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Christina's POV
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After I heard Britney slam the door on her way out, I wiped the tears from my eyes and pulled out a magazine from under my bed and sitting down.
God, they're so skinny. I frowned, flipping through the pages. I felt so fat. All I wanted to do was to take a knife and cut off all the fat off of my body. I wanted to be like the models in this magazine. Why can't I be like them? They were so perfect. Unlike me.
I dropped the magazine down on the floor and picked up a swiss army knife that was sitting on the desk. I pulled open the small knife out of it and ran it against my skin, feeling the cold metal slit it. It felt so good, like the fat was leaving my body. The burning sensation after it was amazing. It felt as if my fat was burning off my body or something. Whatever it was, I loved it.
I paused, as I thought of Britney. She knew now. She knew what I did. And she would do anything in her power to stop it, but I would never let her. It's none of her business what I do. She's not me. I don't stop her from doing what she wants to do, if I have the slightest thing against it.
I placed the knife back down on the desk, and looked at my wrist. It was bleeding, and it had disgusting little red marks all over it. I had to wear long sleeves now. If I didn't, Britney would know. Not like she already didn't. She knew. But she'd also know I self injure myself. I couldn't help it though. It made me feel better. But sometimes I thought, it was more than that. Sometimes I just had to do it.
Maybe it was an addiction.
Self mutilation isn't suicidal though, I don't think. When I cut myself, I don't want to die. All I want to die is escape from reality. Escape from the pressures of the music business, of course, my weight. But I think it all boils down to the domestic violence I went through. When I was a child, I got abused my my father. And I hate myself for it. I deserved it.
But now I felt bad for being so mean to Britney, so I pulled down my sleeves and picked up the portable phone that was laying down in the pile of clothes and mess on my bedroom floor, and called Britney's cell phone.
I waited for 5 rings until I heard a small, southern sounding female voice say. "Hello?"
"Britney?" I choked on thin air as I said her name.
"Hey, Chrissy." She said uncertainly, not sure if I was still mad at her or not.
"Brit, I'm sorry for being such a bitch before."
I could hear her smile at the other end of the line, before she replied. "It's okay, Chrissy. You alright?" She still knew something was wrong with me, and she wasn't going to give up.
I sighed. "Yeah, are you coming back? I'm sorry for telling you to get out, you can come back. Please?"
"Um, I guess. I was going to go to my hotel, but I'll come back."
"Okay, great. Now?"
"I'm on my way. Bye."
"Bye." I whispered quietly and hung up the phone.
I got up off of my bed, and hid the swiss army knife in one of the drawers, in case Britney saw it. I didn't want her to know. I didn't want her to worry about me. It was better, simply not knowing.
A few minutes passed before I heard a knock on the door, and I ran downstairs to answer the door. She was standing there, obviously freezing beneath the cold rain, and I jumped on her and gave her a big hug.
Startled at first, she hugged me back. I now realized, in the whole world, she was the only person that actually cared about me. The only person that would do anything for me. The only person who knew what I was doing, because she was the only person whom cared to even notice. No one else noticed, no else else even cared. All they cared about was when my next album is going to be released, and how good my next video is going to be. She cared.