My Nightingale's Secret - Chapter Thirty-Two

I don't know when I started pacing. I can't recall if it was when we all got settled in the living room, or when Dallas began softly urging Sara to confess what happened, or when Nick handed Sara a bag of ice wrapped in a towel to numb her bruised eye, or when Demi retrieved her makeup bag to cover the bruising. I do, however, know why I'm pacing and that I have no intentions of stopping.

My mind is racing with questions and self-fabricated answers.

Why would Preston hit Sara? Why would she come to me, of all people? Why didn't Demi seem the least bit shocked when Sara removed her hood?

"Sara, please tell us what happened," Dallas continues to plead from the chair near the windows while Sara sits slumped on the couch, eyes downcast and guarded.

"There's nothing to tell," Sara mumbles.

"How did your eye get bruised?"

"I thought you already figured out that part." Her flat tone causes me to flinch.

"Why did Preston hit you?"

The blonde girl shrugs halfheartedly. "I wouldn't shut up."

"You think that this is your fault?" Dallas questions incredulously while shaking her head slightly. "Sara, none of what happened is your fault, but you have to tell me what happened-"

"Why?" Sara suddenly yells, tilting her head up to face Dallas. "So you can tell my parents? So you can report him?"

"He needs to be reported, Sara! What he did to you-"

"Is not okay. I get that. But you don't understand. You don't understand what I'm thinking. Nobody understands what I'm thinking. Not even myself," she mutters those last three words as her eyes return to the floor.

"Mind if I take a guess?" Demi nonchalantly inquires after a pause.

Sara emits a sound somewhere between a scoff and a snort. "You'd have to be completely insane to accurately guess what I'm thinking."

Despite the fact that my hands are practically shaking from anger, I stop pacing. "Are you forgetting that we're talking about Demi here or...?"

A smug smile almost forms on my lips as the corners of Sara's mouth upturn slightly.

"How about I cover up that bruise while trying to play this guessing game?" Demi suggests to Sara, ignoring my comment completely.

"I doubt you'll be able to cover it up," Sara grumbles yet drags herself closer to Demi, who opens her makeup bag.

"Let's see," Demi clicks her tongue in thought as she begins to retrieve various makeup and brushes from her bag, setting all of the items on the coffee table. "I think that you still love him," she boldly states, though her nonchalant tone is starting to irritate me. "Despite him doing this to you," she applies some concealer on Sara's bruise, as if to emphasize her words, "I believe that a part of you still loves him, and you hate yourself because of that."

"You're wrong," Sara snides, "Why would I still love him after he hit me?"

"You sure are quick to defend," Demi hums, seemingly not at all affected by Sara's sudden, harsh tone. The room is silent as she brushes some tan, powdery crap around Sara's eye, but then she returns the brush and powder to the table and looks at Sara with a new-found seriousness, a new-found blank expression. "You still love him because he has convinced you that you do."

"That makes no sense."

"He apologized, right?" Demi asks in a knowing tone. "He apologized as soon as he realized that his fist sent you to the floor. And then when you started crying and pushing him away and shielding yourself from him, he started crying with you and kept blubbering apology after pathetic apology, hoping that you'd believe him and that you wouldn't leave him," she pauses, "How am I doing so far?"

"I've come to the conclusion that you are indeed completely insane."

A small, pained smile graces Demi's lips. "You ran because your instinct told you to do so. You're not stupid, Sara, so, once you realized what he did, you ran without looking back. But then you started thinking. You started remembering all of the good times, all of the times he told you that he loved you, all of the times he held you while you cried or ranted or felt alone. Then you thought about how he apologized as soon as he hurt you. You thought about how he cried over you, how he cried with you. Next thing you knew you were battling with your own mind, torn between wanting to believe that he felt remorse and wanting to save yourself. A part of you wanted to turn the side of him that you had grown so fond of - the good side of him - into nothing more than a distant memory and keep running while another part of you wanted to turn around, go right back to him, and forgive him for his one mistake," she pauses, allowing her words to echo in our heads, "Am I still insane?"

With nothing more than a slight shake of her head as a response, Sara abruptly stands and rushes out the front door.

I immediately try to go after her, but a hand on my shoulder stops me.

" Let me talk to her?" Demi softly suggests, and the indescribable emotion in her eyes has me biting back a sarcastic retort.

"Sure," I mumble and weakly nod.

She offers a tiny smile and gives my shoulder a reassuring squeeze before following Sara out the front door.

Without gauging the reactions of Jordan, Dallas, and Nick, I retreat upstairs to the guest bedroom that Jordan and I are sharing.

It isn't until I'm sitting on the bed when I realize that I never received answers to any of my questions. I emit a disappointed, slightly frustrated sigh as Jordan slowly opens the bedroom door and pokes her head in.

"What?" My voice sounds a lot harsher than intended.

She hovers in the doorway, probably contemplating on what to say. "You know that she's going to be okay, right?"

"Who?"

"Sara."

My eyes nearly widen at her unexpected response. "Why would I care about Sara?"

"She's your friend, isn't she?"

I shrug. "I guess so."

She sighs, then opens her mouth to speak but ends up hesitating.

"What?" I pry.

Releasing another frustrated huff, she shakes her head and flickers her gaze around the room, focusing on everything but me. "When are you going to tell them?" She questions.

"Tell who what?"

"Mom and Nick. When are you going to tell them-" she cuts herself off "-when are you going to stop lying to them?"

"I'm not lying to them!" I scoff.

"You're hiding stuff from them."

"No, I'm not."

"I know that you are."

"You don't know anything. You don't know me."

"Do you honestly still believe that?" I fall silent, not wanting to argue with her, not wanting to say something that I'll regret. "I know that you like Sara."

"She's an okay person-"

"No. I know that you have a crush on her."

"That's ridiculous."

It's her turn to fall silent. "If you like someone," she finally speaks, "you need to tell that person. If you love someone, you need to tell that person. Forget about any so-called rules, and don't you dare let the idea of looking ridiculous paralyze you with fear because passing on an opportunity to give someone your heart and receive theirs in return is what's truly ridiculous."

With that, she leaves me with the dreaded silence of my own thoughts.

~Demi's POV~

I find Sara sitting on the porch, her legs outstretched in front of her, her face devoid of emotion.

"Mind if I sit with you?" I resist the urge to sigh when she doesn't respond.

I sit beside her anyways, staying silent, waiting for her to speak first.

"You were right, y'know?"

I turn to her. "About?"

"Everything." I nod softly when she pauses, as if encouraging her to continue talking. "But I don't understand how. I mean," she looks down and toys with her fingers, "Bailey vaguely told me what Wilmer did to you, but I find it hard to believe." Her head quickly snaps back up so that she's facing me with wide, panicked eyes. "Not that I think you would lie about something like that-"

"It's okay." I can't help but to laugh at her hasty reassurance. "We're good actors."

She nods, visibly relaxing. "Really good." There's a pause as I, again, wait for her to speak. "So, everything that you told me..."

"True story. Personal experience. Whatever you want to call it."

She returns her gaze to the ground, again toying with her fingers - probably a nervous habit. "So, it would only get worse if I went back to him?"

"Do you even want to go back to him?"

She surprises me a little bit by shaking her head. "He's joining the military," she sighs. "That's what we were arguing about - all day, actually." She looks up at me, her eyes now glassy. "I kept yelling at him, asking him how he could be so selfish as to not tell me sooner." She shakes her head. "I told him that I wanted to break up with him because I wasn't ready to make the commitments - the constant worrying, the long distance relationship, all of it. He got so angry and started accusing me of not loving him, and he started calling me the selfish one, and it just escalated so quickly."

A sob escapes her lips as her body begins to crumble. I wrap my arms around her, just now noting how she is still wearing her jacket, despite the suffocating humidity.

"I didn't even-" she stops herself "-I've liked somebody else for a while now, somebody who wasn't my boyfriend. What kind of awful person does that make me?" She sobs.

"Hey," I release her, only to tilt her chin up so that she's facing me, "that doesn't make you an awful person. It's not like you cheated on him."

"But I didn't tell him."

"As far as I'm concerned, he did more damage," I say, skimming my eyes over the bruise that I only managed to half-cover before she ran. "Speaking of which, how about I finish covering that bruise up?" She nods, and we both rise to our feet. "How are you still wearing that jacket, by the way?"

Her gaze flickers to the ground. "He pinned me against the wall," she mumbles.

Before I can even question her, she unzips her jacket and removes it, revealing a black camisole and bruises on her upper arms.

"Want me to cover those, too?" I try to keep my tone as nonchalant as possible. She mutely nods again, her expression a little ashamed. "You do realize that you have nothing to ashamed of, right? None of this is your fault."

Another mute nod, though I can tell that she doesn't believe me.

"Where are my girls?" I ask Dallas and Nick as Sara and I reclaim our spots on the couch.

"They went upstairs a while ago," Dallas explains, and I can tell that her and Nick are trying to not stare at Sara's now bare arms.

I nod, acknowledging my sister's response as I pick up a bottle of concealer. "Alright, sweetie, how about we finish your eye, then do your arms?" I ask Sara, again only receiving a silent bob of her head. "What's on your mind?" I softly inquire, gently applying some of the concealer to her bruise with the tips of my fingers.

"Nothing." Her answer sounds high-pitched, mimicking a squeak.

"You're lying," I apply some more concealer, "and you're awful at it."

She emits a slight breathy, nervous sounding chuckle. "I was just," she pauses, "I was just wondering about you."

"Me?" My eyebrows knit together in confusion as I finish the bruise off with a couple brush strokes of concealer. I motion for her to outstretch her arm, and I can't help but notice that she winces. "Do you want to numb them first?" I question, referring to her bruises.

"No," she hastily reassures, shaking her head. "I'm fine." Before she can even finish her sentence, Nick is on his feet and heading for the kitchen, only to return moments later with ice wrapped in a towel, just like earlier. "Thanks," Sara mumbles, taking the ice from him and applying it to the bruise on her right arm.

"We'll wait until that one's numb before we do anything," I tell, and she nods. "So, what were you wondering about me?"

A faint shade of pink flushes her cheeks. "It's stupid," she shakes her head, looking down at her lap, "forget about it."

I arch an eyebrow. "How am I supposed to forget about it if it was about me?"

The blush tinting her skin only intensifies. "I was just...I was basically wondering the story behind your words." she returns her gaze to me. "That makes me sound really nosy-"

"No, it doesn't," I contradict. "Curious and nosy aren't the same thing. I don't blame you for being curious."

"But I shouldn't be prying."

"You consider this prying?" I almost laugh, but then my tone becomes serious. "Which story were you wondering about?"

Her eyes widen slightly. "You'd honestly tell me?"

I shrug. "If scare tactics are what it takes to keep you from going back to him when you clearly don't want to, I'll tell you my entire life story if you want to hear it."

She hesitantly chews on her bottom lip. "Did it start out like this?" She finally asks, gesturing to her face and arms.

I sigh, thinking back. "Kind of. It started out as possessiveness and frequent arguing and hateful words being thrown back and forth, but then it escalated to pushing and shoving, then to slapping, then, well," I shrug, "now we're here."

"And the first time that he hit you," she murmurs, "were you....surprised, I guess?"

I hum affirmatively. "Surprised that he hit me. Surprised that he started crying with me. Surprised that my mind was so conflicted between wanting to leave him and wanting to help him. Then I started cursing myself for thinking that he was the one that needed help when I was actually considering staying in a relationship with a man that hit me, even if it was just once."

"And the first time that he beat you?" she whispers with solemn eyes.

"Now that day is one that I remember clearly. By then, I had grown accustomed to him slapping me and yelling at me, but this was completely different - like a completely different person," I frown, "He had arrived home just as I was taking my medication, and he had a stack of papers clenched in his fist. I could tell right away that he was completely infuriated..."

Standing in our bathroom, I rolled my eyes as the front door slammed shut, knowing that Wilmer was now home, knowing that he was pissed off yet again. I dumped my daily dosage of medication in my palm before swallowing the pills dry. I had just managed to twist the white cap back onto the orange bottle when he came barging through the slightly ajar door.

"Come here," he ordered through clenched teeth, seizing my wrist and yanking me out of the bathroom before I could even return my medication to the cabinet.

His grip only tightened as he lead me to our bedroom, his fingers digging into my skin and twisting. "Wilmer, stop, you're hurting me!" I begged, trying to remove his hand from my wrist, to no avail.

He dropped my wrist as we reached the side of our bed. "What the hell is this?" He barked, throwing a stack of papers onto our bed.

I squinted at the tiny, black font on the sheets of computer paper. "Tabloid gossip."

His clenched jaw ticked at my slightly sarcastic answer; we both knew that wasn't the answer he wanted. "They're claiming that our marriage is falling apart." His voice was oddly calm, despite his tense, angered posture.

"Well, isn't it?" I snided. "Fuck, Wilmer, they've been saying that since I tried to 'kill myself' months ago."

A breathy, incredulous chuckle escaped his lips as he ran a hand over his jaw. "You don't get it, do you?" He stepped closer to me. "Of course you don't." He gripped my upper arms much like he did just a few minutes ago with my wrist, his fingers once again painfully digging and twisting into my skin. "You're just a stupid, selfish bitch who obviously doesn't give a damn about her husband's career!" He shoved me, hard, and I gasped as a sharp corner of the nightstand speared my lower back.

I hissed as wave after wave of white-hot pain radiated from my lower back, causing my body to tremble slightly, causing me to drop the bottle of prescription pills. The excruciating pain almost sent me to my knees.

He picked up the bottle of pills. "And you're still relying on this shit! No wonder everyone thinks you're crazy!" He hurled the bottle at the wall across the room.

"Wil, it's just tabloid gossip," I reminded, my tone almost a pathetic whimper as the pain in my back ceased to let up. "Nobody believes it."

"Oh, really? Then tell me this, Demi," he stepped closer to me again, so close that our noses were almost touching, and I could smell the alcohol on his breath. "Remember that big movie that I'm currently working on?" His tone was sarcastic, as if stating that I should remember and wondering how I could forget. "The one that's supposed to be opening up a lot more doors for me around Hollywood? Yeah, well, Demi, that's my job," he gritted out, enunciating his words as if I were a toddler, and then he gripped my upper arms like he did earlier, squeezing so tightly that I thought I would lose circulation. "The same job that allows you to put shit in this goddamn house. The same job that allows you to sit around at home all day because you're too lazy to hire someone to watch our daughter. The same job that I refuse to let my crazy bitch of a wife ruin with her tabloid rumors!" With that last sentence being screamed at me, he shoved me towards the bathroom, and I cried out as the back of my head bounced off of the edge of the door frame.

Dizzying, pulsating pain and black spots dancing across my vision sent me to the floor.

"Did you pass out?" Sara's voice is sharp, alarmed.

I shake my head. "He started kicking me."

"While you were already down?" If this was under different circumstances, I would have laughed at her shocked tone, at the fact that she finds it so difficult to believe that an abusive husband would not stop beating his wife long enough for her to get back up on her feet.

I nod. "He kicked my stomach first, and I squeezed my eyes shut and doubled over because the pain was so intense. I had to hold a hand over my mouth to prevent myself from throwing up, but I was still gagging. Then, while I was too occupied trying to keep my breakfast down, he kicked at my ribs. By then, I was just trying to curl myself up into a ball to protect myself as much as possible, but he kept kicking."

"What made him stop?" Sara's voice is almost a whisper. "He started crying, didn't he?"

I nod. "And apologizing. He backed away, sat on our bed, and sobbed while gasping out apologies every few seconds."

"And what did you do?"

"Something really stupid," I sigh. "Once the pain lessened enough for me to stand somewhat, I hesitantly sat beside him on the bed, and he immediately wrapped his arms around my neck. Although he was just hugging me, I tensed, which only caused him to sob harder." I shake my head at my own ignorance as I speak my next words. "I told him that it was okay."

"That what was okay?"

"That's just it. I didn't specify anything, but I still shouldn't have said it. Looking back, it's like I basically gave him permission to keep beating me."

"No." I look up past Sara at the sound of Nick's strangled voice, shocked to see his eyes glassy and red; my sister doesn't look much better. "No, Demi, you did not give him permission to beat you. You didn't want him to do that to you. You didn't ask him to do that to you."

"But I didn't try to stop it," I retort, feeling my temper starting to get the best of me.

Next thing I know, he's on his feet, advancing towards me. He drops down to his knees in front of me so that his eyes are level with mine.

"Look me in my eyes and tell me that you didn't try to stop it, that you didn't try to get out of that relationship."

"Nick, I-"

"Demi. Please."

I sink my teeth into my lower lip. "I can't," I submit.

"And why not?" His tone is soft, a gentle caress only intended for my ears, though I'm sure that Sara and Dallas both can hear him with how silent the house is.

I struggle to swallow the growing lump in my throat. "Because I did try to stop it. After he slapped me the first time. After he - after he beat me that first time."

"What happened that day after you cried with him and told him that it was okay?"

"I was walking on eggshells the rest of the day," I recall. "He was acting nice, so much so that is was almost overwhelming. He hardly left my side that day." I exhale heavily. "That night, after he had fallen asleep, I packed some things for Jordan and myself, and I tried to run."

"He caught you, didn't he?"

"I didn't even make it out the front door," I pathetically admit.

"How did he react?" He wonders, his tone still a soft whisper that sends chills throughout my body.

"He was calm. He told me to put Jordan back in her crib and to come back downstairs to talk with him, so I did. But when I returned downstairs, he was sitting at the dining room table, nursing a half-empty whiskey bottle. He, um, he asked me what I was doing, thinking that I could leave him, thinking that I could take his daughter away from him," I pause and take a deep breath, trying to gain control of my emotions, not wanting to break down completely, "He slammed the bottle onto the table, got up, walked over to me, and slapped me. His voice was still calm when he told me that I'd be stupid as hell to try to pull another stunt like that. But then he became quiet, and I made the stupid mistake of thinking that the worst was over." I pause again, wiping away tears that have accumulated in my eyes, succeeding in nothing but breaking the dam and sending tears down my cheeks; my next words are spoken quickly as I try to finish talking before my tears make me incapable of doing so, "I looked away from his eyes for a second, and I don't know if that's what set him off again or not, but he then lifted me by the collar of my shirt and slammed my body into the wall. He told me that if I pulled another stunt like that again, he'd beat me so badly that I'd be praying to God to just kill me already, and he-" I choke on a sob that threatens to escape my throat; simply breathing is becoming a difficulty, "-he threatened to take Jordan away from me if I ever tried to run again or tell anyone or seek help in anyway, and that's when I knew that I had become nothing but another statistic - just another woman getting beat by her drunk of a husband and staying with him because she's spineless and stupid and-"

"Hey," Nick stops my rambling, his soft tone taking on a stern edge as he wipes away my tears, only to have them be replaced, "I don't want you believing everything that you think, and I sure as hell don't want you believing everything that he said to you. You're not any of those things, Demi, I promise."

"But I am!" I sob. "I couldn't even protect Jordan! I could have at least prevented her from seeing and hearing everything," I pathetically whimper, lowering my face into my palms as my body crumbles, dissolved by tears that stain my flushed cheeks and sobs that claw their way out of my throat and wrack my body.

"Sara," I hear Nick speak, "I'm going to calm her down, and then you can talk to her, okay?"

I don't hear a response from Sara, so I'm assuming that she nods. "I'll go upstairs with Bailey and Jordan," she mumbles, and I can hear her stand and shuffle her way to the staircase.

"Dallas-"

"Just take her to my room," Dallas interrupts Nick. "It's quiet there, and nobody will bother ya'll. Just calm her down." The slight tremor in her voice tells me that she's scared and worried and close to crying, all because of me.

Nick lifts me up, and I immediately try to squirm my way out of his grasp, which only proves useless. Surrendering against his touch, I wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck, and shield my face in the crook between his neck and shoulder. I don't even care that I probably look like a damn toddler right now; all I'm focusing on is the calming scent of his cologne and the way that his pulse beats against my lips.

I soon feel myself being placed on Dallas' bed, and I, a little reluctantly, let go of him. He soon makes up for the lack of contact, though, by taking my hands.

"We have to calm you down, okay?" He kneads circles into the back of my hands with the pads of his thumbs. "But I also want you to let everything out. I know you, Demi, and I know that you've been holding this all in for so long now. But no more. I don't want you to be afraid to talk to me about anything or anyone or any predicament that you find yourself in. I want to know how you're feeling every single minute of every day. If something's bothering you, I want you to tell me. I don't want you living in fear and shutting down and relying on only yourself. I want you to rely on me. I want you to let me fix you."

I shake my head, emitting a sniffle as I wipe away fresh tears. "I don't need you to fix me. Yes, I need your support, and I need you by my side, but I don't need nor do I want you to fix me. All I'm asking is for you to stand back and love me while I fix myself."

"I can do that." He smiles. "I promise you that I can do that. For however long it takes."

He gently shushes me as more tears continue to fall, not realizing that these tears are happier then the ones before - tears being shed that represent me letting go of my past mingling with tears being shed that represent me welcoming a brighter future, the future of my dreams. With him. With Bailey. With Jordan.

He sits beside me on the bed and wraps his arms around me, gently pulling me towards him as he lays down. With my head on his chest, I can clearly hear his heartbeat in my ear, soothing me, causing me to sync my breathing with each beat. One of his arms wrap around my waist while the other slips underneath my shirt, his fingertips dancing across my spine. He murmurs sweet nothings into my ear as I calm myself down. When my breathing finally returns to normal and all of my tears have dried, he kisses the crown of my head.

"Y'know what I really hate?"

"Hm?"

"I hate seeing you cry. And the only thing I hate more than seeing you cry is knowing that I'm the reason behind your tears."

I raise my head up and rest my chin on his chest, peering into his eyes curiously. "What are you talking about?"

He sighs. "Earlier. What I said. What I did-"

"Nick, stop beating yourself up over that."

He shakes his head. "You're not making me feel guilty, so someone has to do it."

I roll my eyes and prop myself up with an arm on either side of him. "Baby, we're gonna do what lovers do; we're gonna have a fight or two."

"But this wasn't an ordinary fight. I said awful things to you. I made you cry, Dems."

I shrug. "Maybe I'm just an overly-emotional person."

"No," he snorts, shaking his head slightly. "You're not. That's the problem. I'd rather have you crying every damn day than bottling all of your emotions up inside until you suddenly can't handle it anymore and explode. I just want you to speak your mind for once."

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again. "Okay, fine. You want me to speak my mind? It hurt like hell to hear you say those things to me and to watch you walk out that door without looking back. But I don't blame you. I've put you through way worse, and I really oughta know that you just have to walk away sometimes. Walking away is how you cope, but you always come right back."

"You forgive people way too easily, Lovato."

"You know that I hate holding grudges." I shrug. "Besides, you've been by my side through way too much for me to just give up on us the moment things get a little tough. I mean, before you ever came along, I was living life all wrong."

He arches an eyebrow. "Were you now?"

I nod. "My life was nothing but a miserable existence without you," I say, then chuckle. "That sounded so melodramatic."

"Oh, so, we're being melodramatic now?" He smiles in amusement. "In that case, without you, I wouldn't last a single day. I'd probably just fade away. Without you, I'd lose my mind." I can't help but to throw my head back and laugh my obnoxious laugh, which causes him to chuckle. Once our laughter dies down, a comfortable silence takes over as Nick caresses my arms with the tips of his fingers, almost absentmindedly. "You do know that I love you, right?"

"I don't think that I do," I tease, giggling as he playfully rolls his eyes, but then my tone becomes serious. "You honestly love me - still continue to love me - despite everything?"

His eyebrows furrow slightly. "Define everything."

"Despite my craziness. Despite my flaws. Despite me hurting you so badly. Despite all of the bullshit that I've put you though. Despite my past. Despite everything, you still love me?"

"If you love somebody, you love them with their scars, their sadness, and their flaws."

"But I carry a lot more of that on my shoulders than the average person."

"So? That just means that there's more for me to love."

"It can also make me complicated and difficult to love," I point out. "I mean, what if Wilmer-"

"Stop that. I don't want you comparing yourself to anything that he has told you. So what if you're complicated and difficult to love? If that's the case, that just means that I'll never get bored of you because I'll be spending the rest of my life trying to figure you out." One side of his mouth quirks upwards, forming a lopsided smile. "Forget about all of the bullshit and pain that you've put me through. Neither of us are holding grudges against the other. If anything, we're each holding grudges against our own selves. Your past? Demi, it doesn't define you, not unless you allow it to. Sure, your scars remind you of where you've been, but they sure as hell don't have to dictate where you're going. Your flaws? Demi, you're perfect." I open my mouth to rebut his statement, but he keeps talking. "I know that you're perfect because the perfect ones are always flawed; it's the so-called 'normal' ones that have issues. Your craziness? Demi, you're not crazy."

"Yes, I am."

"Fine," he rolls his eyes, "crazy girl, don't you know that I love you? Despite everything?"

"I'm learning."

"I wouldn't dream of going anywhere without you. I'm not changing my mind about you. The smartest thing I'll ever do is make you all mine."

I scrunch my nose up as I laugh. "Do you even realize how cheesy you're being right now?"

He chuckles. "The term cheesy is subjective," he points out, causing me to roll my eyes. "I thought that I was being very genuine."

"Sure you did," I hum. "Don't you think we should get back out there?"

His lips form into a slight frown, confusing me. "Do you honestly want to tell Sara anymore?"

I softly sigh. "I don't want her going back to Preston," I simply state. "I mean, if she were one of our daughters, wouldn't you do everything possible to keep her out of a relationship like that?"

"Of course," he instantly answers, sounding as if he thinks I'm insane for asking such a question. "Is Sara even considering going back to Preston, though?"

"I think, given the circumstances, it's always going to be an option for her, whether she likes it or not, but I don't think that she wants to go back to him."

"Aside from the obvious, why would you think that?"

"If she's scared enough and he manages to manipulate her, she could end up going right back to him, but she told me outside earlier that he's joining the military, and she likes someone else." There's a pause as he ponders over my words, but then he suddenly begins laughing. "Why is that funny?"

"It's not funny." He waves a hand dismissively. "I'm laughing because of what I just considered - something that you obviously didn't."

I jut my bottom lip out to form a pout. "What are you not telling me?"

He chuckles. "Okay, so, you told me that Sara likes someone else, right?" I nod slowly, still having yet to realize what I'm missing. "What if that someone else is Bailey?"

My eyes widen in surprise. "You honestly think so?"

He shrugs. "I don't see why not. I mean, it's obvious that Bailey has a crush on Sara, though she acts like she doesn't and would probably deny it if we ever brought it up."

"But just because Bailey has a crush on Sara doesn't mean that Sara has to like her back," I point out.

"I think I'm right," he arrogantly smirks.

"Of course you do." I roll my eyes, then frown. "Why do you think Bailey hasn't told us yet?"

"Maybe she's still trying to figure it all out herself?"

I chew on my bottom lip. "Or maybe she's afraid we'd judge her."

"Why would she think that?"

I shake my head slightly, wondering the same thing. "I don't know."

When Nick and I return to the living room, we find Dallas in the same position as before, her eyes red and her cheeks tear-stained. Sara has reclaimed her position on the couch, the ice that Nick gave her earlier now nowhere to be found. Bailey and Jordan sit on the floor opposite Sara with the coffee table in between the three of them.

"Why are you two sitting on the floor?" I wonder, only receiving a mute shrug from Jordan; Bailey seems dazed, as if she has completely detached herself from everything and everybody in the room. "Hey," I place my hand on Bailey's shoulder, "what's wrong?"

Bailey shakes her head and shrugs off my hand. I emit a soft sigh, deciding to leave her be, as I sit across from Sara and reach for my makeup.

"Did you numb them?" I ask, pointing to the bruises on her arms. She nods, her eyes once again lowered as I begin to apply concealer over the bruise on her right arm. "Do you have anything else that you want to ask me?"

She snaps her wide eyes upwards. "You mean you'd actually tell me more?" She gapes at me.

"Yeah." I shrug. "I meant it when I said that I'd tell you my entire life story if it keeps you from going back to him."

"But why risk hurting yourself in the process?" She inquires quietly.

I pause, applying the last coat of concealer on her one bruise as I think of an answer. "I've already been through it. I've already experienced all of the physical pain. My pain right now, the pain that I'm choosing to put myself through, is nothing but mental. My pain is nothing but memories. You, however, don't have such memories, and I'm glad that you don't. I don't want you to be the cause of your own pain. I don't want you to have to live in fear or worry for the rest of your life. I don't want you to make the same mistakes that I did. Remember how you told me that you like someone else?" She nods, her cheeks flushing a faint shade of pink. "I want you to be with that person, not with someone who doesn't respect you. Okay?" She nods again. "Now," I begin to apply concealer on the other bruise, "what else do you want to know?"

"It's going to sound like such a stupid question," she admits.

"I'm in no place to judge."

She worries at her bottom lip, clearly hesitating. "If-if that one time was the worst time, then-"

"Wait," I look up from the bruise on her arm, "can I stop you?" She looks at me with a surprised expression, then slowly nods. "What makes you think that one time was the worst?"

"Wasn't it? I mean, it sounded awful..." she trails off at the blank expression on my face. "That wasn't the worst time, was it?" She nearly whispers.

I shrug, returning my attention to the bruise on her arm that is almost completely covered. "Depends on what you mean by 'worst time'."

"Can I say something?" Jordan suddenly speaks, and we all turn to face her. Though she toys with her fingers, her eyes meet mine. "What about my eleventh birthday?"

I inhale a quiet, sharp breath. "You remember that?"

"How could I forget?" When I make no move to speak, she directs her attention to Sara.

"My birthday is in June, always the weekend after school lets out for the summer, so I invited about fifteen people over, and we had the pool and a water-slide set up in the backyard with two kiddie pools holding water balloons."

"2300 water balloons," I interject, inspecting Sara's bruises for any missed spots.

"I told you that you didn't have to get so many," she reminds.

"Need I remind you that all of the balloons were popped within an hour?"

"At least I helped you fill them up."

I snort. "You helped fill, like, fifteen of them up."

"It was more than that!"

I raise my eyebrows. "Twenty. Max."

"Anyways," she returns her attention to Sara, "We all spent two hours throwing water balloons at each other and going back and forth between the water-slide and the pool while we waited for the cake to be delivered. It was one of those four tier cakes with white icing and edible pink butterflies cascading down it." She flashes me a pointed look as she describes her cake.

"What?" I look up from capping all of my makeup.

"The cake basically screamed 'we're rich; come rob us'."

"I'm pretty sure the cake did not scream 'come rob us'." I chuckle. "You're the one who requested it."

"I was joking."

"You can't joke with your mom about buying you stuff," Dallas interjects, shaking her head. "She'll buy you a whole damn store without a second thought."

"Forget buying stuff," Nick scoffs. "Do you remember," he begins, looking at me, "when we were filming Camp Rock, and it was the scene where you and Joe had to paddle one of the canoes in circles-"

"And Joe called for a ten minute break," I continue, knowing exactly what he's talking about, "so you decided to take his place in that canoe-"

"And I asked you if you thought that the lake water would be warm enough to swim in."

"I don't like where this is going," Dallas groans, burying her face in her palms as her shoulders shake with silent laughter.

As Nick continues to tell the story, I think back to that day.

"Joe, you messed your line up again," one of the directors scolded, causing Joe to sigh. "Want ten minutes to sort yourself out?"

"Yeah, sure," The older boy in front of me grumbled, clearly frustrated.

"Hey," I spoke up, "maybe you just need something to wake you up."

He arched an eyebrow at me. "And what do you suggest?"

Biting my lower lip, I lifted my canoe paddle and flung water at him. He stared at me with a slack jaw, soft laughter escaping his lips. "I can't believe you just did that," he chuckled, then regained his senses and flung water at me with his own paddle.

"I can't believe you just did that!" I squealed, trying not to laugh but failing miserably.

"I can't believe you just stole my line!" he mocked, only causing us to laugh harder. "Well, I better use those ten minutes wisely." I watched as he hooked one leg over the side of the canoe, planting one foot on the dock and clearly struggling to remain balanced.

"Need help?" I giggled.

"No," he reassured, "I got it." And, to my surprise, he managed to land both feet on the dock without falling into the water. "Have fun trying to get out of that thing."

"Oh, gee, thanks," I sarcastically said, deciding to just stay put so that I wouldn't fall into the lake and make a fool of myself.

It wasn't long after Joe had left when Nick decided to show up.

"Mind if I join you?" He asked.

"Depends," I squinted at him through the harsh sunlight, "how much of a newbie outcast do I look like, sitting in this canoe by myself?"

He looked over the canoe analytically. "I think you should be considering my presence a blessing right about now."

"Oh, really?" I laughed as he nodded, then I watched as he proceeded to climb into the canoe. "I hope that you fall," I struggled to say with a straight face.

He looked up at me for a second before returning his attention to his feet, trying to stay balanced. "You know," he begins, finally sitting down inside the canoe, "for someone who is nearly guaranteed to become a household name soon enough, you sure are rude." His smile was the only indication that he was joking.

"A household name?" I raised my eyebrows.

"You do realize that you're working for Disney now, right?"

"So?"

He chuckled, but I didn't realize what was funny; I was being completely serious. "You're going to be one of those, aren't you?"

"One of those? Should I be offended?"

"No," he shook his head,"'one of those' as in you're going to have a voice capable of changing things up, and you're not going to let your thoughts and opinions go unnoticed."

"Well, they do call me 'the girl with the voice'," I joked, referring to the movie script, while trying to keep a blush from invading my cheeks.

He chuckled again, his eyes focused on the lake, his index finger absentmindedly creating soft rifts in the water. "Do you think that the water is warm enough to swim in?" I nearly laughed at the random question. I cautiously rose to my feet and stepped onto the dock, balancing my weight so that I wouldn't tip the canoe. "What are you doing?" He asked as I managed to plant both feet firmly on solid ground.

I smirked. "Finding the answer to your question."

As he furrowed his eyebrows in confusion, I placed one foot on the side of the canoe. His eyes widened. "Demetria, don't you dare!" As he lunged for my foot, I stepped down, applying even more pressure to the sudden weight shift within the canoe, causing the boat to tip over.

I laughed as Nick surfaced. "So," I struggled to speak through my laughter, "is the water warm enough to swim in, Nicholas?" He glared at my use of his full first name, which only caused me to laugh harder.

"Why don't you find out for yourself?" I jumped, startled at the sudden voice behind me, and turned around to find Joe smirking.

"What are you-" before I could even finish my sentence, he had lifted me up and was hovering me over the lake.

"I'm going to assume that you have no last words." He shrugged, veering his arms back and tossing me into the air.

"-and then the entire cast came running when they heard Demi's screaming," Nick tells, and I scoff.

"Joe threw me into the lake," I emphasize.

"You still didn't have to scream bloody murder," he retorts. "You didn't have to piss the director off either."

"Technically, he was pissed off at Joe," I remind, and he laughs.

"He told Joe that you were the new girl-"

"And because of that, he should have more respect for me," I scrunch my nose up in thought, "or something like that."

"And then he basically told Joe that you were going to take his job."

"Which horrified him because you three honestly could never imagine your little band breaking up."

"Then we realized that you really could sing without the overuse of Disney's auto-tune, yet they still used it on you anyways, which pissed you off," he chuckles, "and then you basically developed a 'fuck you' attitude towards Disney."

"I was still grateful!" I defend. "And it's not like I ever told them how I really felt about everything."

"No, but you did complain to me an awful lot."

My eyebrows furrow slightly. "I don't remember you ever telling me to shut up or anything, though."

"Because I didn't want you to. I knew that you had a voice capable of much more than just singing bubblegum pop written by other people, and I was willing to let you talk my ears off if it meant seeing you get there."

I bite my lower lip as my face flushes in response to his words, at the fact that he cares so much and always has. My gaze flickers to my older sister who is watching Bailey stare at the floor and fidget with her clothes. Dallas looks up at me with a worried, confused expression that I can feel myself mirroring. I shrug in response to her silent inquiries, and we return our gazes to Bailey.

"Hey, Bailey," Dallas speaks, not gaining any reaction whatsoever from my daughter, "I just thought of something that I'm sure your devious, sarcastic little mind will enjoy." I frown when Bailey continues to not acknowledge Dallas in anyway, then I give Dallas a small nod to encourage her to keep talking. "You're probably the only kid who can say that your mom has been in a relationship with your dad and your uncle without having to talk to Jerry Springer, Steve Wilkos, or Dr. Phil." I glare at my sister, knowing that she's trying to get a reaction out of Bailey but still hating her execution.

I nearly groan when Bailey still doesn't look up. Why the hell is she basically giving us the silent treatment?

After a few more minutes of awkward silence, Nick clears his throat. "Jordan, why don't you finish telling your story?" He suggests.

"What story?" My youngest daughter blinks at him. "Oh, wait, my birthday party! Okay, um, where was I?" She scrunches her nose up in thought, resembling me.

"I believe that you were talking about the cake that attracted petty theft and grand larceny," I dryly remind.

"Oh!" She brightens, as if a literal light-bulb went off. "Okay, yeah, so, basically the cake finally showed up, and mom practically begged all of the parents to stay so that she could spare herself the expense of having to find a way to fit any leftover cake into the fridge."

"Who in their right mind is going to turn down free cake?" Sara wonders.

"That was exactly my thought process." I chuckle.

"So, after we all had cake and ice cream," Jordan continues, "we realized that the yard was a mess from all of the balloon pieces scattered around, and that's when mom decided to get a bit creative."

"What did you do?" Dallas asks me.

"I told all of the kids that whoever picked up the most balloon pieces would get twenty dollars."

"Jordan, can I go to your next birthday party?" Sara laughs.

"I can't believe that you basically bribed her friends," Nick says to me while softly chuckling.

"I wasn't going to clean up that mess," I defend.

"I had gone to school with most of those kids since kindergarten, and I swore that I had never seen any of them run so fast," Jordan reflects. "Anyways, after this one girl received her money, I started opening my presents." I notice how her mood begins to visibly deflate - her tone lowering, her speech slowing down as if it exhausts her to speak one word, her suddenly slightly slouched form, the way the corners of her mouth turn down to just barely form a frown. "Do you remember what happens?" She asks me tiredly, and I nod.

"You had just opened one of your presents from me, and you were freaking out because it was your first iPhone."

"Everybody was telling me how lucky I was," she says, causing me to grimace slightly at the irony of those words with what happened next. "All of the parents looked amused as I abandoned all of my other presents for the time being, asking everyone to help me set my new phone up and fill it with pictures." Her frown deepens. "Has anybody noticed how both mom and I have failed to mention my dad at all during this story?"

"Yeah," I barely hear Sara whisper.

"I hadn't seen him in three days," Jordan continues, "so I honestly wasn't expecting him to show up at my party. It disappointed me a little bit, to be honest," she pauses, "but he did show up. He showed up just as all of my friends and I were beginning to take pictures with my new phone. I was so happy and excited that I tossed the phone onto the couch and ran to him. I tried to ignore how strongly he smelt of alcohol as I hugged him. The hug lasted for, like, a second before he made his way to you," she says, looking at me. "Then what happened?" She nearly whispers, despite already knowing the answer.

I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat. "He slapped me."

"He slapped you in front of everyone." I can see tears beginning to flood her brown eyes. "I remember wondering why everyone looked so shocked and horrified when this was normal for me. Routine even. He walked upstairs without saying a word to anyone, and you immediately jumped into action, trying to get everyone out of the house while also begging the adults to not say anything to anyone. I remember feeling disgusted by how their eyes were filled with so much pity and sympathy. I hated them because of how they were looking at us, as if we were some kind of charity case," she sniffles, and I can see a lone tear slide down each of her cheeks, "then what happened?"

The lump in my throat seems to have grown as I try to not cry with my daughter. "All Hell broke loose. He came back downstairs after everyone had left..."

I tensed as I heard Wilmer's heavy footsteps move across the floor upstairs, no doubt heading for the staircase.

"Why don't you open the rest of your presents, baby?" I asked Jordan, trying to keep my voice cheerful and happy, trying to force a smile onto my face despite my pounding heart and the sickening feeling that accompanied the lump in my throat.

Fear had me nearly in tears.

Fear of my husband.

Fear of what those parents and kids that attended the party could say to someone.

Fear that, if they do tell someone, CPS and police will get involved and take Jordan away from me, just like Wilmer had said so many times before.

Fear that the media will find out.

She nodded, grabbing a square-shaped present wrapped in green paper and topped with a pink bow. "Is dad mad because of my party?"

"No, baby-girl. Why would you think that?"

She toyed with the bow and wrapping paper, refusing to meet my concerned expression. "Because I heard you two arguing. He said that he didn't want me to have a party."

I closed my eyes, mentally cursing Wilmer for being so damn loud. Opening my eyes, I found Jordan still messing with the wrapping paper and bow. I combed my fingers through her hair. "Don't you worry, okay?" I kissed the top of her head. "I'll handle everything."

She nodded, slowly beginning to tear open the present, beginning at one of the bottom corners.

I jumped to my feet as my husband loudly stumbled down the stairs. As soon as he reached the bottom step, his bloodshot eyes met mine. I walked towards him, trying to lead him away from Jordan but ultimately failing.

"Why the hell were all of those people in my house?"

Swallowing had become such a difficulty. My throat was bone dry. "J-Jordan's party." I cursed myself for stammering.

"I thought we agreed that she wasn't going to have a party, Demi." His tone was clipped, and I knew that it was only a matter of mere moments before he'd start yelling and screaming and probably putting his hands on me.

"No, Wilmer, you're the one that said she wasn't going to have a party. I told you that she was going to have one, regardless of what you say, because she deserves it." I had no idea why I was talking back to him; I just knew that it pissed me off when he talked poorly about Jordan, his own daughter.

"-He called me an ungrateful brat," Jordan interrupts me. "And then he snatched my new phone from me and threw it across the room, causing it to shatter. That's when it all started going downhill. Because you started yelling at him and pushing him away from me..."

"What the hell, Wilmer?" I screamed at him, and, seeing red, I pushed him away from our daughter. "Why the hell did you break her phone?"

"Because she doesn't deserve it," he grumbled, making his way to the kitchen.

Rolling my eyes at him, I crouched down to come face-to-face with a shocked Jordan sitting on the couch. "Baby-girl, I need you to go upstairs and stay in your room until I say otherwise, okay?" She mutely nodded, her eyes on the floor, her solemn expression making her look much younger then eleven. "Remember that bag that I told you to pack? I want you to take it out of your closet and make sure that you have everything you'll need in there, okay?" Another mute nod was all that I received before she scrambled up the stairs, just as Wilmer was returning from the kitchen with a beer bottle in one hand.

He took a sip from the bottle as he watched Jordan retreat up the stairs. I could barely hear the sound of her bedroom door click shut, and I prayed that she had enough sense to lock it. Wilmer slammed his beer bottle onto the dining room table, causing me to jump. We stared at each other for a few moments, and I swore that he could hear the pounding of my heart with how silent the house was.

"Wait," Nick pipes up, "you told her to get her bag?" I nod. "What does that even mean?"

"Mom and I each had a bag of necessities packed," Jordan responds, "in case things got really bad. We could just grab them and run."

I watch Nick as he begins to pace back and forth, his hand roughly stroking his jawline, leaving red streaks against his skin. I slowly get up from the couch, approach him from behind, and wrap my arms around his torso. I tense as he pushes away from me and turns to face me. He grips my wrist, and my instinct is to pull away, but his touch is gentle, his fingertips barely brushing against my skin, and I find my defenses caving.

He pulls me closer to him and wraps his arms around me.

"I'm sorry," he whispers into my ear. "I'm sorry for not being there."

"It's not your fault," I whisper back.

"Yes, it is," he insists. "I should have been there. I should have-" I break our embrace, causing him to stare at me questioningly.

I shake my head. "Stop talking." I kiss him, allowing my lips to linger against his for a few moments before intertwining our fingers and leading him to the couch.

He sits on the couch first, and I claim a seat beside him, tucking my bent knees towards my abdomen and leaning against him so that I can just barely hear his heartbeat begin to slow. He places one hand on my calf, his fingers absentmindedly drawing designs onto my bare skin, while his other arm wraps around my waist.

"What are you smiling at?" I tease Jordan, a grin forming on my own lips.

She shakes her head, her smile ceasing to falter. "I think I'm jealous of my own mother's relationship," she giggles, and I laugh.

"I second that," Dallas announces.

"Dal, you don't even do relationships," I chime.

"Sue me for not wanting to commit to anything long term!" She defends. "Can you honestly blame me?"

"I am in no position to judge anybody's relationship or lack thereof," I snort. "Why are you still smiling?" I continue to tease Jordan, realizing that her smile still has yet to falter.

"I just...I think I'm beginning to realize that the love between you and dad..." she trails off, obviously struggling to put her thoughts into words, "I guess I'm just realizing that not all relationships have to be like that. Because of you and dad, I had a preconceived idea of what love meant, and I'm now starting to realize how wrong my beliefs were."

I can feel tears sting my eyes as I discern just how deeply my relationship with Wilmer affected Jordan; I thought that I was protecting her by keeping her under the same roof as her dad when in reality I only harmed her more than I ever imagined possible. "Not all relationships are toxic, Jordan," I tell her, mentally willing myself to not let my emotions show.

"I know that now." She grins, her eyes flickering to Nick before returning to me. "I used to hate knowing that true, serious love was associated with ups and downs. I figured that ups only consisted of walking on eggshells and waiting for the next explosion to happen and allowing yourself to finally feel a sliver of hope only to have that hope completely crushed, leaving you to look like a complete fool. And I figured that downs consisted of nothing more than an abyss of pain and sadness and misery. That's what I pictured love to be, but now I'm realizing that love is everything but that. True love is anything but that. True love is..." Jordan trails off again, and I almost raise my eyebrows in surprise at how she's basically rambling.

"...something that you can hear in the silence," Sara finishes, though Jordan clearly is thinking of a different definition, for her eyebrows furrow.

"Wait, what?" Jordan scrunches her nose up, her eyebrows still knit together. "How....that makes no sense."

"You can feel it on the way home," Bailey mumbles, and we all put our attention on her, shocked that she spoke at all. She doesn't even look up.

Sara gapes at me, clearly not expecting Bailey to have responded to her use of lyrics. I give her an encouraging nod.

"You can see it with the lights out," Sara recites, and, to my surprise, Bailey looks up at her, though still wearing a blank expression. "You're in love."

"True love." Bailey finishes, a small smile forming on her lips, and that's when I know that Sara and my daughter aren't going to be just crushes, not if I can help it anyways.

"Wow, I'm shocked that you even know such a sappy song," Sara jokes.

Bailey shrugs, and I can see her retreating back into the slump that she was in just mere moments ago, consumed by her own mind. "Taylor's lyrics can never be too sappy." With that, she returns to staring at the floor, and I notice the worried frown that morphs Sara's usual smile.

"Y'know," Nick speaks, "now that I think about it, that song could actually pertain to us," he says to me.

I look up at him. "How?"

"Wait," Sara suddenly interjects, "Jordan never finished her story."

"You honestly still want to know about the worst time between me and Wilmer?" I ask her.

Her cheeks flush. "I mean...not if you don't want to tell me."

I almost chuckle at how she's basically contradicting herself. "Sara, my opinion on telling you still has yet to change."

She worries at her lower lip. "Can we hear the happier story first?" She hesitantly asks. "I don't think anybody has really heard much about how you two became," she gestures at me and Nick.

"Why do you just assume that a story about us will be happy?" I arch an eyebrow at her.

"Really?" She chuckles. "Do you want a mirror?"

Nick laughs at her retort, and I look up at him, feigning a pout. His laughter quiets as he kisses my nose, causing me to scrunch my nose up and for him to start laughing once again.

"Just tell your damn story already," I mumble, gently swatting his chest.

"Do you even know what story I'm going to tell?"

"No. It better not make me look stupid," I grumble.

"Does coffee at midnight ring a bell?"

I think back, only being able to recall one particular event. "Wasn't that right before..." I trail off, my face abruptly heating up.

"Why did you suddenly start blushing?" Dallas questions before emitting a sound resembling both a gasp and a squeal. "Bailey, this story is pre-you!"

My eldest daughter looks up from the floor to face her aunt, her silent treatment seemingly forgotten. "Pre-you? What am I? Some dinosaur era? And if this is about anything related to you two and a tour bus, I'm leaving."

I roll my eyes, deciding to not bring up her mood change just yet. "It's nothing bad," I reassure, then look at Nick. "Right?"

"Right," he chuckles, "unless you count getting Starbucks at midnight bad."

"What was bad was you arguing with me that there were no Starbucks open 24/7."

"Walmart and Starbucks," Bailey shakes her head, "enabling their own addicts since some idiot proclaimed that they keep their lights on all night."

Shaking her head at her older sister, Jordan asks, "Is it story time now?"

"It is if Nick ever hurries up," I mutter, then squeal and nearly jump off the couch when Nick suddenly blows a raspberry against the side of my neck. "What are you? Sixteen?" I shriek in surprise as he laughs.

"Hey, that's an insult, thank you very much," Sara interjects. "He was most definitely acting like a fourteen year old."

"Now I'm insulted," Bailey says. "I vote thirteen at the most."

"Hey!" Jordan whines. "No fair!"

"Okay," Nick interjects before the three girls start bantering with each other, "if I'm remembering correctly, you had a day between two of your shows, and we were all so exhausted from the concert that we just decided to stay at some hotel. Around midnight, I awoke to some loud banging on my door." I roll my eyes as he begins to shake his head while quietly laughing. "And to think that I was actually worried for a second..."

I stood in front of Nick's door, impatiently shifting my weight from one foot to the other as I contemplated on knocking again. Just as I was about to raise my fist for the second time, the door swung open, revealing my best friend. He squinted at me, the illuminated hallway a contrast to his dark hotel room. Upon noticing his shirtless body, his disheveled hair, and the way his pajama pants hung loosely off his hips, I felt completely stupid.

"Shit, did I wake you?" I sheepishly bit my bottom lip, worried that he'd be upset.

"No." I nearly rolled my eyes at his groggy, raspy tone. "Just come in, Dems." He turned around, retreating further into the hotel room, leaving the door wide open for me.

I released a guilty sigh but followed him regardless, shutting the door behind me. He flipped on light switches as I made my way across the room to sit on the small couch near the windows. Snatching a tee-shirt up from the floor, he sat on the bed and slipped it over his head.

"What's wrong?" He asked me.

I shrugged. "Nothing."

"You honestly expect me to believe that?"

I looked out the window, at the city all lit up. "I just...I don't want to talk here." I knew that I was making no sense, that I was confusing him and probably irritating him. I wanted company, a distraction even; I had no desire to share a 'woe is me' tale.

He gripped my hand, gently tugging me to my feet. With furrowed eyebrows, I let him lead me to the door, where he picked up a set of keys.

"What are you doing?"

"You said that you don't want to talk here." He smirked at me. "Name your place."

"I can't believe we're out getting coffee at midnight," Nick said, shaking his head as walked through the Starbucks parking lot, towards the entrance.

"I can't believe you're wearing that," I chuckled, my eyes scanning over his blue and black checkered pajama pants and black tee-shirt.

"And what the hell are you wearing?" He jokingly retorted, holding the door open for me. "Why are you wearing that anyways?"

I looked down at my outfit: black, skintight dress that stopped about mid-thigh and black peep toe pumps. As if waking him up in the middle of the night wasn't suspicious enough...

"I'll explain later." I flashed him a fake smile, to which he nodded warily in response.

"Wait," Dallas interrupts Nick, trying to not laugh. "I know that I shouldn't be laughing, but just the mental image of Nick in pajamas and you in a club outfit, walking into Starbucks..." she trails off, her loud laugh escaping her lips.

I roll my eyes.

"Seriously, though, why were you all dressed up?" Jordan wonders, head tilted to the side.

"You people are really impatient," Nick jokingly scoffs.

"I told you to hurry up," I mutter, grinning innocently when he glares at me.

"So, after we got our coffee-"

"And, I think, scared the guy behind the counter," I add, causing him to chuckle.

"-we went back to the car, and I just started driving around aimlessly, waiting for her to talk..."

"Wilmer broke up with me," I blurted, refusing to look anywhere near Nick.

"Why?" I didn't answer. "Demi, why are you two suddenly going back to being on again off again?"

I shook my head. "Not suddenly," I muttered, resting my head against the car window. "We never really stopped the cycle."

"Why have you both been lying to everybody then?" He inquired, his tone neutral, as he turned into the hotel's parking lot; I didn't even try to remind him that I didn't want to talk here. "Why lead people to believe that you guys have been going strong for a while now and never will be off again?"

I shrugged in response, not removing my head or gaze from the window. He sighed, and I could hear him unbuckle his seat-belt.

"Look at me." I refused. "Demi, look at me, please." Emitting a soft sigh, I gave in to his pleading and turned to face him, slightly startled by how close to me he now was. He shifted his gaze around, almost nervously so, before hesitantly speaking in a near whisper. "You're not - you're not relapsing, are you?"

Fury seemed to bubble up within me at his words, and I scoffed before unclicking my seat-belt and scrambling out of the car. I charged through the parking lot, hearing his car door slam shut behind me.

"Demi!" I ignored him, speeding my pace up, only to slow upon entering the hotel.

Hot, angry tears stung my eyes as I pushed the elevator button. Heavy, pounding footsteps reverberated behind me, and I wondered why Nick would risk making a scene just to catch up to me. We stepped into the elevator simultaneously, but he pressed the button to his floor before I could do so to mine.

"I'm not going back to your room, Nick," I said, my voice devoid of emotion.

"You don't really have a choice."

"Of course I-" I released a disgruntled squeal as he lifted me up off my feet, just as the elevator doors opened. "Put me down, Nick!"

"You're going to wake other guests." I rolled my eyes, deciding that fighting him would prove fruitless.

When we entered his hotel room, he, still carrying me, flipped on light switches before placing me on his bed.

"I'm leaving," I firmly stated, rising to my feet, but he gently pushed my shoulders, causing me to return to my sitting position.

"I didn't mean to piss you off, Dems. I'm just worried about you."

"You have nothing to be worried about."

"Oh, really?" He raised his eyebrows. "Care to explain why you're wearing that," he gestured to my outfit, "this late - just to walk to my room?"

"It's none of your business!"

"Bullshit, Demi, you made it my business when you decided to show up here."

I combed my fingers through my hair exasperatedly. "Why do you care so much, huh?"

"Because you're my best friend."

"But not even he cares!"

"Wilmer?" He quietly asked, and I buried my face in my palms.

After a few moments of deep breathing, I looked up at Nick with a lump in my throat and tears in my eyes. "He likes seeing other people. That's why we take breaks so often. He doesn't want to be tied down to one woman."

"You make it sound as if being committed to you is such a burden." He sat beside me on the foot of the bed.

I bitterly chuckled. "It must be if I can't even keep my boyfriend." I shook my head. "Everybody warned me about him when we first started seeing each other. Why am I so stupid?"

"You're not stupid, Dems. He's the stupid one for choosing to fuck random whores instead of loving you."

I looked at him, surprised by the anger and hatred in his tone. Not even my own boyfriend would reassure me and stand up for me like Nick does.

I kissed his cheek. "Thank you," I smiled before rising to my feet and heading for the door.

"You made the first move?" Dallas gapes at me.

"I kissed his cheek," I deadpan. "You consider that making the first move?"

"But you just left afterwards?" Sara inquires.

"I'm getting there!" Nick interjects.

"You seriously are a slow narrator," the sixteen-year-old retorts.

"Do you want Demi to tell the rest of the story?"

"Yes," Sara, Bailey, Jordan, and Dallas all respond in unison, causing me to laugh.

"You all are really rude," Nick grumbles, and I kiss his pouting lips.

"Alright," I scrunch my nose up in thought, trying to recall what happened next, "as I was heading for the door, he stopped me..."

"Where are you going?" He wondered, causing me to turn around.

"Back to my room."

He smirked. "You still haven't told me why you showed up at my door wearing that."

Looking down at my outfit again, I sighed and shifted my weight from one foot to the other. "I wanted to go out." I nervously toyed with my fingers as his expression became worried. "I wanted to drink and feel numb, but I came here instead."

"Why?"

I furrowed my eyebrows. "Why did I come here?"

He shook his head. "Why did you want to make yourself numb?"

I emitted another sigh, reclaiming my seat beside him on the bed. "I don't know. I guess I just wanted to stop feeling. All of the shit with Wilmer and the stress with this tour and just everything else..." I trailed off, my excuses sounding lame and pathetic to my own ears.

He wrapped his arms around me, and I returned the hug, not realizing that I even needed one.

"Your mind is your worst enemy," he spoke into my ear. "Your habit of overthinking ruins you and creates problems for you that would have never existed in the first place. Your negative thoughts are all that hold you back, nothing else." He broke our embrace. "You're staying here tonight."

I blinked at him, thinking that I misunderstood him. "What?"

"You're staying here tonight," he repeated. "I'm not risking you harming yourself in some way."

"Nick-"

"No, Demi, I'm serious. I wouldn't be able to live with myself if I knew that you relapsed, and I could have done more to prevent it." There was a slightly awkward pause after his confession before he cleared his throat. "I brought some extra clothes in before we ditched the buses." He hooked a thumb towards the dresser drawers.

I raised my eyebrows. "I can't go back to my room and get my own clothes?"

He shook his head, a cheeky smile lighting up his features. "Too much of a risk."

I hummed, my index finger on my chin, my nose scrunched up, all as if in deep thought. "And you're going to prevent me from leaving how? Using yourself as a human barricade?"

"If such sacrifices must be made." I giggled at his feigned seriousness before getting up and rummaging through the drawers.

I flashed him a small smile before shutting myself in the bathroom, a pair of his sweatpants and one of his tank tops in hand.

I stared at my reflection in the full body mirror, cringing, regretting my outfit of choice. The black dress clung to me, emphasizing my pudgy stomach while also making my thighs look huge. My black eye-makeup was smudged, though my bright red lipstick seemed unaffected. Emitting a sigh, I opened up my black clutch purse and retrieved my travel-size container of makeup removal wipes. After freeing my face of all the makeup, I removed my shoes and begun to unzip my dress. I swore under my breath when the zipper stopped moving, obviously stuck. Angling the back of my body in the mirror, I tried and failed to see the cause of the stuck zipper. Desperate attempts to fix the damn thing resulted in nothing more than feeding my inner demons - with them screaming at me about how I was too fat to wear the dress anyways and that this was what my disgusting self deserved for even considering wearing such a pretty dress out in public. As if the hours of the day finally caught up with me, I crumbled to a heap on the floor, suddenly mentally and physically exhausted. I scrubbed furiously at my cheeks, trying to prevent tears from falling. A knock on the door caused me to jump.

"Dems?" Nick's concerned voice rang out. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," I reassured, sniffling as I forced myself to stand. "Actually," I quickly contradicted, realizing that I was still wearing the dress, "the zipper on my dress is stuck."

There was a slight pause. "May I come in?" He quietly questioned, as if afraid he would overstep some boundary by speaking.

I walked to the door, ready to unlock it, when I noticed that I had never even locked it in the first place. Such an idiot.

"Yeah, you can come in."

He slowly opened the door, and I stepped back, allowing him to enter the room.

"Want me to try to fix it?"

"I doubt that you'll be able to," I sighed, turning around and lifting my pink hair.

His fingers fumbled around with the zipper for a few moments before I heard the zipper being pulled. "Caught on a piece of fabric," he explained as I turned back around to face him, dropping my hair in the process, my dress now clinging to my body with nothing more than two thin straps as support

"Thanks," I mumbled sheepishly, feeling incredibly stupid thinking that my weight was the reason the zipper got stuck.

He scratched the back of his neck, a serious, concerned expression on his face. "Turn back around."

My eyebrows furrowed. "What?"

"Please."

I held my breath as I turned, knowing that he saw them, knowing that there was no way out. My heart pounded as his fingertips glided over my skin, over the several-day-old cuts on my upper hip.

"Why?" He murmured in my ear, his hand cupping my hip, his thumb gently caressing my self-inflicted wounds.

Swallowing had become a difficulty; breathing had become a difficulty. "I don't know."

"But you do."

He grabbed a makeup removal wipe from my container on the bathroom sink. From behind me, he gripped my left arm and expunged the makeup from skin, mumbling apologies every time I winced. Red lines created rungs like a ladder down my forearm. He then did the same procedure to my right arm, revealing even more cuts before tossing the wipe into the trashcan and gently spinning me around so that I was facing him again. He tilted my chin up so that my eyes met his.

"Why?" He repeated.

"I'm worthless."

Shaking his head, he cupped my cheek with a trembling hand, his thumb once again caressing my skin. "If you could only see in the mirror what I see..."

"But I do."

He shook his head again. "If you did, you wouldn't need to fill your arms up with those lines. If you did, you wouldn't feel a need to change yourself. The only thing that you need to change is the thought that you have to change. You are so fucking perfect, Demi, exactly as you are."

He kissed me for the first time, but I immediately pushed him away.

"Nick, I can't do this."

"Who's saying that you can't?" He stepped closer to me. "You or him?" I sunk my teeth into my bottom lip, fearing he could hear how loudly my heart was beating in my chest. "Tell me," he whispered in my ear, "when you want me to stop."

He started trailing kisses down my neck, and my eyes involuntarily closed as my head tilted to the side, granting him better access to my flushed skin. He gently pushed me against the sink counter, his hands swiftly removing the straps of my dress off of my shoulders, his lips not once leaving my neck. I sat on the counter and kicked off my dress, using my foot to toss it across the room.

Nick backed away from me, and I nearly whimpered from the loss of contact. "Do you want me to stop?"

I shook my head and snaked my arms around his neck, bringing him closer to me once again. "No." I wrapped my legs around his waist, and he lifted me up off the counter. "Don't you dare fucking stop."

He chuckled before carrying me out of the bathroom and onto the bed.

"It's like a fairytale!" Sara squeals, dramatically falling against the back of the couch.

Bailey raises her eyebrows. "What fairytales are you reading?"

"The good ones!" Sara retorts, sticking her tongue out.

"Oh, yes, because that's real mature," Bailey sarcastically teases.

"Speaking of mature," I interject, "are there no sarcastic comments from the peanut gallery?" I look at Bailey.

"Well..." she hums in thought, "I wonder if we could call the Ritz and ask 'em what room-" she's silenced by Jordan smacking her with a pillow. "On second thought, maybe we could call the courthouse and ask them what the charge would be for pillow assault in the first degree."

"What about the second verse of that song?" Nick randomly wonders.

"What about it?" I look at him.

"It could pertain to us, too."

"Another happy story!" Sara squeals.

"You're like a five year old high on sugar when it comes to happy endings." Bailey chuckles.

"This one isn't really a story," Nick informs. "It's more like a recap."

"Wait," I pipe up, recalling the second verse of that song, "are you talking about that one time I burnt the toast?"

"How do you burn toast, mom?" Jordan arches an eyebrow at me. "It's toast. It pops out of the toaster by itself."

"Well, let's see..." I think back to that day. "I was a nervous wreck. I had just found out that I was pregnant after having a one-night stand with my best friend - a night that we hadn't talked about since - and, as if the situation wasn't already awkward and complicated enough, I had just gotten back together with your dad. Needless to say, I felt like a complete whore," I confess, then turn to Bailey. "No comment this time from the peanut gallery."

"I only call it like I see it!" she defends. "To me, what you did doesn't define you as a whore or a slut or a bitch or whatever else went through your mind at that time."

"Wow," Dallas raises her eyebrows, "the kid can actually be semi-sweet."

"Like chocolate chips." Bailey grins.

"So, anyways, I went to Nick's house to tell him, and he took the news surprisingly well," I smile, intertwining my fingers with Nick's.

"That's because, for the first 24 hours, all that was going through my mind was 'holy shit, I'm going to be a dad." I chuckle. "I'm serious," he laughs, "I think I was in shock those first 24 hours."

"Then a freak thunderstorm hit, and neither of us wanted to risk me driving out in it, so I spent the night at his place, and then the next morning-"

"I woke up to the smell of burnt toast," Nick concludes, amusement evident in his tone. "At least you tried, love." He kisses my head, chuckling slightly.

"You're such an ass," I jokingly retort, rolling my eyes.

"Not that I want to ruin the happy moments and memories," Sara hesitantly begins, "but can Jordan finish the story about her birthday now?" She timidly wonders.

I look at Jordan, awaiting a response from her.

"Dad broke mom's wrist," she blurts.

"That's one way to tell a story," Bailey mutters, eyes wide.

"He-he what?" Dallas gapes, shock written all over her face.

Nick tenses, his hands curling into fists.

"Hey," I murmur to him, peppering his jawline with feather-light kisses, "talk to me."

"I'm going to fucking kill him," he grits out.

"No, you're not."

"Demi-"

"You're not landing yourself in a prison cell," I firmly state.

He sighs, his fists slowly unclenching, though he remains tense. "How did he break your wrist?"

I look at Sara, reminding myself that I'm divulging all of this for her, so that she doesn't go back to Preston. I then lower my gaze to the floor. "He shoved me. I fell with my arms behind me, palms face down to support me, and I heard a bone in my right arm snap. I didn't feel any pain until he started punching and kicking me from above, when I raised my arms to shield my face. After a few hits and kicks, he left me alone to finish his beer on the table, but I was too scared and in too much pain to even attempt moving and joining Jordan. I can't remember when I started crying, but I remember stupidly pleading with him to take me to the hospital, and I remember telling him that he broke my wrist." I shake my head at my own stupidity. "He told me to shut up and to stop crying, but I didn't."

"Then what happened?" Sara whispers, her voice so soft that I almost do not hear her.

"He called me a pathetic, good-for-nothing slut, and he yanked me up off the floor by my hair, and," I turn to Nick, "do you remember that wall in my dining room - the empty one, no pictures, nothing?"

"Yeah." He slowly nods.

"That wall use to be covered by a huge mirror, ceiling to floor." I return my gaze to the floor and toy with my fingers. "He yanked me up off the floor by my hair and slung me into that mirror, and it shattered." I comb my trembling fingers through my hair, and tighten my grip on Nick's hand.

"You're okay, love," he murmurs in my ear. "I got you."

"The noise scared me, and I was worried about you, so I came back downstairs," Jordan tells. "All of that blood...I honestly thought that you were dead. When I realized that you were actually unconscious, I stormed into Dad's office and told him that either he take you to the hospital or I call the cops and an ambulance."

My eyes widen; I wasn't aware that she did that. "Jordan-"

"He didn't hit me or anything. He got upset, but, I mean, he took you to the hospital, so..." she trails off. "At the hospital was when I realized that nothing about our situation was normal."

"When I lied to the doctor?" I take a guess, and she nods. "I told the doctor that I fell," I explain to all of the confused faces in the room. "Which wasn't exactly a lie, but she still saw right through it. She sent Wilmer out of the room, and she had her nurse keep Jordan occupied on the other side of the room while she quietly tried to pry the truth out of me. She kept trying all throughout the healing process of my wrist and stitches, too."

"Wait," Sara speaks. her eyebrows knit together, "would you remember her if you saw a picture?"

"Um, maybe," I look at her quizzically, but she's too occupied by her phone. "Why do you-"

"Was this her?" She flashes me her phone screen: a photo of a lanky woman with blue eyes and blonde hair pulled up in a bun, wearing scrubs and a face-eating grin.

"Possibly? Jordan, does she look familiar?"

Sara shows my daughter her phone. "I can't remember."

"What about this guy?" Sara swipes across her phone screen once before returning her phone to Jordan.

"Yeah!" Jordan exclaims. "That was the nurse." Sara locks her phone. "I only remember him because he looked way too young to have silver hair."

"Premature graying," Sara says. "Looks like you two met my parents."

I raise my eyebrows at her. "Seriously?"

She nods and hums affirmatively. "So, you're the woman that she was always talking about," she muses, looking at me. "The celebrity that she wouldn't disclose the name of. Small world, huh?"

"That's so weird," Dallas giggles, sounding like a teenager again.

"So," Sara clears her throat, "that was the worst time?"

"Probably," I nod.

"And it was just two years ago," Nick grumbles, tensing once again.

"Nick, it's okay-"

"No, it's not okay, Demi!" He suddenly shouts, and I jump up from the couch. "I should have been there to protect you and Jordan!"

"No, Nick, it wasn't your place, and you didn't know!"

"But I should have." He combs his fingers through his hair, tilting his head down to hide his face between his elbows. When he looks up to face me once again, his expression is blank. "What he did you...what he did to Jordan....what he put you two through...all of it is my fault."

I'm stunned into silence for a moment. "What?"

"Think about it: if we had never slept together, he wouldn't have convinced his sick, twisted mind that you cheated on him; therefore, he wouldn't have had a desire to make your life a living Hell and seek revenge or whatever."

Again, I'm silent. "Do you even hear yourself right now? You make it sound as if I had no control over my actions, as if I had no idea what I was doing."

"You didn't know that he would start beating you."

"Neither did you!"

"Guys," Dallas interjects, and, when we turn to her, she juts her chin out.

I turn around, following her gesture, and find Bailey staring at the floor with glassy eyes and a quivering bottom lip. I take a couple steps towards her and crouch down near her.

"Bay." I reach a hand out to touch her shoulder, but she abruptly stands and steps away from me.

"It's not your fault," she says to Nick, her voice surprisingly strong, despite the tears threatening to spill down her cheeks. "It's mine."

Nick's eyes widen. "Bailey, none of this is your fault."

"Like Hell it isn't," she scoffs, a tear trailing down one of her cheeks. "If I had never been born, Wilmer wouldn't have had any reason to believe that you and Demi would reunite. I was the one thing connecting you two, in his eyes."

"Bailey, stop," I softly command.

"Why?" More tears begin to trickle down her cheeks. "Why should I stop speaking the truth? I am nothing but a mistake that has caused pain since the day I was born." She sniffles and blinks, only releasing more tears. "I fuck up everything. I ruin everybody. I deserve to die for all of the pain that I caused."

"Don't you dare say that!" I shriek.

"Why?" She shrugs. "It's the truth. I am nothing but a burden." Her gaze drifts to the floor, her expression becoming almost dead-like as her tears fall. "I could relieve you all of your burden right now."

My eyes widen. "Bailey." I take a step towards her, my hand outstretched, but she steps back.

"You all could be happy and free." She doesn't even sound like she's talking to anybody anymore, like she's simply voicing her thoughts.

"Baby-girl, you're not a burden!" My voice cracks as I speak, and I can feel my own eyes fill with tears. "I don't want you thinking that you're a burden. We all love you, okay? We don't want to see you hurt."

She shakes her head slightly. "But it wouldn't hurt me." She looks at me with wide, innocent eyes, glistening from tears. "It would make me happy," her tone is way too soft and high-pitched to be genuine, as if she's trying to make her words sound innocent; she's trying to manipulate me. "You do want me to be happy, mommy, right?" I struggle to swallow the lump in my throat, knowing that her calling me 'mommy' isn't genuine but wishing that it was.

Bailey runs towards the kitchen, and we all chase after her. I watch as she snags Dallas's car keys off the counter and heads for the garage door. Sara passes me, and, just as Bailey manages to open the door leading to the garage, wraps her arms around my daughter's abdomen from behind. Bailey immediately starts to scream and thrash in the older girl's arms. Sara kicks the garage door shut and practically drags Bailey to all of us. She manages to get Bailey on her back and straddles her, pinning her arms down by her sides and forcing her to drop the keys that I quickly pick up and hand to Dallas.

"I run track," the blonde girl weakly explains as we wait for my daughter to calm down enough to speak.

Eventually, Bailey does calm down, her face flushed from screaming and crying, her eyes bloodshot and puffy.

"How were you going to do it?" Sara is the first to speak, but Bailey doesn't answer. "How were you going to do it?" She repeats, clearly enunciating each word.

"Car exhaust," my daughter mumbles, her voice faint and hoarse.

Sara turns to Nick and I. "Can I take her upstairs and talk to her?"

I nod, knowing that I trust her with my daughter, knowing that she might be the only person that Bailey opens up to.

Once they're both upstairs, Jordan, Dallas, Nick, and I return to the living room, waiting anxiously in our seats, shocked at the fact that we could have lost Bailey.

"She's going to be okay," Nick murmurs, kissing my head and bringing me closer to him. "We're all going to be okay."

~Bailey's POV~

"I want you to tell them everything," Sara states, sitting across from me on the bed.

"What do you mean by everything?"

She shrugs. "Whatever you're not telling them."

"Oh, yes, because that's real specific."

She sighs. "Can't you just please do this one thing for me?"

I raise my eyebrows, surprised that she's pleading with me. "Why?"

She bites her lower lip, her eyes shifting away from me. "Because I really, really like you, Bailey, and I don't want a repeat of what happened downstairs."

My cheeks flush, but I don't know if it's because of her saying that she likes me or because of her mentioning what happened downstairs. "Okay...so, you like me as a friend or as a person or-"

"Oh my gosh, you are the most oblivious person ever," she mutters before closing the gap between our two bodies and gently pressing her lips to mine. "Do friends do that to each other?" she grins cheekily.

I soon find my own grin faltering as I look down. "Demi and Nick don't even know that I like girls," I mumble.

She grasps my hands. "Which is another reason for you to be completely honest with them." I remain silent, chewing on my bottom lip as I contemplate my options. "I'll even be right there with you, every step of the way, no matter their reactions, if you want me there."

Staring into her sincere blue eyes, I slowly nod. She smiles and gives both of my hands reassuring squeezes before we exit the guest bedroom.

"You've got this," she whispers in my ear as we reach the bottom of the staircase.

Walking into the living room, my legs feel like jelly, and my heart is painfully hammering against my chest. My hands tremble as I nervously and repetitively clasp and unclasp my fingers. As I face Demi and Nick, I struggle to swallow the growing lump of fear lodged in my throat.

What if they hate me?

What if they want nothing to do with me?

What if they put me back in the system?

What if they force me to get help?

What if...

"Can we talk?"

ns 15.158.61.51da2

Chapter Thirty-Two

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