Secrets Behind The Stage

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Fan Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Kira Bryant is a twelve year old girl who is shy and broken, but her passion is for singing. When she makes the decision to end her own life, she also decides to create a bucket list. Included on that list are to perform on the X-Factor and meet Demi Lovato. Soon after arriving at the X-Factor audition, Kira's mother vanishes without a trace. What happens when secrets are revealed and Kira realizes Demi is much more to her than just an idol? What happens when her mother's departure uncovers many secrets? Will Kira be able to survive through her problems or will they all become too much?

Chapter 1 (v.1) - Secrets Behind The Stage

Submitted: October 06, 2013

Reads: 637

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Submitted: October 06, 2013



I can't do this anymore. I don't deserve this life that I have been granted. The world would be such a better place without me in it, right? I sit at my desk in my room and grip the pen with shaking hands. I'm setting my own expiration date, but first I'm creating a bucket list. I know it sounds stupid, but I want to accomplish two things before I commit suicide. 

~Kira's Bucket List~

1. Perform on X-Factor USA in Denver, Colorado 

2. Meet Demi Lovato

That's my list. Two insane goals that are most likely not going to happen. A girl can dream! It was last week when my mother discovered my deepest darkest secrets.

I had just returned home from another torturous day at school. My mother had not returned from work yet, no surprise there. I wanted a quick release. I ran to my room and entered my bathroom. I grabbed my blade from my makeup bag and sliced my wrists. It wasn't enough, for the demons still raged in my head.




Go kill yourself.

Emo freak.

I purged until I fleks of crimson started appearing. I sliced my thighs, stomach, and wrists with shallow cuts. I only stopped when my mother's startled gasp sent reality crashing into me. How could I have been so stupid as to not have locked the bathroom nor my bedroom door? I stupidly stood there. The smell of my blood slowly trickling down my flesh mingled with the stench of stomach acid that I forced myself to expel from my body. My mother's usually carefree, yet tired face was now a mask of pure horror. I remained standing there, not speaking nor moving. I felt a wave of shame wash over me.

"Why?" My mother questioned in a whisper.

I half-heartidly shrugged.

"If you didn't work so much, maybe you'd notice how depressed I've been lately," I replied in a robotic sounding tone.

Her face crippled and a little piece of me started to feel guilty.

"You know I have to work long hours to support us, Kira. Get cleaned up and we will discuss this matter more."

"No, mother. I've been doing this for months! You just never cared enough to notice! You drove dad away and if you keep this up, you're going to drive me away too," I all but screamed.

She looked as if I'd just slapped her. I let her digest my words as I grabbed a washcloth, wet it, and cleaned up my blood. I tossed the cloth into my hamper and flushed the toilet. I pushed past my mother's frozen form.

"I'm going out for a run. This was a nice chat. We should do it again sometime," I dismissed with a sarcastic smile.

My mother hasn't spoken one word to me since then. I have nobody who loves me. My father ditched us sometime last year. He crosses my mind from time to time. I haven't heard from him since the day he walked out either. And if it wasn't clear to you, I have zero friends. I'm just a waste of air and a humongous waste of space. I honestly believe the only thing that has kept me alive this long is Demi Lovato. She's my hero, idol, and inspiration. She's saved my life so many times, yet she has no clue who I am. I get up from my desk chair and walk downstairs to the kitchen. I pass my mother who is working diligently at the dining room table. She needs an office, but is too stubborn to pay the money to set one up.

"How was work, mom?" I ask as I open the refrigerator door.

The only response I get is the sound of rustling papers and the faint scratching of a pen against paper. I don't even know why I bother trying to spark a conversation. It's obvious that I'm a disappointment and a disgrace. She probably doesn't even consider me as her daughter anymore. I stopped considering myself as her daughter the day I self-harmed for the first time. She was too caught up in work to realize that I was spiraling out of control very quickly. Now she doesn't even know that I'm planning to kill myself. I shake my head and grab a water bottle from the fridge. I untwist the cap and let the cold liquid trail down my throat.

"Remember, you have to drive me to Denver this weekend for the auditon," I remind.

She peers at me through her thin rimmed glasses. She looks as if she wants to say something to me, but quickly changes her mind. I receive one head bob as a response. With an eye roll, I return to my room. I blare my Demi play-list.I cut myself three times on my arm as Made In The USA plays in the background.

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