(Sierra's POV)
"Who's her?" I mimic Demi's hateful tone.
No response.
Rolling my eyes, I rise from my chair and creep to the doorway of the dining room, remaining obscured by the wall. I see a flash of curly red hair. Definitely not Dallas. Who is this chick?
"She's prettier than me, isn't she?"
I turn around to see Demi staring at the floor, fiddling with her thumbs.
"What?" I furrow my eyebrows.
She raises her head just enough to meet my gaze.
"She's prettier, right? Of course she is," she rolls her eyes. "She's gorgeous. She even has a thigh gap."
Why does her tone sound so cold, so bitter? Why is she allowing this woman to get under her skin so badly? I glance between Demi and the unknown woman. Finally, I experience an epiphany.
I look over to an expressionless Demi.
"Dem?" I approach her.
I hate it when she blocks me out. I hate it when she doesn't allow herself to feel emotion. It worries me.
"You know she's not prettier than you, right?"
"Have you not looked at her?"
With a quiet sigh, I turn around to glance over the woman yet again.
"God she looks desperate," I mutter under my breath, eyeing her low-cut tee-shirt and extremely short jean cut offs. The outfit seems to be one that a typical teenage girl would wear, not an adult. I'm assuming that she's trying to look younger than she actually is, but that's just my guess.
"Sierra!" Demi half-heartedly scolds, resisting the urge to laugh.
"What?" I shrug. "I didn't tell her to wear that outfit nor did I tell her to leave her house wearing it. I can't believe that you think she's prettier than you," I mutter, shaking my head. "You look flawless with no makeup while wearing sweatpants. She-" I squint at the woman's makeup-caked face. "It looks like a box of Crayola markers upchucked on her face."
"You're something else, Sierra," Demi shakes her head, cracking a minuscule smile.
"So, that's what he cheated on you with?"
"Sierra," her tone is one of warning.
"What? It's not my fault that it's a whore."
Demi kneads her temples with the tips of her fingers.
"She's not a whore. She probably doesn't even know that he has..." she pauses. "I mean, had a girlfriend."
I can't believe that she's trying to defend the woman whom Wilmer cheated on her with. The fact that Demi had to correct herself on the status of their relationship hurts; it hurts me to see her hurting.
"You still love him, don't you?" I softly inquire, already knowing the answer.
"No."
I cross my arms and raise my eyebrows incredulously.
"Am I crazy for saying yes?" she whispers.
"You're crazy but not for saying yes," I smirk.
She flips me off. I chuckle.
"Seriously though, you're not crazy for saying yes. You can't help who you fall in love with."
"Come here, Sierra," she beckons me closer to her.
I oblige. Demi easily scoops me up off of the floor, turns me around so that I'm facing the front door, and places me atop her knee.
"I'm not three, Demi. I don't sit on people's laps."
"Hush."
She wraps her arms around my stomach and rests her chin on my shoulder. I roll my eyes as she begins to run her fingers through my long blonde hair.
"I can't believe that my twelve-year-old sister is giving me relationship advice."
"I guess I'm just that awesome," I distractedly respond, glaring at the redhead as she caresses Wilmer's arm while laughing exaggeratedly.
Wilmer subtly arches away from the seemingly clingy woman, gently brushing away her hand from his arm.
"He looks uncomfortable," I mumble.
"He should."
I quirk an eyebrow, the corners of my mouth turning upwards.
"Somebody's jealous," I sing.
"I'm not jealous," she scoffs.
"That's like saying the sky isn't blue."
"But the sky is blue," she confusedly states.
Wait for it...
"I'm not jealous," she denies in a firmer tone.
"Just like you're not bitter?" I smirk.
"Exactly. I'm not bitter either."
I hum knowingly.
"Whatever you say, Demi. Can you at least pretend to be bitter and jealous?" I question, mentally placing air quotes around the word 'pretend'.
"Why?"
"Because I want to see that bitch get her ass handed to her on a silver platter."
"Somebody seriously needs to wash your mouth out with soap," Demi mumbles. "You curse way too much, especially for your age."
"You're a hypocrite."
"I'm also an adult," she shoots back.
"Age-wise, yes. Mentally, it's debatable."
I can practically hear her eyes rolling in their sockets.
"Seriously, though, can you go over there and-"
"I'm not fighting her."
"Why not?" I whine.
"As much as I would love to, I really don't want a repeat of the past nor do I want bad publicity courtesy of the damn paparazzi and annoying blog sites. They've caused enough trouble as it is."
"They're just doing their jobs," I quietly sigh. "Well..." I squirm out of her grasp and rise to my feet. "If you're not going to handle her, I will. Where's that shovel?" I nod to myself and start to head for the basement, but Demi grips my arm.
"Uh, no. Not happening," she tugs me back towards her.
"Just one whack over her head? We can call it whack a hoe!"
Demi plants her elbow on her knee, cupping her chin in her palm and curling her fingers over her mouth to try to hide her amused smile.
"You want to laugh," I tease.
She shakes her head. I nod. We repeat this for a few moments.
"Hey, Demi?"
"Hm?"
"Have you ever seen any of the Madea movies?"
"All of them. Why?"
"1-800-choke-dat-hoe."
"What am I going to do with you?"
"Love me unconditionally," I sweetly grin.
She smiles and jokingly rolls her eyes; however, when her gaze falls over my shoulder, her smile slowly crumbles.
"What's wrong?" I spin around, instantly regretting that I had. "Dems..."
I turn back around only to find the chair empty.
"Damn it."
Clenching my fist, I charge over to the two and lunge for the redhead.
ns 15.158.2.210da2
