the attention falls on her. He's the observant one, after all, and as he watches her scurry away, he stares at her and he knows that there's more to this girl than meets the eye.
He knows she's different.
So when he's teaching his class and she turns up late, he rolls his eyes because it's so much like fate. She raises her eyebrows at him and takes her seat, not even bothering to look up. He knows she's paying attention though, from the way her chipped black nails grip the pen and the way it glides across the paper, leaving ink in its trail. No one talks to her, and no one notices her. She always seems to be in a world of her own- but somehow that world isn't an escape for her. When he plays at the front of the class, her eyes just stare straight ahead and she isn't rushing to congratulate him like all the others.
Her eyes are glazed, unsettlingly, and he watches her brisk and meaningful walk out of the classroom- not with happiness and relief, like the rest of them, but in horror.
"Wait!" He calls out before he can stop himself, and she turns, black boots digging firmly in the ground. He crosses the room in two quick strides and finds himself at loss for words when he looks into her eyes.
They're dead. Dead and cold, yet somehow sad in a heart-wrenching way that makes him squirm.
"I-I" He isn't supposed to stutter.
"What?" Her voice isn't harsh, just as dead as her eyes.
"I didn't hear you play today. I need to asses you." The first lie that comes out and it's so painfully obvious that he blushes. She just nods, and walks to the piano at the front of the classroom.
"You need to sing as well." Another nod, but still nothing to show that she has any emotion.
She starts singing abruptly, and there is emotion in her voice that knocks him off his feet. His eyes scan her face, but still, it's dead.
"She would change everything, everything, just ask her.
Caught in the in-between, a beautiful disaster."
He can feel himself choking and tearing up as she plays the song, and he is incredulous at this girl. Her head ducks down and her own eyes follow her fingers as they dance across the piano- detached.
And all of a sudden he knows why he's there. He spies the slashes on her extraordinarily thin wrist as she fixes her hair, and flinches because the task he's been given is the hardest one he could possibly contemplate.
He's there to save her.
She never knew why she let him get close to her in the cabin. He's become the closest thing she's ever had to a friend.
He knows her dad left her when she was just twelve, shattering all her dreams in a single malicious blow. He knows about her self-image issues and the fact she cuts. He knows that part of the reason why she's so fragile is because of the vigorous bullying she was subjected to. He knows she's bulimic. Point is, he knows how fucked up she is. And now he's gone.
All because of one stupid fight. All because she was too needy, and snapped at one of his girlfriends-reducing her to tears in the process. He's helped her through everything. He's taken her to countless clinics for bulimia and depression and he listens to her and talks to her and notices her and cares.
.. The razor comes close to her quivering wrist, but something stops her every time. It's been three months and she's still reliving every moment of it, holed up in her room. She's so certain he doesn't remember her, but something keeps her hanging on. So when her family suggests a trip to Los Angeles, she's fine with it-but somehow can't squish that small ounce of hope still inside her.
She walks the streets of LA that week, not seeing him, but somehow she manages to get a record deal. Suddenly she is thrown into a world of fakes, haters and posers and told that she must play the game or sink. The nights pass in a blur of celebrating, recording, promoting, and pretty soon she is just another zombie.
She gets thrust into a movie and somehow she's starring opposite him, but it's okay because he doesn't even try to approach her and he only has two lines in the whole movie. She meekly does everything as she's told, and every one is gushing about how sweet and down to earth Mitchie Torres is.
Her life gets more hectic after that. She finds herself never sleeping, and the scars on her wrist have appeared again. A small part of her despises her mother for convincing her that small role in the show when she was little wasn't all she was going to get, and that she deserved way more; that she was destined for super stardom. Somewhere along the way, her best friend leaves and she's all alone to handle the cameras and the harsh critics. She can't go to clinics anymore because it would be bad for her image, and she can't stop smiling for one-second cause they'll suspect something is up.
There is one song she always cries when performing. During that one song, she breaks down and sobs because there's no other time for her to cry. She's on tour with him and the band, and he doesn't remember her. He does remember her; he just doesn't care.
Deep down, a part of her hates Nate Black. She hates him for making her fall in love with him and not coming back when he knows she needs him. She takes her cancer stick and lights it backstage, ignoring the shocked gasps- normally, she's careful enough to light it up in her room. She doesn't even bother faking a smile, and instead runs to her dressing room to be free in the only way she knows how. Her tears glisten in her eyes and she traces her hip in search of the only tattoo her fans don't know she has.
You are strong.
Lies always did help her. She forces the tears down because crying is weak, and she is strong, and looks up, surprised at the soft knock on her dressing room door. She quickly hides the blood stained razor and wraps the bandages she'd kept ready around her wrist. Striding quickly to the door, she flings it open; ready to blow up at whoever interrupted one of her precious alone moments. The sight of who's standing there makes all of the words ready to drip off her tongue fall back into her mouth, and she just finds herself staring dumbly at the same leather jacket he wore to camp.
"Hi." Something snaps inside of her and she slams the door in her face, looking through the peephole as he walks away without a second glance back. A bitter, guttural laugh escapes her red-stained lips and she curls up against the cold, hard wood of the door, succumbing to sobs so deep they make her want to puke.
Somehow her label decides it would be great if she became best friends with him. So they write songs together, and keep up the pretence of loving each other, though he'll never know she rarely acts. Sometimes it gets too hard, but most of the time, she really laughs with him and smiles. Suddenly she finds herself dating his band mate, and she falls hard and fast, though he'll always have most of her heart. She's ecstatic because she thinks she's finally moving on. And then, somehow, it all comes crashing down after a few perfect months. He tells her that the only reason he dated her was for the movie, and he's sorry about the heartache. She can barely drag herself to her room before she empties her stomach on the floor of her room.
She avoids him as much as she can, but her label ropes her into another tour and she wants to scream. She hates her label with every fibre of her being. Soon, being broken becomes a routine for her. Every day on tour, she finds herself throwing up and other horrible, selfish things she shouldn't be doing. She often finds herself outside, cigarette in hand, wishing she could drop dead so they'd all be sorry.
She kind of wants to drop dead for herself as well.
Two months before the end of tour and she cracks. The press have been seeing through the cracks for a while now, and the final straw is when she locks herself into her bathroom, brings out the razor and cuts so deep that when her mother finds her, covered in puke and blood, she fears for her life. She gets whisked away to a treatment centre and finds herself breathing again.
"Mitchie Torres, the girl with the broken smile."
She's never been so grateful for her fans. Sometimes she checks things, and she's astounded at the love and support the offer her. She needs to learn from them.
He sees her for the first time in four months when she attends a premiere, a real smile on her face. His eyes seem to be deceiving him and he runs towards her, taking in her healthy figure, and unscarred arms. He smiles wide and grabs her face with hers, kissing her passionately without a care for the cameras.
"I love you."
She looks at him unreadable.
"I love you too." He's all ready to capture her in a kiss, but she pushes him off her and continues walking, never looking back.
"I'm letting go, Nate Black."
A/N OOH, Drama(: No, this is a story to remind myself not to cling to the past. R&R sil vous plaits.