Never Loved

Demi Lovato and Niall Horan had a baby, but Demi gave her for adoption without Niall knowing. Its years in the future and the baby is not a baby anymore. She auditions for the X-Factor, and gets in. When Demi turns out to be her mentor, but they don't get along, they hate each other. Will this orphan get her happy family?


27. Chapter 23.

I don’t feel right.

I wake up with sweat recoiled on my forehead; a single tear leaking on the side of my face; my heart hammering against my chest. I know I was dreaming. I don’t remember I was, but I know. I do not know what it was about. And a part of me doesn’t want to know.
 The clock on the bedside table reads: 5:26 am. I instantly question it. My eyelids are not heavy enough for it to be that early. I feel wide awake. I am.

I pull the sheets away from me, my legs snaking out to touch the carpeted floors. It’s too hot, I think. I need a shower; a cold one. I start to walk around. Not to the bathroom, but to the window. It is still dark out, so the clock is not wrong. But I can’t go to sleep. I don’t want to.
I head straight to the bathroom now, only stopping by the drawers to get extra clothes, and my towel.  I turn the knobs on the shower, setting it. I am instantly hit with the cold water on my back when I get in. When I’m used to it, I massage my scalp with the coconut scented shampoo—my favorite. I turn the knobs, again, setting it to hot water, and I stay there for a while; the water relaxing my muscles. When I get out, I get dressed. I don’t feel right.

I look into the mirror. I use my hand to wipe out the fog that was caused by the shower. I don’t feel right. In the mirror, I see a girl who I recognize as a different person. I see a girl with wide blue eyes, but they look dull—no emotion to see color. For a moment, I am glad I didn't get her eyes.  If I had, every time I would look at myself, I would see her eyes staring right back at me. All I see, is a girl with medium cut brown—auburn hair; a round, pale face. She wears an odd expression. She stares right back at me; making the same movements as me; blinking when I do. I see me. But it’s if I’ve sprouted another head, with how different I feel. It’s like I’ve woken up as a different person, with a different personality.

I get a grip of the bathroom counter, taking in myself. I didn’t see what I had grabbed to change into; a pair of grey sweat and a graphic tee, I remember I got from Hot Topic. I’m glad I took these clothes, because I really don’t want to put on tight jeans, or whatever.  The clock now reads that it’s 6:42 a.m. Sighing, I get out of the bathroom. Outside, the dark sky has turned light pink from the sun rising up.
I get my room key from the dresser, my phone, and my iPod, ready to go out. I told myself last night I would be alright. I told myself I wouldn’t let anything get in my way today; that I wouldn't think about it. I told myself a lot of things.

I run my fingers brushing through the cement walls. I feel like screaming. I wonder how thick the walls are. If someone will be able to hear my earth shattering screams of frustration.

I sigh to myself, running my fingers through my hair. It is still damp from the shower. It’s still too early to do anything. Everyone is probably asleep. I sigh loudly, again, thinking of how to spend my morning.

I hear the song thumping through my ear.  The words are going right through my left ear, and coming out through the right. Or maybe, it’s coming right through my eyes, because I can sense myself unable to open them. They are drunk with exhaustion.

After I got out of my room, I just sat there and stared at nothing, when I regained myself. Walked myself to the studio, I’ve been here for four hours. Demi—she came in here two hours ago. She had greeted me and I had ignored her. It took every ounce of my strength to keep quiet; to keep from yelling, from screaming; from crying. 

The choreography has always been the hardest for me to learn. I am not skilled with dancing skills, and I don’t dance. I had said this about a million times when I got here and started this. And that is what we’re working on now—or was, before I sat down and gave up once more.
Several minutes passed by before a voice spoke up—her voice. “What’s wrong?” I open my eyes, and she is staring right at me, trying to lock eyes. I don’t want that to happen. I look in her direction, but not at her. It’s never at her; it’s past her, to the wall, not wanting to look into her eyes. I shake my head, indicating that it’s nothing.

 “Look Katelyn,” she says sternly. I cave. I look into her eyes, for the second time in the day; I thank God, that I don’t have her eyes. “You're so close! In just two more weeks, it’ll be the finale. And I know you will be there.”
 I close my eyes and still say nothing.

“I thought were passed this,” she says, her voice loud enough to hear from where she stands. “Did something happen while you were with your—.” She stops herself, probably not knowing who they are to me. Obviously not my mother, I think bitterly. “Did something happen while you were gone?” Nice save, I laugh to myself. “You can talk to me you know. I may not be someone close to you—like a mother. I know I’m not—“

 “Of course you’re not my mother! And I wouldn’t want you to. I don’t need anything from you. I’m nothing to you, as you are to me.” That was it; I broke. Not in the way I thought I would, but I did.

I shake my head once more, taking a deep breath.  I don’t feel right. “I have to go,” I tell her, trying to keep my voice as steady as I can. I get up and walk away, and once I’m out the door, I run. ~~~~~~~~~~~

A wave of desperation hits me as I dial the phone. My fingers fumble with the numbers as I dial; shaking with anticipation.

“Hello,” comes a familiar voice on the other end of the line.

“Sandra,” I breathe out. My voice stays quiet. “I want to come home.”

“Katelyn, what’s wrong? Are you okay?”

“I miss you,” I say into the phone, ignoring her questions of concern.

“Honey, I miss you, too, so much. But honey, you can’t come home right now,” she says. A weight in my stomach drops, a sob pressed inside my throat, stuck, I don’t want it to come out. “You have the show. You’ve wanted this for as long as—well, practically since I met you. You have to finish this one out.”

“I don’t care, Sandy! I don’t care anymore. Sandy, it’s too much for me. You can’t expect me to be normal with her—you just can’t! I feel different. Like every time I see her, I will explode with anger or just break down in cries.” I’m crying now. I hear her sigh on the other side. She feels miles away. She feels an eternity away; too far to reach.

“I get it, Katelyn,” she says gently. I wish she was her, right by my side, calming me with her soothing voice; telling me everything was going to okay, caressing me by brushing my hair, like when I was little. “But I don’t want you to come home while you’re so close to doing what you always wanted.  Please don’t give up on yourself like this, too fast. Don’t give up on us all, here when we’re cheering you on every week.
“You still have later with Niall, right? Maybe talking to him will help you. You just enjoy yourself—just for a couple more weeks. And please, Katelyn, you have to keep an open mind, okay? I’ll talk to you soon. I love you.” I close my eyes, taking in her words. I wheeze out a simple, ‘okay.’

“I love you, too.” And I hang up.

I just don’t feel right.


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