~Demi's POV~
"Wait, if he's such a threat, why is he here?" Alena questions, and Kevin glares at her, silently commanding that she be quiet.
I'll have to thank Kevin later for going along with everything, for not telling everyone that he knew about Bailey. Kevin is the only person that Nick told. Why? I have no idea.
"That's a good question," Bailey looks at me, arms crossed across her chest. "We're going to pretend like you're not here for sec," she says to Wilmer before returning her attention to me, a questioning eyebrow raised.
"He's still Jordan's dad."
"No, no, no, do not bring me into this," Jordan mutters.
"You're kind of involved by default," Bailey deadpans.
"I forfeit."
"This isn't baseball."
"Fine," Jordan heaves an irritated sigh, meeting her father's gaze. "Congratulations. You have officially ruined our relationship. Are you proud? Happy? Relieved?"
"Jordan-,"
"You don't deserve the right to be able to speak to me. You don't deserve the right to be here or in my life. Quite frankly, you don't deserve the right to be considered my dad."
"How-,"
"How can I say that?" She bitterly laughs. "Well, let's review, shall we? When I was younger, innocence shielded me to some extent. Daddy shoved mommy? She's still smiling, and he apologized, so it's okay. Haven't seen daddy in a while? It's okay because he's just working. But then I grew up, and innocence wasn't there to protect me anymore. I learned the definition of words like 'domestic violence' and 'abuse' and 'alcoholism' and 'infidelity'. But what baffles me is that you always try to portray mom as the bad person, as the one at fault. I'm not saying that she's Jesus walking on water, but you never owned up to your own faults. You always degraded her and pointed out her mistakes and made her feel God only knows what level of negativity, yet you never so much as batted an eyelash. I just don't understand how the couple that everybody once awed over, the couple that was relationship goals for so many people, was everything but perfect. Was it all lies, or were you two actually in love at some point? Because, from what I've seen during my lifetime, if that's what love is, I don't ever want to feel it." Shaking her head, she rises to her feet and hurries upstairs.
"Jordan!" Bailey calls, and I wince when a door is slammed moments later. "C'mon, Alena," Bailey practically drags the older girl up the stairs, mumbling something about having to make sure that Jordan's okay.
Everybody is silent, shocked even. I force myself to meet Wilmer's gaze.
"She has a point, y'know?" My voice is barely audible, yet I feel as if I'm screaming. "If you were to go back in time and tell my eighteen-year-old self that one day she will marry the older, Latino guy she has a massive crush on, maybe, just maybe, she'd believe you because that's how head-over-heels hard she was falling for him. If you were to go back in time and tell the same girl that the same guy - her best friend, the only one that she could trust with all of her secrets - will one day shove her to the ground, slap her, punch her, make her bleed, bruise her," I inhale sharply, knowing that I need to stop and try to remain emotionally in control. "...make her feel even more worthless than she does right in that moment, she'd curse you out and call you a lunatic. But that's exactly what you did, isn't it? I just....I don't understand where it all went wrong," I shield my face with my hands, urging myself not to cry, but then a thought occurs to me, and I uncover my face. "When exactly did you find the letters?"
"Not long after Jordan was born," I nearly flinch at the lack of emotion in his tone.
"I thought....you made me feel as if it was my depression that was tearing our relationship apart."
"Or were you making assumptions? You thought I'd never figure it out, didn't you?"
"So you made me feel as if I was crazy? You made me feel as if I was a worthless failure?"
"I'm not the one who was in control of your feelings."
"You didn't care?" He doesn't object. "That's funny because you sure seemed to care when I was lying in the bathtub with my wrists slit clean through, and our four-month old was screaming her head off," His jaw clenches, and I know that he remembers that day.
That day was awful, yet another one of my rock-bottom moments.
"Jordan, please, stop crying," I pleaded with my four-month old, walking around my bedroom while bouncing her slightly against my hip.
She hadn't stopped crying since she woke up that morning with flushed cheeks yet no fever. I was exhausted, burdened by the overwhelming fatigue that accompanied suffering from postpartum depression, and, to no surprise, Wilmer wasn't home. He hadn't come home last night. I was confused as to why he was acting weird towards me: barely talking to me, hardly helping me when I'm stressed with Jordan, not really caring how I'm feeling, disappearing for days at a time. It was driving me insane. Everything was driving me insane. I was having crazy severe mood swings again: getting pissed over the littlest of things, feeling guilty and shameful and worthless. Wilmer's hostility certainly wasn't helping. Add in the fact that I was having trouble bonding with my own daughter, and you could say that I was feeling as if I didn't deserve to be a mother.
"Baby, please, please, stop crying," Tears stung the corners of my eyes as I placed Jordan in her crib, only causing her to emit louder, heart-wrenching shrieks.
I felt as if I could pass out at any moment. I hadn't eaten anything or slept in three days, a result of a lost appetite and insomnia.
As Jordan continued to scream, I clutched fistfulls of my hair and tugged. Tears seared my cheeks. Choking back a sob, I scrambled to the bedside table and retrieved my phone. I quickly dialed Wilmer's number, praying that he'd answer.
He didn't.
"Fucking asshole!"
No, despite how much I wanted to, I didn't throw my phone against the wall like all of those cliche books and movies. Instead, with tears rushing down my face, I scooped up my baby-girl and kissed her forehead. To my surprise, she quieted down.
"I'm sorry, baby-girl," I gently combed my fingers through her soft hair. "I'm sorry that I'm such a failure."
Heaving a sigh, I returned her to her crib and entered my bathroom. I splashed cold water on my now flushed, tear-stained cheeks in a futile attempt to wake myself up. I stared at my expression in the mirror. Water droplets glided down my face and clung to my chin before either catching air or continuing to trail down my neck. Prominent dark circles were under my eyes. I looked dead.
"I can't do this," I cried, my legs giving out on me as I lowered myself to the tiled floor. "I'm the worst mother ever. I don't deserve to be a mom. My husband doesn't love me anymore. I'm worthless," I rambled to myself, subconsciously pinching and sometimes scratching at my skin.
I couldn't cope. Not well, anyways, not in a healthy way.
That's where I screwed up.
Without Wilmer there to support me like he usually did, I resorted to harming myself, an old coping mechanism.
I easily managed to break one of my razors, retrieving the vital blades. I placed the blades on the sink counter, popped a handful of pills - mostly my prescribed anti-depressants - and removed my long-sleeve shirt and jeans before lying in the empty tub and proceeding to cut myself so much, so deeply, that I blacked out, woke up in a hospital room the next morning, and was told that I nearly succeeded in killing myself.
"Do you remember what you told me after I was released from the hospital?" He remains silent, but the fury in his eyes suggests that he remembers well, and he doesn't want me to bring it up. "Do I need to remind you?"
"No."
"Are you sure?" I raise an eyebrow. "I'm sure you wouldn't mind a refresher, right?"
It was two days after I was released from the hospital after my "suicide attempt". I tried telling the doctors that I wasn't intentionally trying to kill myself, but I didn't think they believed me. I did, however, manage to convince them to not lock me up in some psych ward.
"So, you're just up and leaving again?" I screamed at him. "Are you forgetting about why I was at the hospital in the first place?" He shushed me, and I rolled my eyes, not really caring at that moment if I woke up Jordan.
"What do you expect me to do, Demi?"
"Stay here. With me. With your daughter. Like a good husband and father is supposed to do."
He immediately became defensive, claiming that he was a good husband and a good father. I made it clear that I didn't agree with him.
"You shouldn't be gone for days at a time, Wilmer! You shouldn't leave me here with Jordan, knowing that I can't handle it right now. You-,"
"You're assuming that I can handle it? What if I can't, Demi?" He yelled, and I could hear Jordan's faint cries from upstairs.
"I'm not saying that-,"
"Then what are you saying? Honestly? Because, from where I'm standing, it seems like you're relying on me for everything. You're acting as if you can't fend for yourself or something."
"So, I'm useless?"
"Did I say that?"
"You might as well have."
"You can't keep going back to that stupid shit whenever times get a little tough, Demi! You can't go crazy every time you get a little stressed!"
I gaped at him, disbelief rendering me speechless.
"So, I'm stupid? I'm the stupid, lunatic cutter that you married, right? I bet you regret marrying me now, huh?"
"Do you honestly want to know my answer?" He hissed, and I felt as if my blood froze in my veins.
How could he possibly say that? I knew that I was hard to love, but he stuck by me through so much, so what changed?
"You probably even wish that I had killed myself, don't you?"
"That's ridiculous."
"Is it?"
"Do you want me to agree with you?"
"Do you want to?"
"If you had, maybe I wouldn't be stuck with such a lying, crazy excuse of a wife."
I swallowed the lump in throat. Breathing was a struggle. It hurt, as if my heart had been shattered and the broken shards were stabbing into me everytime I inhaled.
"Demi," He gently grasped my wrist - his expression remorseful and apologetic - but I yanked my arm away and stepped back.
"Don't touch me," I commanded in a whisper. "Don't you dare fucking touch me. You wanted to leave, right? Please feel free to let the door hit you on the way out."
"You basically called me useless and stupid. You basically called me crazy. You have called me crazy, knowing that that is the one insult that never fails to mess with my head. I spiraled so far downwards after that day, and you didn't even care. I was cutting and popping pills again, yet none of that ever mattered to you. Hell, I would have even started drinking again had it not been for Jordan. But eventually you came around, right? You miraculously started caring again," I smirk. "Only when the media started realizing that something was wrong with me. That's all you cared about at that point: maintaining your image. You knew that if the media caught on to our screwed-up marriage, not only would my fans want to skin you alive, but high up names in Hollywood would, too."
I allow myself to flicker my gaze around the room, almost forgetting that anybody else was here with us.
"Why are you crying?" I softly ask my mom.
"You never told us. We thought everything was fine. We-,"
"Don't beat yourself up over this. It's not your fault, mom," I pause, a thought causing my stomach to churn. "They say that girls are destined to marry their fathers, and that's exactly what I did," I mumble, referring to my birth father, Patrick. "You want me to apologize, yes?" I return my attention to Wilmer. "You want me to apologize for ruining our marriage and sleeping with Nick and God only knows what else, right? Because I haven't, you're trying to make my life a living Hell," He doesn't speak, doesn't try to defend himself. "If anything, I apologize for marrying you, but Nick has made me feel happiness and love, and that's something that you have failed to do for over a decade. You alerted the media about our divorce and about Bailey because you want me to suffer, but it has backfired. Our daughter is the one taking the backlash the hardest," I don't even know if my words ring true, yet I continue. "She's receiving hate from complete strangers because they think that she's the cause of a divorce of a 'picture-perfect marriage'. It's funny how you forgot to tell the media about all of your faults. How do you think they'd react if they knew the truth about you?"
"You're going to tell them, aren't you?"
I shake my head.
"I should, but I'm not that cruel. Besides, it'll all come out eventually. You can't hide it forever."
"Neither can you. The media's already beginning to hate you."
"You should know better than anyone that I really don't give a damn what the media thinks about me. I'm done, Wilmer. I'm done fighting with you. I'm done trying to salvage whatever it is that we had. I can't say that I'm done loving you because I believe that I'll forever be in love with the man that you were when we first met, but I can say that I'm done loving that man that you have become. I hope that you at least consider dropping the girls' custody cases, but, if you don't, I hope that you realize that I'm sure as hell not going down without a fight. Now, must someone escort you out, or can you handle it?"
"I'm sure I can manage."
"Please feel free to let the door hit you on the way out."
~
I don't realize that the girls were listening until everyone leaves.
"Dad's fighting for custody over me?" Jordan practically runs down the stairs with Bailey hot on her heels.
"No, you said girls' as in plural. Does that mean that he's fighting for custody over me, too? Is that even fucking legal?"
"I thought you two went upstairs."
"We did. We crouched behind the stair banister and listened," Bailey explains. "Quit dodging."
I sigh, knowing that I have to tell them sooner or later. Nick grips my hand, intertwining our fingers.
"Yes."
"Yes what?"
"Yes, he's fighting for custody over both of you."
"He can't do that!" Bailey shrieks, and I sink my teeth into my bottom lip. "He shouldn't be allowed to do that! You two are my parents, and he-he shouldn't be allowed to..." She trails off as her chin trembles, and I notice her breathing speed up.
"Bay," I hesitantly reach out to her in an attempt to calm her down, but she runs upstairs.
"This is so messed up," Jordan grumbles. "He doesn't even like me!"
"Can you go check on Bailey?" I whisper to Nick as Jordan continues to ramble, and he nods, placing a kiss on my temple before retreating upstairs. "Baby-girl, you need to calm down," I instruct. "Your dad loves you-,"
"No, he doesn't! Saying that he loves me is about as credible as saying that he loves you," I flinch at her words, and her expression immediately becomes apologetic. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it like that-,"
"No. You're right. Your dad only cares about himself at this point, but guess what?"
"What?"
"We don't need him."
"Because we have Nick?" She shyly grins.
"Did I say that?" I laugh.
"It's kind of implied," she smirks. "We're practically living here now. The 'Nemi' shippers are going insane," she pauses, a frown suddenly etching into her features. "Is it bad..."
"What, baby?"
"Is it bad if I still love dad?" She hesitantly wonders. "Y'know, despite everything that he has put us through?"
"No, baby-girl, of course not! I don't want you to hate him."
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She slowly nods, her eyes on the floor. I'm about to further reassure her when I hear Bailey screaming.
