Saving Swift

Whore. Slut. Bitch. Die. The hate whirled around in my head as I sank to the floor. Too many people, too many times. I gasped, trying to breathe as I sobbed. I couldn't do this any more... I just couldn't. Obviously, no one wanted me here. Just do it, I thought. My hand shook as I held the silver blade to my wrist. I sliced my skin over and over again. No one could save me now. Eventually, I began to black out. I could see it then... the headlines screaming "Taylor Swift Commits Suicide"

And the world cheering.

One month previously...

"Oh my GOD, YOU'RE TAYLOR SWIFT!!!" another scream broke me out of my thoughts as I exited Starbucks.

I turned to find the speaker and spotted a girl wearing a Red Tour t-shirt. I grinned, going over to her.

"Hey!" I smiled and she started crying. Aw.

After talking for a few minutes, snapping a picture, and signing her shirt, I made my way to my car, my body guard trailing behind me.

I reached my apartment and went upstairs into my bedroom, smiling and happy because well... I had Starbucks. I opened my phone and went on Twitter... big mistake.

Taylor Swift or die. Um, die.

It's not that I don't want Taylor Swift to be dead, I just don't want her living.

Taylor Swift do you mean whore

Notifciations streamed in and some weren't exactly... nice. I took a deep breath... all this hate was really starting to get to me. I stared down at my wrists... small, almost invisible scars criss-crossed across my pale skin... only noticable if you were looking.

No, Taylor, you will not go back to that. No. Stop. I sighed, standing up and going into the bathroom. I looked at myself in the mirror and just shook my head. I was fat. I was worthless. I didn't deserve this amazing life.

I reached for my blade- tucked safely away in a spot only I would know- and ran my finger across the sharp edge. Taylor, no. Don't. The voice inside of my head tried to talk reason but... I wouldn't listen. Before I knew it, more cuts criss-crossed my wrists and I was throwing away blood stained toilet paper.

"Taylor? Time to go to the meet and greet," my mom came into my room and I nodded, pretending to be washing my hands.

"Okay, I'll be down in five," I smiled as if nothing was wrong.

An hour later I found myself meeting Swifties and posing for the camera over and over again. One girl who was about sixteen met with me and was crying hysterically. I grinned, talking to her. She looked down sheepishly and suddenly look up at me, confused.

"What?" I asked, also confused.

"Taylor..." she whispered, grabbing my wrist and pulling the fabric up. "Why?"

I gulped, what do I say?!? "That- that was an accident," I said, rushed.

She shook her head slowly, rolling up her sleeve a little bit, showing me the scars on her arm, "It's never an accident, Taylor."

I pushed back tears, "Stay strong." I whispered to her.

"Taylor... call me," she handed me a piece of paper with a phone number on it and slowly left, sadness in her eyes.

I bit my lip as the next fan approached me, smiling and happy. I posed for more pictures and went through with the concert, all the while having that slip of paper somewhere on me.

At eleven o'clock at night I lay down on my bed. Nashville had been amazing. I loved my home town. I took a deep breath, finally opening the slip of paper and reading the numbers. That girl... her name was Aria. I stared down at my wrists as her words echoed through my mind. It's never an accident, Taylor. I sighed and picked up my iPhone, slowly dialing the numbers. Finally, I pressed call and held the phone up to my ear.

She answered on the third ring.

"Hello? Who is this?"

"Hey, Aria? It's Taylor."