Chlöe Rice sat in the corner of her bedroom, the soft glow of the moonlight barely illuminating the dark space. The once vibrant energy that carried her through high school, parties, and her seemingly perfect life had faded, leaving her feeling hollow. She scrolled through her phone, staring at messages that she hadn't responded to, texts from friends asking if she was okay, if she wanted to hang out. But none of it mattered anymore. She didn't feel okay. She didn't feel anything.

"I used to crave attention…"

She whispered the lyrics of Demi Lovato's "Anyone" under her breath, the words hitting her harder than she wanted to admit. Once, she was the center of attention, the girl everyone wanted to be friends with. But those days were gone. After everything with Bryce, after the trial, the whispers at school, her sense of self shattered. She wondered how she had ever craved the attention that now suffocated her.

"I tried to talk to my piano, I tried to talk to my guitar…"

She glanced at the acoustic guitar in the corner of her room, collecting dust. Her fingers used to dance on those strings effortlessly. It was one of the few things that brought her peace, but now, the thought of playing even a single note seemed impossible. She tried to speak through music once, but her voice had long since fallen silent, much like her will to connect to anything or anyone.

Her phone buzzed again. It was Zach.

Zach: "Hey, Chlöe, haven't seen you in a while. You wanna talk?"

She stared at the message for a long time, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. Zach had always been kind to her, more than most people. But what could she say? How could she explain the emptiness that gnawed at her insides, the isolation she felt even when surrounded by people? She tossed the phone aside, burying her face in her hands.

"I talk to shooting stars, but they always get it wrong…"

Tears began to blur her vision as she remembered the last party she went to, how everyone looked at her with pity. She thought she'd escape that night, find some sense of normalcy again, but all she found were stares and judgment. No one knew her story, not really. No one understood what it felt like to lose everything that made her feel alive.

"Nobody's listening to me, nobody's listening..."

The lyrics repeated in her mind. She had tried to reach out, once, maybe twice, but no one seemed to listen. Everyone was so consumed with their own lives, their own problems. Even her parents, despite their love, were too busy. Too distracted. Too… everything.

Her mom knocked on her door softly.

"Chlöe, sweetheart, you've been in here all day. Do you want to come down for dinner?"

Chlöe didn't respond. Her throat felt too tight, her heart too heavy. Her mother lingered for a moment, then sighed softly and walked away. Even she couldn't hear Chlöe's silent screams for help.

"I feel stupid when I sing… nobody's listening to me."

She finally grabbed her guitar, her fingers trembling as she strummed a few chords. Her voice was hoarse, barely a whisper as she tried to sing. It didn't feel like it used to. Music had always been her escape, her safe place, but now it was just another reminder of how far she had fallen. Her voice cracked, and she stopped, her hands falling limp against the guitar.

"Anyone, please send me anyone… I need someone."

The words poured out of her, broken and raw. She didn't know what she was asking for anymore. She had pushed people away, and now she was left with the crushing weight of loneliness. All the people she thought were her friends had moved on, living their lives, forgetting the girl who used to light up every room.

She thought of Bryce. How she had been caught in his web, manipulated, used, discarded. The guilt gnawed at her every day, not just for what he did, but for how she had let herself believe she was powerless. And now, no matter how much time passed, no matter how many times people told her it wasn't her fault, she still felt trapped in that moment.

Chlöe collapsed onto her bed, curling into herself as the tears spilled uncontrollably. She wanted to scream, to cry out for help, but the words were stuck in her throat. She felt like a ghost, drifting through her own life, unseen and unheard.

Her phone buzzed again. This time it was Jessica.

Jessica: "We miss you, Chlöe. I know things have been rough, but we're here for you. Whenever you're ready."

Chlöe wiped her eyes, staring at the message. It was a kind sentiment, but she couldn't bring herself to believe it. They didn't understand. No one did. She felt like she was drowning in a sea of emotions she couldn't name, reaching out for something—anything—but always coming up empty.

"Is there anyone? I need someone…"

She whispered the words like a prayer, though she wasn't sure who she was praying to anymore. God? The universe? Whoever was out there, she needed something, someone, to pull her out of this darkness.

The door creaked open, and to her surprise, her mom stepped in. She sat on the edge of Chlöe's bed, her eyes full of concern.

"Sweetheart, you don't have to go through this alone."

Chlöe turned away, her voice barely above a whisper. "But I am alone, Mom. I've always been alone."

Her mother reached out, placing a hand gently on her shoulder. "I know things have been hard, but we're here for you. I'm here for you."

Chlöe shook her head, feeling the tears rising again. "I don't know how to fix it. I don't know how to make it stop."

Her mother's voice softened. "You don't have to fix it all at once. Just one step at a time, okay? And you don't have to do it alone."

Chlöe didn't respond. The words sounded comforting, but she didn't know if she believed them. Still, the warmth of her mother's presence was something. A small glimmer of hope in the overwhelming darkness.

"Lord, is there anyone? I need someone…"

That night, as Chlöe lay in bed, she let the song play softly on repeat. The lyrics felt like they were written for her, every word echoing her deepest thoughts. Maybe she wasn't the only one who felt like this. Maybe there was someone out there who understood. Maybe, one day, she would find them.

But for now, she would settle for the small moments of comfort. The quiet reassurance that, even in her darkest hour, there was a possibility that someone—anyone—was out there, waiting to listen.

And maybe, just maybe, she wasn't as alone as she thought.