~Bailey's POV~
"You threw up your lunch," Sara states.
"No, I didn't."
"I heard you."
I shrug. "I felt sick."
She shakes her head, her hands at her sides curling into small fists. "You're lying. Why would you do that to yourself?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
She releases an exasperated breath and steps away from me, pacing around the bathroom. "I'm telling Dallas."
I narrow my eyes. "Telling her what?"
"That you forced yourself to throw up.''
I scoff. "You don't know me."
"And that matters why?"
"You're wrong."
"No, I don't think that I am."
I chew on my bottom lip, knowing that this situation is getting more worse by the second. "You can't tell her," I plead, and her eyes widen.
"You're not even going to try to deny it?"
"What's the point?" I furiously throw my hands up in the air. "You're going to believe whatever you want to, regardless of what I say."
"She can help you, Bailey."
"I don't need help. I'm fine."
There's a pause. "How often do you..."
"Purge? Every time that I eat."
"You can't." She shakes her head slightly, as if completely baffled by my words. "You're basically killing yourself."
"Why does that matter to you?" I don't intend for my words to sound so harsh but they do, and she flinches, leaving me to feel guilty.
"Look," she grips my shoulders, as if she wants to shake me, "I care, okay? I-"
"I don't need a charity case." I push past her, leaning against the wall.
"I'm not trying to treat you like a charity case," she groans. "I'm trying to help you-"
"I don't need your help."
"Does anybody know?"
"No." I stare at her as if she announced to the world that she's part goldfish. "Why the hell would I do that?"
"Oh, I don't know," her tone is sarcastic as she shrugs, "maybe because what you're doing is hereditary, unhealthy, and potentially fatal?"
I blink at her. "And your point is?"
"Okay, you're obviously not getting it," she mutters, approaching me so that I'm nearly pressed against the wall. "People care about you. Demi, Nick, Jordan, Dallas, Dianna, Eddie-"
"Okay, I have a large family. I get it."
She rolls her eyes. "They love you. They would hate to see anything happen to you-"
"Stop talking to me as if I'm three. They don't care, okay? Never have, never will."
"You're blind."
"No, you are."
She stares at me for a long moment, as if analyzing me. I shift uncomfortably from one foot to the other.
"Fine, maybe they don't care." She shrugs, just a hint of sarcasm lingering in her tone. "But what if I said that I do?"
"I'd call you a liar."
She smirks, but it appears to almost be sad. "What would be so terrible about someone caring for you?"
I flicker my gaze away from her, knowing that I can't be vulnerable in front of her, or anyone for that matter. "Dallas is waiting for us."
"She can wait a little bit longer, don't you think? Maybe send in a search team?" Despite the situation, I allow half of a smile to form. "I still think that I should tell her."
My smile vanishes as I glare at her. "Why?"
"Because I can't just stand back, knowing what you're doing to yourself, and do nothing."
"Not telling anyone would be doing something."
"I care too much about you to do that."
"You hardly even know me."
"So?"
"You can't care about someone you don't know."
"Is that your own personal rule? The way I see it, you can only care too much, which isn't even possible."
There's a pause as I contemplate my next words, knowing that our conversation is just us going round and round in circles. "What if I promised to stop?"
Her eyebrows raise in surprise, but then she soon narrows her eyes. "You can't stop on your own, even if you wanted to."
"Thanks for the support and encouragement," I snort.
Sara rolls her eyes. "I'm just being realistic, which is exactly why Dallas should know."
"She'll tell Demi and Nick. Do you honestly think that they both need more stress right now? Plus," I pause, "I could always just tell Dallas about your oh-so-loving boyfriend."
"What about him?" She furrows her eyebrows.
I scoff, my gaze traveling down to her wrists before returning to her eyes. "He jerks you around like some dog would to a damn chew toy."
She quirks an eyebrow, feigning oblivion. "What are you implying?"
I ignore her question. "Did Dallas ever mention what's going on with Demi and her ex?"
"Wilmer?" She shakes her head. "But it's all over the internet. They're getting a divorce supposedly, and you're supposedly Nick's daughter."
"Supposedly?"
"I tend to not believe everything that E! News says." She shrugs.
"He," I hesitate, debating on whether or not I should tell her. It's not exactly my story to tell, but isn't the truth going to come out eventually? Plus, who is she honestly going to tell? Who would believe her? "He drank a lot, ran around, and beat her," I sigh as her eyes widen. "That's what I'm implying. Something along those lines. For your sake, I hope that I'm wrong and paranoid."
"You are." Her tone has a sudden cold edge to it.
"Well," I struggle to keep my voice casual, "If I'm suddenly not-"
"Find you. I get it." She pauses, shaking her head. "You wouldn't be able to do anything anyways."
"If you can tell Dallas about my purging, I can surely tell her about your boyfriend."
She glares at me. "Are you trying to blackmail me?"
"Is it working?"
She steps closer to me, completely popping my bubble of personal space. With her being nearly half a foot taller than me, I have to look up at her. I curse Demi for giving me the short genes. Her height combined with her evident anger causes me to feel almost intimidated as I realize that I have no idea who I'm messing with. This girl could kill me right here if she wanted to.
She bends down slightly to whisper three words in my ear, making it clear that she's not the least bit intimidated by me, or, at the very least, she's a good actress. "Not even close." She stands straight again. "You're losing your sarcastic, snarky touch, Lovato," she smirks.
I am, aren't I? Dammit.
"I'll consider myself special from now on."
"You think that I can't be sarcastic around you?"
"I think it's pretty obvious that you can't." Her smirk vanishes, her expression becoming blank.
"What-" My concerned question is cut short by her lips gently pressed against mine.
My dumb-ass self is too shocked to even kiss her back, not to mention that I have no idea what to do with my arms and hands. Do I wrap them around her neck, which would probably require me to stand on the tips of my toes? Do I wrap them around her waist and bring her closer to me? I don't know about those sappy romance novels that I'd rather stab myself in the eye with a fork than read, but all of the above sounds pretty fucking nice right now.
Admittedly too soon for my liking, she pulls away. With flushed cheeks and a shy, hesitant smile that I barely even notice, she nearly runs out of the bathroom, leaving me confused and wondering if I didn't just imagine the whole thing.
~
After driving Sara home, Dallas drops Jordan and I off.
"Whose cars?" I break the silence that has been hovering during the entire drive, pointing towards the two unknown expensive-looking cars.
I don't receive a reply, and I assume that both Dallas and Jordan are as confused as me. Upon approaching the house even more so, Jordan is first to point out yet another car.
"That's my dad's car," I don't miss the slight tremble in her voice.
I'm out of the car before Dallas has even fully parked. With Jordan and - despite my protests - Dallas behind me, I run, throwing open the front door only to stop short upon seeing Wilmer sitting on one side of the dining room table with Demi, Nick, and an unknown man in a suit across from him.
There were two unknown cars outside, and a chair is pulled out beside Wilmer, yet it's empty.
Where's the other person?
"You're Hailey Ariana, yes?" The official looking dude beside Demi and Nick looks up at me from his files.
"Who are you?" I swear Demi nearly facepalms because of my bluntness.The man chuckles. "Geoffrey Abrams. I'm your parents' attorney.""So, you're trying to get him," I hook my thumb towards Wilmer, "locked up?"
"I'm trying to resolve the situation," he slowly replies.
"Putting him in an orange jumpsuit would be resolving the situation," I mutter, then plaster a huge smile on my face. "Pardon my manners. Hailey Ariana Lovato-Jonas. Nice to meet you," I shake his hand, resisting the urge to glare at Nick who snorts.
"You're not fooling anybody, darling," he chuckles, and I scowl at him.
"I'd say that you got mom's acting skills, though," Jordan pipes up, standing further away from the table, seemingly awkward.
"Is that a good thing?" I arch an eyebrow.
"It is if you want to be an actress or make a living deceiving people."
"Deceiving people sounds quite evil," I observe.
"Then it's right up your alley, isn't it?" One corner of her mouth quirks upwards just slightly.
I toy with the hem of my shorts, just now remembering the makeup that still coats my thighs and wondering how long it'll take for the stuff to wear off. Not wanting to take any chances, I dismiss myself and head upstairs, stopping on the top step when I notice a man peeking inside my room. Although I'm receiving hardly any of a side view, I can still recognize him. I can still recognize him after so many years. His hair is still the same golden, light ash blonde, but stress has greatly aged his face. He is still tall with broad shoulders and a scar etched into his neck from a snowboarding accident.
"Can I help you?" He's visibly startled as he turns to face me, but he then smirks.
"I thought the name was just a coincidence."
"Do I know you?" I feign ignorance."
Don't play dumb, Hailey," he approaches me, and I instinctively take a step back. "You couldn't have forgotten about me that easily."
"Maybe you weren't that memorable." He raises his eyebrows.
"You talk back now?" He hums, approaching me, boxing me in against the wall. "We're going to have to fix that, aren't we?" He places a hand on my upper thigh."Get your hand off of me." The calmness of my voice surprises me.
His amused smirk only widens. "And if I don't?"
"I'll scream."
"But we haven't even gotten to the fun part yet." His hand inches higher up.
I swiftly grip his wrist, pinning his arm behind his back and shoving him against the wall. "You scream, and I swear I will break your fucking wrist," I threaten, and he chuckles. "What are you doing here, Matthew?"
"It's Mason now, sweetheart. I'm Wilmer Valderrama's attorney."
Shocked, I release him.
"Child molester teaming up with an abusive ex-husband? How ironic."
He narrows his eyes at me. "You're not going to say a word."
"Your threats don't scare me anymore."
"Are you forgetting who's side I'm on? If you say anything, I could easily convince the jury that Wilmer is a saint, and your mom is the one at fault."
I stare at him blankly, too consumed by my thoughts. He could ruin us. He could could turn all of our worst fears into reality and separate both Jordan and me from Demi and Nick.
"I can practically see the gears in your brain turning. You always were one to catch on quickly."
"You think this is some sick, twisted game, don't you?"
That infuriating smirk returns to his face as he traces my jawline with a calloused finger. "I had fun, Hailey," he chuckles before descending the stairs.
Shoving my shaking hands into the pockets of my jeans, I enter my bedroom and allow myself to cry. Not breakdown. Not harm myself. Just cry.
~
"You were molested?" Demi nearly screams, barging into my room with Nick and Jordan in tow.
Startled, I drop my phone, and it lands on the comforter of my bed. "Have you ever heard of knocking?"
"Bailey-"
"Where did you even hear that?"
"Wilmer's attorney-"
"And you believe that man because...?"
"It was in your files, Bailey."
"You're just now looking through them?"
"Quit trying to change the subject." Her voice is almost in a monotone, every two words accented with a shuddering breath, as if she's on the verge of completely breaking down in tears. "Why didn't you tell me?"
"Why are you just now going through my files? No, wait, scratch that. Why does it take a lawyer for you to actually look through them?"
"I wanted you to tell me yourself."
"Yeah? How well is that working for you?" I sneer, but she barely even flinches.
"Bailey," Nick gains my attention, desperation evident in his tone, eyes pleading. "Please."
"Fine," I narrow my eyes at them, speaking through gritted teeth. "I was a nine-year-old with one hell of an imagination."
"You claimed that your adoptive uncle..." She trails off, and I feel guilty for some reason, as if I'm the one causing her pain.
"Raped me?" I finish her sentence, nearly choking on the words as my stomach churns. "Like I said, one hell of an imagination."
"What nine-year-old makes that up?"
"The same one that enjoyed making herself bleed," I coldly reply before rising to my feet and pushing past them, heading for the bathroom.
Clammy fingers curl around my wrist, halting my movements. I crane my neck around to see Jordan. Her hand that grips my wrist is trembling, and she tightens her grip - as if to stop the shaking - until her knuckles are the color of an eggshell.
"I will scream if you don't let me go."
"I don't care if you scream until you go hoarse and the neighbors call the cops. I'm not letting you do anything stupid."
"Nobody would be able to hear me to actually call the cops."
"True," she thoughtfully hums. "So you might as well stop fighting and just talk to us."
"Do you want to play a game, Hailey?" My uncle questioned from the doorway of my bedroom.
This was a part of his sick, twisted routine. First, he would coax my family out of the house, usually on the weekends, claiming that they "needed a break" and that I would be "in good hands". Then, after about fifteen minutes or so, he would ask the same question from my doorway. It didn't take me long to realize that his games weren't fun and that I didn't want to play.I jumped down from the spinny chair that I stole from the home office, ignoring my rule about not touching the lava as my bare feet collided with the floor. Biting back a snarky comment about how I was already playing a game, my eyes flickered toward my closet door before I darted. That split second eye flicker was all he needed to be chasing after me. Ignoring how the clothes hangers were awkwardly jabbing at me and how a dark purple tee-shirt nearly rendered me completely blind, I struggled to push the sliding door close, a result of it digging into the carpet. Finally, it budged, and I released a quiet, relieved exhale as I separated myself from him. I almost succeeded. Despite me exerting all of my strength in holding the door shut, he easily pried it open. A cry escaped my lips as he jerked me upwards by my upper arms, right below my shoulders, and tossed me onto my bed as if I was nothing more than a decorative pillow. I sat against the headboard with my arms wrapped around my knees that were tucked against my chest, as if to shield me in some way.
"I-I don't-," I clamped my mouth shut as he shushed me, a sound that I assumed was supposed to be soothing but only caused my stomach to churn.
"Don't worry, sweetheart," He chuckled while removing his belt. "Nobody will be able to hear you scream."
I don't know when during my flashback I decided to lock myself in my bathroom, but, when I'm sent back to reality by pounding and shouting on the other side of the door, I find myself sitting on my bathroom floor, shaking and crying.
Pathetic.
As I stand and approach the door, I steal a glance at my reflection. Eyes red and still glazed over with tears. Faint red tear tracks line my cheeks.
I'm a complete and utter mess.
When I open the door, I don't expect to be almost toppled to the ground by Jordan flinging herself at me and engulfing me in a hug.
"I am so sorry," She sounds as if she's pleading. "I didn't mean to upset you or-,"
"It's okay," My voice is completely monotone, completely devoid of emotion.
"Bailey," I glance at Demi, her voice hesitant, her entire body posture hesitant. "You can tell us anything," She pauses, as if waiting for me to confess all of my darkest secrets. "You don't even have to give us a name."
I shift my gaze to my bedroom window. Outside looks so peaceful, so free. When am I ever going to be free from my past? Do I have to choose to free myself? Wouldn't it just be easier to keep the burden of the past to myself instead of hurting someone else? I don't know if it's the worry or love in her eyes, but when I return my attention to Demi, I realize that she does care about me, at least a little bit. Why would you worry over someone who you don't care about? I take a deep breath.
"You left me with a nice couple," I begin, looking at her as she slowly nods, as if wondering where I'm going with this. "But then their marriage fell apart and neither of them had the money nor the time to care for me anymore, so they put me in the system. I was bounced around from foster home to foster home, some better than others. Then I was adopted, and it was a great feeling. I felt wanted. I felt as if someone actually cared about me and my well-being for once," I shake my head at my own ignorance. "After my social worker stopped showing up regularly, they soon became negligent and bounced me around between their family members, not wanting to have to deal with me, and I had the nerve to complain," I bitterly chuckle as tears sting my eyes. "I shouldn't have complained," I peer outside the window again, speaking more so to myself than to anyone else. "Yes, they were negligent, but they didn't know," I inhale sharply as my hands begin to shake, and I look at my family again. "One of the uncles...his daughter, Jasmine, killed herself," There's a long pause as I try to regain control of my thoughts, try to form what I want to say in my head before just blurting out everything. "I was nine the first time that it happened," I mumble, staring at the floor. "And it happened at least once a week until I was removed from their care at age eleven during a drug bust. Nobody ever asked, so I never told."
That's when I completely break down.
As tears spill down my cheeks, I collapse, barely acknowledging the arms that catch me.
"They all accused me of lying and called me an attention-seeker," I sob into Nick's shirt, not even caring how weak I appear at the moment. "They didn't believe me. They all took his side, and he said that nobody would ever believe me if I tried to tell," A strangled sounded gasp escapes my lips as I struggle to breath. "He said that he would harm the younger kids if I told, and I didn't want that to happen, so I didn't tell anyone." He murmurs reassurances to me as I continue to senselessly babble through my tears.
"You haven't told anybody at all since, have you?" He quietly questions, and I shake my head, feeling as if he already knew the answer. "You've been keeping that to yourself for five years?" Although intended to be a question, it sounds more like a statement; therefore, I don't answer.
"Please don't leave me," I nearly whisper.
"Never, darling," He kisses my head then hugs me tighter, as if trying to shield me from the harsh, cruel realities of the world. "I'm not going anywhere." He shifts slightly, and I watch as he worriedly stares at a pale Demi. "Dems, what are you thinking?" A hint of a smile forms on my lips at her pet-name, but it soon vanishes as she shakes her head, looks out the window, then looks at me with a completely blank expression.
Just when you thought that she actually cared about you...she's ashamed of you.
The realization is like a punch to the stomach, rendering me breathless. Of course she's ashamed of me. It's obvious.
"Jordan, watch your sister," Nick softly commands, rising to his feet, and I furrow my eyebrows in confusion, but then Demi storms out of the room with him right behind her.
She really must be ashamed of me. She can't even be in the same room as me.
Exhaling heavily, I wipe away the remains of my tears and stand on wobbly knees. Jordan stares at me as if I'm some stranger, and I force a small smile. She's ashamed of me, too. She probably wishes that I wasn't her sister.
"Stop that," She quietly orders.
"Stop what?"
"Forcing laughter and faking smiles."
"In this same old, tired, lonely place?" I smirk as the song lyrics come to mind, and she rolls her eyes, the corners her mouth quirking upwards.
"I'm serious," she pauses. "We believe you, okay? And Nick's right: we're not going anywhere."
"Demi just left," I point out, trying not to convey in my tone how hurt I am.
She frowns.
"It's my fault, Nick!" Demi yells from downstairs, and Jordan and I glance at each other before darting towards the stairs.
"Wait," she suddenly grips my wrist as we reach my doorway. "Shouldn't we stay in here? What if-,"
"It's Nick," I'm shaking my head before my next words are ever spoken. "He would never intentionally hurt her."
We stand near the steps, just out of sight yet still able to hear.
"It's not-,"
"Don't you dare say that it's not my fault. All of this is my fault. If I had just kept her-,"
"You can't keep beating yourself up over that. You'll end up driving yourself completely mad."
There's a long, almost worrying pause.
"She was only nine years old, Nick," Demi's voice is barely audible, and she sounds as if she's crying. "I'll never be able to give her those years back. I'll never be able to apologize enough or do anything to make up for my wrongs. I wouldn't blame her if she hated me and-,"
"Demi, stop," I hear him take a few steps. "Just-just stop."
I creep forward and grip the banister tightly as I watch them. He's holding her shaking body.
I feel guilty.
She's crying because of me. They're breaking because of me.
I shouldn't have said anything.
She mumbles something in his ear and breaks their embrace.
"Where are you going to go?"
"I just need space right now, Nick," she sounds on the verge of pleading.
"You're not in the right frame of mind to be-,"
"I'll be fine," Her tone is now cold, mimicking her facial expression.
My jaw drops when he simply lets her walk out the front door, not even bothering to stop her.
"You're not going after her?" I blurt, and he spins around to look up at me.
"I'm giving her an hour to calm down, then I'll go look for her."
"Do you realize how stupid that sounds? You said it yourself that she's not in the right frame of mind."
"I know her, Bailey," He sighs. "What about you?"
"What about me? I'm fine."
He arches an incredulous eyebrow. "You're not fine."
"But I will be."
~
"It has been an hour," I announce as Jordan, Nick, and I are sitting in the living room, waiting for Demi to show back up.
"Thank you for being obvious," Jordan says.
"It's in my job description along with sarcastic, frank, and an occasional pain in the ass."
"Occasional?" Nick snorts, and I glare as he grins. "I'm going to go call Dallas and see if she has heard anything from your mom," He stands, phone in hand, and heads for the kitchen. "Be prepared to leave in five minutes, and try not to kill each other in those five minutes."
"No promises. I might just have to put that shallow grave that I dug in the yard to good use."
"Just make sure that you cover her back up and plant a tree or something there."
"What kind of tree shall I plant?"
"Surprise me," He begins tapping away at his phone.
"Can I name the tree?" He stops fiddling with his phone.
"You want to name a tree?"
"Precisely."
"What are you going to name it?" I scrunch up my nose in thought.
"Paper."
"Paper?" I nod.
"You can't name a tree paper."
"Why not?"
"Because it's the same equivalence as naming a pig bacon." I bite my lip to keep from laughing as I shake my head.
"No, it's not."
"Yes, it is."
"No."
"Yes"
"No."
"Are you two honestly debating about this?" Jordan interjects, raising her eyebrows in amusement.
I glance at the clock. "It killed ten minutes, and Demi still isn't back yet, so I think it is now officially time for you to call Dallas," I stand. "Jordan, you should go get my jacket for me."
"You're perfectly capable of walking," She laughs as I feign a pout. "What do you even need a jacket for anyways?"
"It's calling for rain, and we're going to be outside. I'd rather not-,"
"Okay, I get it," she holds her hands up in surrender.
"But the water isn't going to kill you."
"Two words: shallow grave." She laughs and ascends the stairs
.A snapping noise gains my attention, and I look at Nick who stands in the kitchen doorway with his phone pressed against his ear. He mouths at me to get his jacket, and I nod, starting for his bedroom. I stop when he speaks.
"So, you haven't seen or heard anything from her in the last hour?" There's a pause as Dallas, I'm assuming, replies. "Do you know where she might be?" Worrying at my bottom lip, I continue my way to his bedroom.
What if nobody knows where Demi is? What if we can't find her? What if she doesn't return?What if she's hurt or lost or something?
She doesn't care about you, so why do you care so much about her?
I curl my hands into fists as the thought crosses my mind. Why do I care? Is it simply because of the fact that she gave birth to me? Do I honestly believe that she doesn't care about me? I shake my head, knowing that over-thinking isn't going to solve anything, especially when I ask questions that can't be answered. We just need to find her, and then hopefully I can stop stressing. I'm sure she's fine.
Upon entering the bedroom, it is then that I realize that I have no idea which jacket he was referring to. Knowing that I'm a lazy person who doesn't want to go back and ask him only to return back here yet again, I shrug and grab the first jacket that I see: a black, leather one hanging on the doorknob of the closet. I toss it over my arm, knitting my eyebrows together in confusion when I hear a soft thump. I shake the jacket, not hearing the sound again. I then look on the floor, soon finding a tiny black box.
Do I open it, knowing that there is a chance he might not want me to see what is inside it?
Of course I do
.Picking it up, I notice the jewelry store logo on the bottom of it. I banish my instinct of wanting to shake the box.
"Bailey, I'm assuming that this is the jacket that you want and-," Jordan stops upon seeing me with the box. "What's that?"
"A box."
"So I noticed."
"I'm going to open it."
"Of course you are."
"You're not going to try to stop me?"
"You'll find some way to open it, regardless of what I try to do."
A knowing smile creeps onto my face. "You want to know what's inside the box, too, don't you?"
"No!" I don't believe her. "That's ridiculous. Besides, it's probably just a necklace or something for mom."
"Therefore, there will be no harm in us sneaking a peek." I'm opening the tiny box before she can even begin to object. I emit a gasp, nearly dropping the box in shock.
"What is it? Is it ugly?" I shake my head as she approaches me, peering over my shoulder. "Is that..."
"An engagement ring," I finish.
"Nobody has seen or heard from your mom," Nick's voice startles us both as he stops in the doorway. "But apparently you two have found something," He mutters.
ns 15.158.61.5da2
