I'm frozen. I kind of want to cry.
My own sister tossed me under the bus.
I mean, I know that I never told her not to tell Demi, but I just figured that it was implied.
Demi looks at me, an unreadable expression on her face. She was so sure that it was Jordan. I even went along with her assumptions.
Nobody speaks, as if we're all gauging each others reactions and contemplating what to say.
"Mom," Jordan slowly breaks the silence. "What happened to your neck?"
Despite applying foundation in a more evenly coat, I, when I squint, can still see the bruising around her neck.
"Nothing, baby-girl," Demi forces a smile.
"Was," Jordan's tone is now hushed and hesitant. "Was it Nick?"
"No, of course not."
"It was dad, wasn't it?"
The doorbell chimes, and I use it as a means to escape, hurrying past Demi and silently thanking Nick for divulging his address to so many people.
Nick reaches the door before me.
"Dallas, why do I feel as if you're going to make a habit of randomly showing up at my doorstep?"
"I need you to do me a favor," Dallas enters the house, causing him to raise his eyebrows in amusement. "Would it be possible for me to drop Sara off here for an hour or two before her mom skins me alive?"
"Aren't you supposed to be watching her?"
"I have a date night, thank you very much."
"I don't need to know nor do I want to know. Yeah, sure, she'll be fine."
My heart nearly stops when I see Sara trailing after Dallas, rolling her eyes.
Oh god, I'm one of those girls? Fuck. Shoot me now.
As far as everyone else is concerned, I'm as straight as a pencil.
A bendy pencil.
Okay, so, maybe I'm not one-hundred percent into guys, but it's not like anybody needs to know that. The last thing I want to be is judged because of my sexuality, so, for now at least, it would be easier for my sake and the sake of everyone else if I just play the role that is "acceptable to society".
Yet society wants us to be ourselves.
Way to be two-faced and conflicting.
"I love how she just barges in here like she owns the place," Sara approaches me, referring to Dallas who is now having a discussion with Nick about God only knows what.
"That's just Dallas being Dallas."
"Very true."
"Why are you two here anyways?"
"Oh, so you don't want me here?" She arches an eyebrow while wearing a teasing smirk.
"Dallas and you."
She feigns an offended scoff. "You wouldn't be able to survive without my presence."
"Correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe that I was the one who won our game of streetball."
"Because you cheated."
"Really?"
She nods and grins.
"I think you're just a sore loser."
"Is that a challenge?"
"Take it however you want to," I shrug.
"Fine," she giggles. "I demand a rematch."
"You demand? What if I refuse?"
"There's no room for refusal."
"What if I win again?"
"That won't happen."
"And if it does?"
"If you cheat again and, as a result, win, I will..." she scrunches her nose in thought. "Do you like ice cream and smoothies and that kind of stuff?"
"Doesn't everybody?"
"Ever had vegan, organic ice cream?"
I shake my head, not even knowing such a thing exists.
"Okay."
"Okay what?"
"Just okay," she smirks.
"Fine," I roll my eyes. "If you win, which is not going to happen, I'll buy you something from this secret, vegan, organic place."
"Deal," she laughs. "They're also known for being raw and gourmet."
"I feel as if you and Demi would get along just fine."
"Sara," Dallas calls. "Do you want to call your mom and explain our new arrangement or should I?"
"You can. She wouldn't believe me," Sara rolls her eyes. "She'd most likely accuse me of being with Preston."
Who's Preston, and why does her mom seem to have some major trust issues?
"Should I be worried?" Dallas raises an eyebrow.
"No!" Sara scowls, red blooming across her cheeks.
Dallas chuckles.
"C'mon," Dallas all but drags Sara to the front door. "If I'm the one calling her, you're going to be there as a witness in case she starts yelling."
As they leave to make the phone call, Nick eyes me with an expression I can't quite describe.
"What?"
"Nothing," His tone is way too chirpy to be nothing, and he keeps flickering his gaze between me and the door. "She's taking you to KindKreme, I think."
"What's that?"
"Like she said, a raw, gourmet, vegan, organic ice cream shop."
"Have you ever been?"
He nods. "There are two, but she'll probably take you to the one in Echo Park because it's closer, and, if you're anything like your mother, you'll absolutely adore the place."
I nod, silently wondering if they ever went there together.
"You know that you can tell me anything, right?" He surprises me by asking.
"Yeah," I slowly respond, not believing him for a minute.
There's so much he'd rather live the rest of his life without knowing.
"Good."
Before an awkward silence can begin to develop, Dallas and Sara return.
"Okay, I'm going to leave," Dallas says to Nick. "Sara, you have your keys, phone-,"
"I have everything," Sara reassures, a tinge of annoyance in her tone. "I'm not a little kid."
"I know," Dallas smiles sympathetically. "Don't get into too much trouble," she winks before leaving.
"Ready to lose?" Sara taunts.
"You should be asking yourself that question."
"The basketball is already in my car."
"I'll be out there in a few."
She nods and leaves.
"Do you have a ski mask?" I question Nick.
"Why?"
"Because I'm broke, and, if she wins, I'm going to have to rob a bank."
"Here," He hands me a crumpled up bill. "You can't be a criminal until you're at least eighteen and living on your own."
"Dude, I don't need a fifty!" I stare at him as if he just confessed he was Michael Jackson in disguise or some shit.
He rolls his eyes as if the answer to why I need the money is obvious. "You pay for her regardless of whether who wins or not, and then you pay for yourself."
I scrunch my eyebrows together, wondering where I've heard something similar to that before.
"Isn't that what people do when they're on a date?"
As if it wasn't already obvious enough that I've never been on a date before...
"Why must you question everything?"
"Why must you and Demi ask me the exact same questions?"
"Just go before she gets tired of waiting and leaves."
"Tell mo-I mean, tell Demi that I'll be back soon," I curse myself for my almost slip of the tongue.
They've been slowly tearing my walls down brick by brick, but now it's time for me to build them back up.
~
~
~Demi's POV~
~
~
"What?"
"The blade is Bailey's," Jordan repeats. "I found it in her phone case, and I confronted her about it."
"What did she say?"
"She told me that, although she has thought about it before, she has never used it. She even showed me her arms, not a cut on either of them."
I feel sick. My daughter admitted to thinking about harming herself.
But she has never actually done it.
Why do I find that so difficult to believe?
"They're from my bracelets!"
"Demi," my mom's tone was barely audible, as if she could start crying at any moment. "You've used the same excuse before."
It was true. The paparazzi had managed to snap pictures of my cuts on multiple occasions in the past. This time, however, a magazine who bought the pictures decided to ask a psychologist her thoughts on my self-harming. She acted like she knew me, knew why I was doing this to myself, and it pissed me off.
"We've been so gullible," my mom continued. "But no more, Demi. Everyone knows. You can't keep doing this."
"What? Cutting?" I forced a laugh. "I would never do something so stupid. I have everything, so why would I risk my career over that?"
"I have no idea." she kneaded her temples. "You tell me."
"If I did cut myself, don't you think there'd be more pictures?"
She eyed me curiously. The thought probably never even crossed her mind. I used this to my advantage.
"If I was a cutter, there'd be so many pictures, right? My career would go down the drain in less than six months. I have no reason to cut myself. I swear on my life that those marks are just from my bracelets."
Of course, the life that I swore on was nothing but a miserable existence for me, one where I had suicidal thoughts daily and poisoned myself with alcohol and drugs as a means of escaping my fucked-up reality.
But she didn't know that.
"Prove it."
I smirked inwardly, mentally applauding myself for covering all of my cuts and scars with makeup.
I obliged, rolling my sleeves up to my elbows.
"Okay, I believe you," she finally caved. "I'm sorry for jumping to conclusions, Demi," she hugged me.
"You're just doing your job as my mom," I returned the hug, saying what I hoped she wanted to hear. "It just proves that you care. There's nothing wrong with that."
No matter how strong the temptation, after that incident, I never cut on my wrists again; however, I easily managed to get away with doing it on my thighs, hips, and stomach. As long as nobody could see the marks and I kept up the happy, bubbly, confident facade, I was in the clear; nobody suspected a thing.
"Mom?" Jordan snaps me out of my memory. "Are you okay?"
What if Bailey's sneaky about harming herself?
Ignoring Jordan's worry, I hurry downstairs.
"Nick, where's Bailey?"
"She went out with Sara," I vaguely recall Sara. "What's wrong?"
"I think....I think Bailey harms herself."
~
~
~Bailey's POV~
~
~
"You-you want to be what?" I nearly choke on my kale smoothie, feeling as if I'm going to die from laughter.
"A yellow power ranger," Sara states in all seriousness, which only causes me to laugh harder. "It's a life goal."
"So, say that the whole power ranger route didn't work out?"
"I'd be a nurse, but the power ranger thing is totally going to work out."
"Yeah, sure," my phone vibrates on the table, only to announce a text from Demi.
"Your mom?" She arches an eyebrow, taking a bite of her sundae.
"No, it's Demi," I dryly respond as she shoots me an expression as if to say 'really?' "What?"
She shakes her head, and I debate on whether I should actually read the text or not.
"Just answer it, Bailey. Did you even tell her that you'd be leaving?"
Shit. What if she's worrying herself sick?
Wait, why do I even care?
I open the text.
Be home ASAP
Yeah, like that's totally not vague or anything. Way to send my overly-paranoid mind into overdrive.
~
When Sara and I arrive back at the house, Dallas is already there, ready to make sure that Sara gets home safely.
That leaves Nick, Demi, Jordan, and me.
In the living room, I sit in the chair, Jordan is on the couch, and Demi and Nick sit in front of me.
Why do I feel as if I've been cornered?
"Bailey," Demi is unable to meet my gaze. "I need you to be completely honest with me, okay?"
I don't like where this is going.
What did I do now?
"Are you harming yourself?"
"Are you crazy?" I force a laugh. "I'm the daughter of two celebrities; therefore, I am a celebrity by default. I can have everything that I've ever wanted. For what reason would I be depressed enough to do something so stupid as self-harming?"
Demi seems to be deep in thought, and I hope that she's believing my lies.
"When I was around your age, the media discovered my cuts for the first time," she begins. "It terrified me, but it didn't scare me enough to stop, especially not when I managed to convince everyone that the marks were from too tight bracelets. The bracelets became my go-to-excuse. The third time it happened, though, my mom was tired of believing my lies. She was convinced, rightfully so, that I was cutting myself, yet I still used the same old lie. When she still didn't believe me, I used my status as a celebrity and the fact that there weren't more pictures to my advantage. I caused her to doubt what she knew."
"Were there anymore pictures after that?" Jordan asks after a pause.
"No," Demi meets my gaze, and it makes me nervous. "I became sneaky. I started cutting where nobody would notice, especially my thighs."
Shit, she knows, or, at the very least, she has her suspicions.
"Good talk. Can I leave now?"
"No."
I don't think I've ever seen her so serious.
"We love you, Bailey, and we want what's best for you. I know that you-"
"No," I interrupt. "You don't know anything, okay?" I stand up. "You're wrong. I do not harm myself, and I will never harm myself. I refuse to sit here while you accuse me of doing something so stupid."
I nearly run upstairs, wanting nothing more than to lock myself in my bedroom and cut until I bleed out.
She can't know.
Nobody can know.
Why does she have to suddenly care so much?
As I'm shutting my bedroom door, she stops it and barges into my room.
"Can't you just leave me alone?" I seriously feel like screaming.
"Why?"
"Because you're irritating! I told you that I don't harm myself. If you don't believe me, that's your problem!"
She's shockingly quiet. I'd expect her to yell right back at me, or, at the very least, offer some sort of a retort.
Maybe I do have her convinced?
No, she's not that gullible.
"Okay, Bailey," Her tone is almost a whisper, as if she's admitting defeat, and she walks out of my room like nothing ever happened.
What just happened, and why do I feel as if she's not going to give this up so easily?
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