Andre is the sweetest; he dropped me off home with a kiss on the cheek. Of course Mother was waiting, violently knitting in the living room, seated on the coach with a steaming cup of tea in front of her. Once she was done with her row, God forbid she drop a stich, she looked to me. Giving me the fakest motherly smile I'd ever seen.

"How was your night? I have a couple other therapist lined up, tell me what you think of them." She said. Oh god not this again, I should have stayed outside.

"You know what mom? I think the last one fixed me, I feel perfectly fine!" at this her mask dropped, and she became the old bitchy woman I was accustomed to sharing a house with.

"Come here." She said coldly, beckoning me with a needle. Smart enough to do what she said, I shuffle up next to her. She grabs hold of my left arm, pulling the sleeve down to reveal the white lines that remained from my previous freak outs.

"I don't want this happening again. So, you will see this therapist, and you will do everything in your power to get better." She firmly states, though I've heard it before, every single time I suggest quitting therapy, she says the same thing, and it always has the same affect.

Holding back tears I march up the stairs to my bathroom, going directly to the shower to get my razor. I hack at the plastic frame with scissors until I can pull a blade free. I turn it over in my fingers a few times, admiring the metal.

It's all Mothers fault really; I only feel like this when she says shit like this to me. I have so many issues, I'm not worthy of Andre. He's so handsome and perfect; he should date a normal girl, like Tori. Although she she's annoying as fuck at least she's sane.

And this is when I start crying my eyes out, and let the razor do its job.

7:00 am was when Mother found me, half bleed out, and almost blue. I woke up at the hospital, right when a nurse was sticking me with an IV needle. She was African American with big eyes and a kind smile.

"This won't hurt a bit, doll" she cooed, before puncturing my arm. I nodded after, because that's all I could do. Even lying down I felt so light-headed, that I might pass out.

Every few hours the nurse would come back and check on me, most of the time I pretended to sleep, it was easier not to see her pitied eyes.

By noon, I truly felt ill. I needed nourishment, that didn't come through a needle. The kindly nurse came in thirty minutes later with what looked to be lunch.

"It's good you're awake again" she said placing the tray next to me. I examined the tray seeing some type of white soup, crackers, orange juice, and a granola bar. Hospital food isn't as bad as they say. I go for the crackers first, noting that the nurse was still looking at me.

When she acknowledges my gaze, she seemed a bit flustered.

"I'm sorry, it's just that your awfully skinny, and usually girls who….ya' know, also don't…" she mumbled, I put up a hand understanding what she meant. I look messed up enough to be anorexic.

"I have dance rehearsal six days a week for five hours, all that dancing burns fat before I can eat it." I give her a timid smile, my figure was actually something I was proud of, considering how hard I worked for it.

"Really? Are you a professional or something?" She asked amazed, taking a seat at the edge of my bed. Blushing a bit I a shook my head.

"No, not yet at least. It's just because I go to a preforming arts school" I say shyly.

"Oh! So does my son, he got in on a scholarship to Hollywood Arts." She said proudly.

"Really? That's where I go! What's his name? I might know him." I squealed.

"Andre, he's got the voice of an angel." She said.