A/N: Yo guys are amazing. You're beautiful. Bless you all. You guys were so kind in your reviews, I was dancing around the room. I'm not kidding, I was dancing around the room. It's what I do when I'm happy.

I'm thinking about writing in an entry for a 'Friends with Benefits' challenge. Sounds good, hey? Whaddya guys think?

Not much else to say today. I can tell you all up, this is gonna be about twenty chaps. We're half way there!! (:

Sonny sat in her room silently. It had been a long day, and her body was exhausted. Sonny did notice she was a little thinner – she didn't have grandma arms and she wasn't so chubby when she smiled.

It was alright, but it wasn't good enough. She wasn't good enough.

She didn't know what the time was, or whether her mother was in bed, but she wasn't going to go making any mistakes.

Perfect people don't make mistakes. Sonny had to be perfect. She didn't know why, honestly, but she did. Her body ached to lose weight, like a craving.

Reaching under bed, Sonny snatched her scales and tucked them under her arms. She was being as silent as possible, like a thief in the night. It wasn't a crime to be beautiful though, was it? Sonny locked her bathroom door. She didn't have much to throw up today, as she had only had a portion of the tiny salad her mother had made her today.

It took her a while to be able to look at the scales. Every chance she got, she'd coax herself into looking at those deadly little numbers, and the result itself would be enough to make her sick.

Sonny closed her eyes as she stepped onto the hard, cold metal scales.

"F- F- F-" Sonny couldn't bring herself to say it. She hurtled for the toilet, throwing the lid open and doing what she needed to do.

Flushing it and throwing the scales angrily under her bed, Sonny collapsed. She was so sick of this. The world was so obsessed with being beautiful, with being amazing. She just wasn't good enough, and she couldn't measure up to the standards. She was so sick of pressure, pain and living up to expectations.

She was so sick of Hollywood.

Sonny hadn't heard her mother came in. She hadn't noticed her mother slide and arm around her daughter's shoulders.

"Sonny, sweetheart-"

"What, Mum?" Sonny said harshly, though almost silently.

"I came to help you-"

Sonny laughed. Was her dear mother stupid? "I don't need help, you know. I'm almost eighteen! I'll be an adult soon, and then I'll be O – U – T, out of here!"

Connie Munroe looked taken aback, but didn't give up. "Sonny! I don't even know who you are anymore! I want my daughter back. Look at you- You're s- skin and bones, S- Sonny. You're going to kill yourself if you keep this up."

"I DON'T NEED HELP!" Sonny screeched, wiping the tears from her eyes. "I'M FINE! Really, I'm just fine."

Connie gave her an apprehensive look. Groaning, Sonny stormed out of her room.

"Where are you going?" Connie asked anxiously.

"Out."

"For how long?"

"Dunno'."

"Please stay."

Sonny looked her mother straight in the eyes. "No. Bye," she grunted before slamming the door behind her.

She didn't need help! Why did people keep telling her that?! Getting 'help' was for loons. It was for people with real issues – like brain damage and hallucinations. You don't need help just for being fat.

Sonny was fine. She was so friggan fine, she was beyond fine. She was absolutely brilliant.

Sonny closed her eyes and wished for just a second she could relax into someone's arms, someone who didn't think she was crazy and someone who would kiss her tears away.

Someone like Chad.

But she would never, ever go back to Chad. Not in this lifetime. She would never ask that cheating, lying, unworthy jerk for help, because Sonny Munroe did not need help.

Tears fell from her eyes, over her cold cheeks and down her chest. Help, maybe it wasn't such a bad thing.

Aw, pretty sad and lonley, eh?

Remember, you're all amazing.

Review.

x, LivingInImaginary.