The car ride is silent except for the engine being gunned by Demi's lunatic driving. I tighten one hand around my seatbelt and grit my teeth as she ignores yet another stop sign. How can you miss a neon red beacon of safety?
"You know they call them STOP signs for a reason, right?" I snap as she continues to race through the streets. "Besides, this isn't fucking Need For Speed: Celebrity Edition or Fast and Furious 25!"
I smirk as her jaw twitches. At least I get a reaction out of her, and she's not completely ignoring me.
When we finally arrive at the mansion, I open my car door before Demi can even park.
"Land!" I dramatically exclaim, dropping down onto the pavement. "Oh, sweet, blessed land!" I feign grateful tears and a sniffle.
"You're so dramatic," Jordan chuckles.
"Where'd Demi go?" I wonder, accepting Jordan's outstretched hand.
"She went inside."
"You mean she missed my performance?" I feign a whiny tone and a pout.
I sweep off my leggings and skirt, flicking away particles of rock and strips of grass.
"You can give her an encore later," Jordan rolls her eyes, holding my hand and yanking me behind her.
"It's never as good the second time!" I protest.
"That's what she said."
I blink at the back of her head.
"For a virgin, you sure do have a dirty mind," I observe.
"Hey!" Is her defense as we reach the front door.
"Hey," I drawl out, much like Ke$ha in Your L♥ve Is My Drug, with a wink.
With a shake of her head, she pushes the door open. Instantly I feel as if I am being drowned by a familiar, sweet, burning smell. Jordan coughs. I rapidly blink as my eyes begin to water.
"What's that smell?" Jordan coughs again.
"Alcohol and, by your reaction, I can tell that you're not too used to being near it."
"And you are?"
I don't answer, allowing her to come to her own conclusion.
"He never drinks when I'm around," she mumbles more to herself than to me.
I peek at her through my peripheral vision. Her head is bowed, hair cascading down to conceal her expression. With a frown, I tuck locks of her hair behind her ear and tilt her head upwards. Her eyes are red and glassy.
"It's going to be okay, Jordan," I reassure, feeling rather pathetic.
She shakes her head, tears spilling over her eyelids.
"We could eavesdrop on them?" I suggest, trying to lighten the solemn mood.
With a strangled sounding, watery laugh, she nods.
"Why not?" She shrugs with a sniffle, wiping the few tears that managed to escape.
We perch ourselves just outside Demi's closed bedroom door, obscured by the wall. I clamp my hand over Jordan's mouth to restrain her from laughing.
"Evidently, you're not used to performing rebellious acts of stupidity either," I hiss as she giggles against my palm.
"I was out with the girls, Wilmer!" Demi yells, sounding quite exasperated.
How long have they been arguing? Since we got home? I suddenly don't feel like eavesdropping anymore. That bad feeling returns, causing an uneasy shiver to run throughout me. I look at Jordan. Her eyes are wide. She unexpectedly licks my hand. Scrunching my nose up in disgust, I wipe my now saliva drenched palm against the wall. I shoot daggers at her before wiping the same hand against the front of her shirt. She gapes at me. I smirk.
"Then, why don't I believe you, Demi?" Wilmer bellows, diminishing the playful attitudes of Jordan and me.
"Go upstairs, Jordan," I sternly order.
"But-,"
"Now!" I snap without meaning to.
With slight hesitation, she reluctantly hurries upstairs. I strain my ears to make sure that I hear her door shut. I release a relieved breath when I do hear it.
"Hell if I know, Wilmer! You leave for days at a time, and I don't fucking interrogate you!"
I chew thoughtfully on my bottom lip, wondering what I should do. I can follow Jordan upstairs, stay here, or intervene. As I ponder my options, a sound that I know all too well pierces the silence. Throwing all caution to the wind, I barge into Demi's bedroom and freeze after I barely step through the doorframe. Wilmer towers over Demi while she clutches her cheek. By his slightly staggering stance and glazed over, bloodshot eyes, I can make the assumption that's he's way past drunk. Perfect. I count several seemingly empty beer bottles on the nightstand and what appears to be a full, unopened one tossed on the comforter of the bed. Just. Fucking. Perfect.
"Go upstairs, Bailey," Demi commands in a calm yet scary as hell tone.
"You're fucking kidding me, right? He just fucking slapped you, and you want me to go cower upstairs? To hell with that shit!"
I think the last thread of my sanity has just snapped. I'm loosing my mind; I'm going crazy.
"Bailey, go upstairs. Now," she demands through gritted teeth.
I roll my eyes, ignoring her and turning my attention to the lowlife that is my half-sister's dad.
"You're a coward," I state, my fists clenched at my sides. "You have no right to brutally put your hands on someone, let alone your own wife, who you don't deserve, might I add, and especially not with your child right upstairs," I growl, frustrated that he's not showing a sliver of remourse or guilt or.....something other than that infuriating smirk and relaxed expression. "I can see why she cheated on you," I flash him a wide smirk of my own.
Some may call me heartless for spilling Demi's secret, but I don't exactly recall her saying something along the lines of 'Bailey, please don't tell my husband about me going behind his back and kissing Nick Jonas.' If I'm wrong, show me the proof. As they say, the proof is in the pudding. Which reminds me, I never have understood that phrase. I mean, what pudding: chocolate, vanilla, butterscotch, tapioca, rice, pumpkin....you get where I'm going with this. And why would the proof even be in the pudding to begin with? Talk about a horrible hiding spot. Now, back to the action, but first, I could really go for some pudding right now.
In a blink, I see him grab the bottle from the bed. Gripping the neck of the bottle in his fist, he flicks his wrist in my direction. With a yelp and wide eyes, I crouch and duck, tucking my face and head into my knees and thighs, shielding as much of my head as I possibly can with my leather cladded arms and bare hands. To my dismay, a pathetic scream-like cry slips past my lips as the foul smelling liquid drenches me, and the sharp, glass shards bite into my exposed flesh and rain down upon my body.
It was my first and last "real" home, yet, by the way I was being bouced around from household to household within their family, it felt as if I was a foster kid, not adopted. I remember the evening vividely. I was maybe seven or eight at the time. I was at one of the uncles' houses. Both of the adults were out, leaving myself and their three young children to be watched over by their oldest, Jasmine, who was sixteen. I recall my stomach aching terribly from not having ate anything since two mornings ago. The three other children were complaining about being hungry as well, even though they were fed three times a day like children should be. I was the oldest of the the four; therefore, I was the one who had to ask Jasmine to fix us something to eat.
"Jazzy?" I timidly questioned, knocking lightly on her door.
"Go away," she sniffled.
"Jazzy, we're hungry," I whined.
"Go away!"
After several attempts, I managed to successfully turn the knob by standing on the tips of my toes. Pushing the door open, I discovered that Jasmine had her back turned towards myself and the door,the ridges, crooks, and bumps of her spine visible through her dark purple tee-shirt. I innocently skipped over to her, but stopped dead in my tracks at the intriguing yet difficult to comprehend sight in front of me. Although her long, black hair hid her face, it did nothing to hide her pale arm, littered with lines of many diffferent colors and sizes. My eyes, however, were transfixed on the crimson blood, that contrasted heavily with her pale flesh, flowing freely from several lines on her wrist, right over the blue. I was about to ask her if she was okay when she suddenly emitted a loud growl like scream, a scream that sounded as if it should have been released from a wild animal. She roughly shoved me, pushing me back against her closed closet doors. She reached up to her desk and grabbed an empty, green, see-through bottle. She flung it just above my head. I cried as the shards embedded into my skin: biting, scratching, digging, clawing. I sobbed harder as my blood splattered in tiny droplets against the hard wood floor.
"I'lll show you how to end the pain, Hailey," Jasmine cooed, grabbing my wrist.
I thought she was going to stop the bleeding that she caused. Instead, she picked up one of the many glass shards, placed it against the skin on my forearm, pushed slightly, and yanked the shard across my arm. I screamed from the burning pain she was putting me through. I wanted it to end; I wanted her to stop, but she just kept inflicting cut after cut. She didn't even bat an eye at my bawling pleads.
"You'll thank me one day," she grinned, dropping the bloody piece of glass, scooping me up, and taking me to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
"Bailey, stop screaming!" Demi's pleading voice breaks through my gruesome flashback, causing my inner demons to scamper away to the deepest, darkest pits of my mind.
Snapping my eyes open, my throat aches dreadfully, my voice is hoarse, and my mouth is like the Sierra Desert. My breathing comes out in heavy pants, my cheeks sticky and moist. When did I start crying? I never cry! It shows vulerablity and weakness, two charactersistics i despise about myself. Demi sits behind me, running her fingers through my hair, gently freeing the tangles.
"I'm sorry that I told him," I reluctantly mumble, pretending as if my trip down memory lane never happened.
In reality, I'm not sorry. Not the slightest bit. That asshole deserved a hell of a lot worse than what I gave him. Demi chuckles.
"I can't believe that's the first thing that comes out of your mouth."
"Where is he?"
"He ran when you started screaming bloody murder," she replies, managing to easily work through a major tangle.
"Fucking pu-,"
"Language!"
"Fucking coward," I smirk. "You should go check on Jordan."
"You sure?"
I nod, my throat burning from talking so much. Demi helps me to my feet. I gasp when I see her face.
"What the hell?" I shriek. "He hit you while I was in fucking la la land?"
I feel a wave of guilt wash over me as I take in the sight of Demi's split, slightly bleeding bottom lip and her eye that'll probably be black by morning.
"Don't worry, I returned the message," she winks with her good eye before exiting the room.
I can't help but smile at how badass she, my own mother, is. I glance around the room uneasily, eyeing the bottles that still sit on the nightstand. The broken glass crunches under my boots as I hurry out of the room. I'm in route to follow Demi upstairs when I see her purse sitting on the dining room table. I experience an epiphany as a devious grin forms on my face. I rummage through the purse, soon locating Demi's phone. I lock myself in the downstairs bathroom and scroll through her contacts until I find the number that I need.
"Hel-,"
"Nick, get your ass over here now."
"Demi?" He warily questions.
"No, it's Bailey," I roll my eyes.
Why would he even think that I'm Demi? Oh, wait, the phone..... I mentally face palm myself for being so stupid. Do Demi and I honestly sound so much alike, though?
"Where am I going?" He wonders, following by the sound of what I think is a car door being slammed shut.
I raise my eyebrows at his eagerness and serious yet slightly worried tone. He must really care about Demi or something because nobody ever jumps for me when I ask...er...tell them to. Maybe if I was nicer to people, they'd be more willing to do what I say? I almost snort. Like I'd ever be voluntarily nice to someone without wanting something in return. That's hilarious.
"Demi's house."
"Why? He inquires.
I can hear the engine of his car start.
"Why?" He repeats when I hesitate.
"I-I-I, uh, it's not my story to tell."
"Did something happen?"
"You could say that," I mutter.
"What happened? And tell me the truth," he adds just as I am about to lie.
I sigh, deciding to just tell him the truth before he comes over here and has a heart attack at the sight of Demi.
"He hit her, Nick," I sigh again, intentionally leaving out my pathetic meltdown and cringing when my voice cracks
"Who?" He questions in a pissed off sounding tone.
"Who do you think?" I sarcastically retort.
"Fucking bastard," he curses under his breath in a quite enraged voice.
Maybe pissed off is a bit of an understatement.....
"I'll be there in five, ten at the latest," he dissmisses, ending the call.
I don't even get the chance to correct him by saying that it takes five minutes just to drive up Demi's driveway. I clean my scratched hands, erase my call from Demi's phone, and sneakingly return her phone to her purse without getting caught. I head upstairs to Jordan's room.
"What took you so long?" Demi wonders.
I just shrug and climb onto the bed with them. Demi sits with her back against the wall, one arm wrapped around Jordan and the other wrapped around me.
"Mom?" Jordan's voice is timid and hesitant as she fiddles with a loose strand from her comforter.
"Yeah, baby-girl?"
"Have you ever thought about maybe divorcing dad?"
The doorbell rings, interrupting Demi's response. Saved by the bell.
"I'll get it!" I declare, jumping off of the bed and speed-walking to the door.
"Demi!" I yell, holding the door agape for Nick.
"What happened to your hands?"
I ignore him.
"What the hell are you doing here?" Demi questions, slowly walking down the stairs with Jordan behind her.
"What a kind way to greet someone," I sarcastically say.
Nick glances at me and back at Demi.
"Bailey called me."
"Dude! Way to throw me under the bus!" I exclaim, throwing my hands up in feigned anger.
"Why'd you call him?"
I shoot Demi a deadpan look for asking such a stupid question.
"Really? Have you looked in a mirror? I don't know about you, but I'm sure as hell not staying here and waiting for round two."
"I'm with Bailey," Jordan chimes in, joining my side.
I arch an awaiting eyebrow at Demi. Her eyes shift between all three of us before landing on me.
"Alright," she sighs.
"Nick, is it okay if we stay at your place tonight?" I sweetly question.
"I didn't agree to that!" Demi protests.
"You said 'alright'," I smirk.
"You coniving, manipulative little b-,"
"Language!" I cut her off, widening my smirk.
"I don't mind. I'd rather you all stay with me, knowing that you're safe than stay here to let God knows what happen to you," Nick responds.
"Don't sound so dramatic," Demi sneers.
There is definitely some tension between these two; you may call it romantic or sexual or whatever; I just know that there is some sort of tension obviously there. Am I the only one who thinks I would make one badass cupid?
"Jordan, let's go pack a small bag or something," I suggest, grabbing her hand and tugging her up the stairs before she can even respond.
"Why'd you call Nick?" she wonders when we reach my room.
"Didn't you hear what I told Demi?"
I scour through my closet for a small bag to carry a night worth of stuff in.
"Well, yeah...."
"Okay, then."
I huff when I come up unsucessful.
"Need help with something?"
"Do you have a small bag? I only need enough room to carry a change of clothes and a toothbrush."
Jordan nods and enters the bathroom. I wonder how Demi and Nick are doing downstairs....
"Here," Jordan tosses something towards me.
I catch it and wrinkle my nose in distaste. The large purse is a pink carry-on that doubles as a shoulder-bag because of the long, gold colored chain.
"Couldn't you have picked something less......vomit inducing?"
She rolls her eyes.
"Black?"
"Preferibly," I nod.
She removes the girly bag from my grasp and turns to leave again.
"Wait!" I exclaim, causing her to stop. "Do you have any hand sanitizer?"
With another eye roll, she enters her room through the bathroom. She's gone longer this time; therefore, I'm assuming that she owns a lot of girly shit, the opposite of me.
"I don't have anything," she returns with a sigh. "We can check mom's room?"
"I'll check," I tell her, knowing that Demi and Nick are downstairs. "You pack your bag or something."
"You two better be thanking me for not letting Jordan come down here," I state, leaning over the stairwell railing and watching as Demi and Nick separate from each other. "You two are like a couple of teenagers," I fake gag.
"What do you want, Bailey?" Demi questions.
"Well, now that you mention it, one year I asked Santa for a monster truck and a fire-breathing pony. Instead, I got nothing, and he gobbled up the cookies and drank the glass of scotch."
They both blink at me with perplexed expressions.
"I was told that Santa was lactose intolerant. Plus, in my defense, I thought seeing drunken Santa would make a good mugshot," I shrug.
"I mean, what are you doing down here?"
"I need to borrow one of your purses; Jordan's are too girly."
"Check my closet."
"But that's a scary as fuck place! God only knows what I'd find in there!"
"It's a closet."
"It's your closet."
She drags a hand down her face.
"C'mon, Bailey," she softly commands, waving me towards her with her hand.
"Ooh, an adventure!" I practically yell in a childish voice, almost falling down the stairs.
"I thought we were checking your closet."
"We are."
"Then, why do you keep tapping the floor?"
"Shh," she shushes me, proceeding to keep tapping the wood panels on the floor with the tip of her high heel.
I roll my eyes and cross my arms over my chest. Maybe she really is crazy? Suddenly, I hear something.
"Did you hear that?" We ask each other in unison.
Demi taps the floor again. It sounds hollow.
"Found it," she smirks.
I watch in awe as she removes the chunk of boarding from the floor, revealing a space filled with clothes, shoes, accessories, and hair dye.
"What is all of that?"
"My actual style," she chuckles. "I used to wear this shit all of the time."
I raise my eyebrows and grin at her choice of wording.
"Why'd you stop?" I wonder, crouching to get a better look.
"Wilmer never liked me being edgy."
"And the hair dye?"
"I used to dye it all of the time. I'd go to a salon every time I wanted a new color, but it was easier to buy the boxed dye for touch-ups."
"Hot pink?" I laugh, shaking the box.
She giggles and nods her head.
"I shaved it, too, while it was that color."
"No way!" I gasp.
"Yes way! A little bit around my ear," she explains, showing with her hands how much she cut off.
"You were a total badass!"
She laughs.
"I just didn't care what other people thought about me."
"Except Wilmer."
I regret it as soon as I say it. Her beaming grin faltars, and the happy twinkle in her eyes fades. Why am I so stupid? Why can't I just keep my mouth shut?
"Sometimes we have to make sacrifices for the ones we love."
"But you don't love him."
It's official; I'm going to sew my mouth shut.
"It's funny what lies we can convince ourselves are the truth if we just repeat them enough," she thoughtfully informs, searching through her secret stash of attire. "How about this one?"
She holds up a large, black, barrel-shaped carry-on pursed covered in gold colored spikes.
"Perfect," I smile.
"Go pack," she orders, handing me the bag. "But just enough for one night; it's not like we're moving in or anything."
"You'd like that, wouldn't you?" I smirk.
She shoots me a look.
"I'm kidding," I giggle, rising to my feet.
"Thanks for listening to me and believing me," I smile at Nick on my way upstairs.
Wow, less than a month with Demi, and I'm already becoming soft.
"I'll always listen to you, Bailey, and believe you."
I grin, eyeing Demi who's just now entering the room.
"Oh, and if I hear any suspicious noises tonight-,"
"Bailey," Demi warns.
"I'm just saying-,"
"Bailey, go upstairs."
"But I-,"
"No. Just go upstairs."
I roll my eyes with a huff, turning on my heel and bounding the flight of stairs. When at the top, I turn around.
"Just remember to use protection," I wink with a four-fingered wave.
When in the safety of my room with the door locked, I can't help but bust out laughing.
"Why are you laughing?" Jordan wonders.
"No-no rea-reason," I gasp for air.
Jordan weakly chuckles at me, shaking her head.
"I swear, sometimes I think I'm the older sister," she mumbles before walking through the bathroom to her own room.
When I finally regain my breathing, I pack the purse Demi gave me with a pair of pajamas, a casual outfit, my toothbrush, my deodorant, and my perfume. Afterwards, I double check to make sure that my bedroom door is locked, and I lock my bathroom door. I drop down onto my stomach and remove the suitcase from under my bed that holds my blade. I remove the blade from the ripped lining of the suitcase and fish my phone from my pocket. I peel the casing away from my phone just enough to slide my blade in. After fixing the casing on my phone and returning the suitcase to under my bed, I unlock both of the doors and knock on Jordan's door.
"You ready?" I ask.
"Yep," she replies, opening her door.
"Mom, we're coming down!" she yells, looping her arm through her purse.
"We're goin' down, down, in an earlier round, and sugar, we're goin' down swingin'. I'll be your number one with a bullet. A loaded gun complex, cock it and pull it," I sing loudly.
"Huh?"
"Fall Out Boy; it was a band."
"Sing it again!"
"Why?"
"You're good."
I snort, not believing her for one moment.
"Mom, tell Bailey to sing!"
"Sing, Bailey."
"We're not returning a product from a television commercial. You can ask questions."
"Just sing."
I sigh before belting out the chorus.
"We're goin' down, down, in an earlier round, and sugar, we're goin' down swingin'. I'll be your number one with a bullet. A loaded gun complex, cock it and pull it."
Both Demi and Nick look at me with raised eyebrows.
"In my defense, I didn't want to sing in front of you all. You people insisted, and now your eardrums are probably bleeding."
"You were really good."
Did Nick fucking Jonas just compliment me? I'm dead. Demi, however, is looking at me with an odd expression.
"You sound a lot like I did on my first two albums," she comments.
"Is that good?"
"Does your voice always crack like that when you're singing?"
I hate it when people answer a question with another question.
"Um, I guess," I mutter, uncomfortable with all of the attention on me.
Why is she asking me all of this? I think back to her first two albums. They were pop-rockish with support from the Jonas Brothers. They were her albums before treatment and....oh, shit.
"I'm not bulimic," I stupidly blurt out.
As if I didn't already look suspicious...I can feel my cheeks warm as my heart rate speeds up. Curse my lack of social skills and lack of thinking before I speak.
"I-I-I mean, uh, I don't even know what purging is. I mean, I know what it is kind of, I just I, uh, have never done it. I-I-I, uh,-," Demi clamps her hand over my mouth to thankfully put an end to my senseless babbling.
I wish either the ground would magically swallow me whole or somebody would shoot me in the head.
"I believe you, Bailey. Calm down," she stiffles a laugh.
I nod, relieved that she doesn't suspect a thing.
The ride in Nick's car is silent but not awkward. Annoyed with the silence, I retrieve my phone and scroll through my playlists. Landing on a song, I smirk mischieviously, glancing between Nick and Demi.
"See I cant wake up; I'm living a nightmare that keeps playing over again, locked in a room, so hung up on you, and you're cool with just being friends."
"Bailey, turn that off," Demi groans.
I switch songs, but skip to the chrous.
"I'll keep you my dirty little secret.
(Dirty little secret)
Don't tell anyone, or you'll be just another regret.
(Just another regret, hope that you can keep it)
My dirty little secret."
"Bailey," Demi uses her warning tone, so I'm assuming she knows what I'm doing.
"Try to tell you 'no' but my body keeps on telling you 'yes'. Try to tell you 'stop', but your lipstick got me so out of breath. I'll be waking up in the morning, probably hating myself. And I'll be waking up, feeling satisfied but guilty as hell."
"Bailey, give me your phone."
"She's a beast. I call her 'karma'.404Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ59L716ikiu
She eats your heart out like Jeffrey Dahmer. Be careful, try not to lead her on. Shorty's heart is on steroids 'cause her love is so strong. If you get the chance you better keep her. She's sweet as pie, but if you break her heart, she'll turn cold as a freezer. That fairy tale ending with a knight in shining armor, she can be my Sleeping Beauty. I'm gonna put her in a coma. Woo! Damn, I think I love her. Shorty so bad. I'm sprung, and I don't care. She got me like a roller coaster, turned the bedroom into a fair. Her love is like a drug. I was trying to hit it and quit it, but lil' mama so dope; I messed around and got addicted."
"Hey!" I exclaim when Demi takes my phone. "You can't do that!"
"I'm your mom therefore I can."
I huff and cross my arms.
"Now you want to play the 'mom' card," I bitterly mumble under my breath, directing my gaze out the window.
ns 15.158.61.42da2
