"You live here?" Jordan wonders, taking in the sight of the paint chipped walls and ugly, carpeted floors.
"Not everybody can live in a mansion," I mutter.
I lead us three to the front desk where Wendy, one of the young, newer workers, sits, chomping on a piece of bubblegum while twirling a piece of her blonde hair around her index finger, staring into space. When she sees us three approaching, she forgets about her stand of hair.
"Kaylee, where were you? We were worried sick!" She exclaims in a dramatic tone.
"Cut the act, drama queen. I know you didn't realize that I left. And it's Bailey, not Kaylee," I say with much sarcasm and an eye-roll.
Newbies are always a pain. She narrows her eyes at me. I lazily sit my arms on the counter.
"Now, bring me somebody who actually knows what the hell they're doing because, as you can see, we have a celebrity waiting," I order.
As if just now noticing that Demi is there, her eyes widen as her cheeks flush pink.
"Right away," She murmurs, disappearing to bring me somebody that hopefully knows at least a little bit of my story.
"Already using my name for your benefit?" Demi sarcastically questions.
"I figured it was the least you could do considering everything," I calmly shoot back.
I can practically hear Demi's eyes rolling in their sockets. Thankfully Barb, one of the co-owners of the orphanage, decides to make an appearance. When she sees me, she smirks.
"Bailey, what have you gotten into this time?" She jokes.
I smile a genuine smile.
"Well, you know same 'ol same 'ol," I reply, giving the same reply that I always do.
She chuckles.
"Who'd you bring with you?"
With a sigh, I push myself away from the counter.
"Barb, meet Demi. Demi, meet Barb," I introduce. "Barb, I know you know who Demi is to me. Demi, Barb is basically the mother you never were," I bluntly say.
"Bailey!" Barb scolds, but I can see amusement lighting up her eyes. "That's not fair! You should apologize."
"Fair?" I echo with a snort. "Life's not fair, and I refuse to apologize to her."
"So, you know I'm her biological mother?" Demi questions.
Barb nods.
"What do I have to sign to adopt her?"
"Way to sound enthused about it," I sarcastically mutter.
"I'll get the papers and files," Barb dismisses herself with a small smile.
"Files?" Demi repeats. "As in more than one?"
"That's why it's plural," I reply with a sarcastic tone.
I am on a roll with my sarcasm. Demi just makes it way too easy to be sarcastic.
"I know that!" She snaps. "But why do you have more than one file?"
"I've been through some serious shit," I vaguely reply with a one shoulder shrug.
"We so have got to work on your amount of cursing."
I roll my eyes, another thing that I'm on a roll with.
"And we so have got to work on you thinking that you're suddenly the boss of me."
"I'm your mother."
"You have a pretty weird way of showing it," I tell her, examining my gnawed nails.
I bet Jordan feels like a third wheel right now. Well, I bet she feels like what I think a third wheel feels like. I've never been a third wheel nor have I ever been on a date. Nobody ever has nor ever will want to date an ugly, fat, broken girl like myself.
"I'm going to go pack," I mumble, leaving Demi and Jordan to wait for Barb's return.
I trudge slowly up the stairs, granting my demons plenty of time to attack me. Luckily, the corridors are empty, but I can hear the loud giggling and talking of the other girls. Yet again, I find myself wishing that I had a friend.
"We are your friends, Bailey. We're the only friends you need. We understand you better than anybody," my demons whisper.
I finally make it to the safety of my room. I lock myself in my bathroom and collapse to the floor. I hastily rummage through my purse, searching for my blade. I clutch it tightly in my fist, loving how the sharp edge bites my skin. I lift up the hem of my shirt, locating a somewhat cut free patch of skin. I make five horizontal incisions on my left side, just under the wire of my bra. I move further down, skimming the blade over an already mangled piece of skin. Finding another free patch, I create longer, deeper cuts. Knowing that it shouldn't be much longer before either Jordan or Demi or both decide to come look for me, I make about a dozen short, vertical cuts on my lower abdomen before returning my blade to the bottom of my purse. I stop the bleeding, flush the blood soaked toilet paper, and exit my bathroom as if nothing happened. To my relief, neither Jordan nor Demi are in my room. I quickly grab my old duffel bag from the top shelf of my closest. I throw it on my bed and scramble to stuff random articles of clothing into it, not caring if it looks orderly or not; all I'm worried about is making it appear as if I have actually been packing while up here instead of slicing up my skin like the freak that I am.
"Do you need some help?"
I spin around, clutching my chest.
"Jesus Christ, Jordan, you scared me."
"Obviously," She smirks.
Her eyes roam over my duffel bag.
"Do you even know how to properly pack that thing?"
I just roll my eyes and keep shoving more clothes into the bag.
"Where's your mom?" I ask as she starts removing my clothes from the bag.
"Our mom," She corrects.
With another eye roll, I plop another pile of clothes down onto the bed only to grab another pile from my closet.
"And she's filling out that paperwork, I suppose. I wasn't really paying much attention," She explains, folding my clothes and setting them neatly back into the bag as I toss another pile onto the bed.
I stop and watch her, remembering what I thought about her feeling like a third wheel. Cursing myself for actually having somewhat of a heart and a little bit of compassion, I take a deep breath.
"I'm sorry for barging into your life like this. I wasn't planning for it to go this way at all," I sheepishly confess.
She shakes her head, dropping my tee-shirt that she was folding.
"It's not your fault that you wanted to meet your mom, our mom. I just wish she would tell us why she gave you up. Why did she give you up only to give birth to me a year later and keep me?"
I bite my lower lip, wishing that I knew the answer, wishing that Demi would just give us the answer. I start conjuring up scenarios in my mind.
"What if I remind her of something horrible?" I speak my thoughts, pitching a random scenario.
"What do you mean?"
"Like, I don't know. What if she was in an abusive relationship or something? Or what if she was raped?"
Jordan's eyes widen in horror. I throw my hands up in surrender.
"They're just ideas!" I defend.
She tosses a shirt at me with a chuckle that sounds somewhat relieved and somewhat nervous.
"You have a twisted mind," She jokes.
You have no idea.
"What if," I pause, wracking my brain for another plausible guess. "What if she had an affair?" I try.
To my surprise, Jordan only shrugs.
"I'm not saying I condone it, but, if she ever did or ever does, I wouldn't blame her," Jordan tells me.
Now it's my turn to pull a horrified face.
"What?" I shriek, appalled
"Let's just say my dad isn't a hundred percent faithful," She says. "He never has been," She mumbles, sounding almost bitter.
I lick my lips, my mind racing. I mean, I know Demi's kind of a bitch and everything, but she doesn't deserve to be cheated on.
"How do you know he cheated?"
She snorts.
"When they fight, they yell. Neighbors and even myself have had to call the cops before because it was too loud. They yell and scream without even thinking about what anybody, including myself, hears."
It's amazing what you can hide just by putting on a smile. That's the lyrics that pop into my head. You never do know what happens behind closed doors, and nobody's life is truly perfect or as good as it seems, even a celebrity's.
"Sometimes they'll even slam stuff and break stuff. I've only witnessed them put their hands on each other a couple of times, but it's really easy to hear the sound of a slap or the roughness of a shove. The crunching sound of a nose being broken isn't too pleasant to hear," She rambles, not even looking at me, but down at my clothes, at my bed.
It's as if I'm not even here. I can tell that she's been bottling this stuff up for a while now. When you bottle stuff up, there comes a point in time when you need a release. Jordan's releasing all of her bottled up emotions now, in the form of talking. I release mine in the form of self-harm. Everybody's got their own way of coping and dealing with their shit. It is then when I see the silent tears rolling down Jordan's cheeks as her shoulders shake. I hesitantly wrap my arms around her as she sobs into my shoulder.
"Most kids are lucky to have both of their parents married and actively in their lives, but I hate it. I mean, it's not always horrible, but there are sometimes that make me wish they'd just get a divorce already," She rants while I pat her back in what I'm hoping is a comforting manner.
"Jordan, why are you crying?"
I immediately release Jordan and start folding the clothes on my bed, avoiding Demi's gaze.
"No reason," Jordan replies with a sniffle.
"Whatever," Demi mutters. "Are you finished packing?" She wonders.
I almost respond to her with a smart ass comment, but I refrain from doing so. Does she not see the huge pile of clothes on my bed?
"Almost," I mumble.
"Well, I signed everything and got all of your files," She informs.
I nod, swearing that I hear her mutter something along the lines of 'all three of them' at the end, but I might be mistaking. Shaking my head, I continue to fold my clothes, now wishing that I didn't own so many.
"Bye, Barb," I say, engulfing her in a hug in which she warmly returns.
She's been here even before I arrived. She's watched me, and countless others, grow and move on.
"Are you honestly crying over me, Bay?" She questions, referring to me by my nickname, while wiping tears from eyes as her own eyes become glassy.
"I'm gonna miss you," I admit.
"I'm gonna miss you too, kid, but you deserve to be with your family; you deserve to be happy."
I resist the urge to snort. I highly doubt I'm going to be happy living with my mother who I know doesn't like me. As if reading my mind, she leans down to whisper into my ear.
"I'm sure the ice queen will warm up to you eventually," She whispers with a wink.
I laugh and hug her again.
"Hurry up, Hailey. We have a schedule to stick to," Demi chimes.
I roll my eyes, wanting to turn around and flip her off.
"You know she's not going to stop calling you by your birth name anytime soon, right?" Barb teases with a smirk.
"Oh, I know," I growl.
She chuckles and smooths my hair.
"She does it because she loves you."
"No, she does it because she knows I hate it and that it agitates me," I grumble, causing Barb to laugh.
"I think I know where you get your sass from," She observes, eyeing Demi.
I smirk, knowing that Demi can be quite sassy when she wants to be. It's kind of hot from a Lovatic's perspective, but in the perspective of me being her daughter, it's highly annoying.
"Catch ya on the flip side, Barb," I dismiss with a smirk as Demi shoots me a look.
"Don't stress her poor soul out too much, Bay," Barb warns in a jokingly tone.
"What are you talking about? I'm such a sweet little angel," I innocently tell her.
She laughs, knowing better than to believe that one. With a final wave, I join Jordan and Demi as we bound the bus with Los Angeles in our sights.
ns 15.158.61.8da2
