~Bailey's POV~
Ever since Jordan, Demi, and I went shopping at the mall a couple of days ago, the air has always seemed tense and awkward. I'm not too sure why, though. Maybe it's just me and my fucked up mind thinking like that. Today's Saturday, and I'm currently sitting at the dining room table with Jordan and Demi, shoveling around the scrambled eggs on my plate with no appetite whatsoever. I haven't seen Wilmer much since my unexpected arrival, but I have a feeling that it's normal for him to disappear for days at a time.
"You need to eat, Bailey," Demi quietly commands.
Although our relationship still is pretty rocky, she's been addressing me by 'Bailey' a lot more often now. I'm glad because I've always hated having the name 'Hailey'; it's just way too girly of a name for my taste.
"I'm not hungry."
All goes quiet except for the slight scraping of fork tines against glass plates.
"Um, how would you two like to visit some people today?" Demi wonders, sounding quite nervous.
"Who?" Jordan inquires.
"Just some old friends of mine," She replies with a grimace.
"Doesn't seem like you're too fond of visiting them," I observe.
"I'm not," She sighs.
"Then, why are you even contemplating it?" Jordan questions.
Demi chews on her bottom lip, but I don't know if it's because she's nervous or if she's thinking, possibly both. My phone suddenly chimes, causing me to jump at the startling loud noise. I remove my phone from my pocket, powering it up. I realize that it's a Twitter notification for my personal account. I frown while tapping the notification. I never get notifications for my personal Twitter account because I have zero friends, and there is no reason for anybody to follow me because I never tweet or anything. I'm very popular on my secret, 'Lovatic' account, however. My eyes widen when I notice that my personal account has gained tons of follows. Curious, I scroll through my mentions and furrow my eyebrows in confusion when I realize that all of my new followers are fellow 'Lovatics'. I click on a link in one of the mentions. It takes me to one of those annoying, paparazzi, blog sites. I skim through the article, emitting a gasp.
"What's wrong?" Demi and Jordan question in unison.
I arch an eyebrow at them before shaking my head.
"Look," I order Demi, thrusting my phone towards her.
She removes it from my grasp, her jaw dropping moments later.
"Shit! Shit! Shit! This is not good!"
I would laugh at her reaction if it weren't also my own. Handing me back my phone, she starts tapping away on her own. She raises in to her ear with a very pissed off expression.
"Why the hell is my daughter's face plastered on blog sites?" She yells.
I wince, pitying whomever is on the other side of the call.
"Well, fix it!"
Oh how much I wish I could hear the other side of the conversation. Demi runs a distressed hand through her dark, brown hair.
"Fine! Okay, I'll ask her," she says, her tone softer as she glances at me with worried eyes.
My curiosity is peaking.
"Bye," She huffs, quickly ending the call.
Then, to my surprise, she picks up her fork and continues eating like nothing happened. I clear my throat. She doesn't look up from her plate.
"What was that all about?" I question, knowing it involved me.
"Oh, nothing," Demi reassures in a way too chirper tone.
I glare at her.
"It's just that mymanagerwantsmetotelltheworldaboutyou," She says in a rush.
I widen my eyes, surprised that she can even talk that fast.
"Okay....let's try that again but slower this time," I tell her in a tone that is used on toddlers.
She rolls her eyes.
"My manager," She says deliberately too slow. "wants-"
"Cut the crap, Demi, and just spit it out!"
"My manager wants me to tell the world about you."
There's an awkward pause. I honestly don't know what to say or even think. I mean, I knew it was bound to happen sometime, especially since Demi is kind of one of those high profile celebrities. Plus, baby drama is always scandalous.....even though I'm a teenager. Do I want the world to know about me? Do I even care?
"See? Now was that so bad?" Jordan sarcastically questions Demi.
Jordan earns a glare as a response. Again, I would laugh, but I'm too taken aback by Demi's announcement.
"I, personally, don't think it's that big of a deal," I hesitantly inform, nervous of Demi's reaction.
"Really?"
I nod.
"But are you okay with how the media and the public is going to react?" I inquire.
She pauses and takes a deep breath before slowly replying.
"No matter what I do or say, it's not going to change how and what the media and the public think. As long as my 'Lovatics', friends, and family continue to support me, than I'm good. Will you be okay with the media and the public?"
I nod, even though I'm not too sure of my answer. I'm just nervous about all of the hate I'm going to receive. Will I be able to handle it?
"Well, in that case, how would you feel about doing a live, video chat or something on Twitter?"
"I guess," I shrug, not really caring how she informs the world but more worried about the reactions of people.
"Thanks for the input," she sarcastically thanks.
"Why yes, Demi, I would just fancy doing a live, video chat to all of your millions of followers!" I try with a beam, my tone way too perky to be genuine.
"I hope you know that your sarcasm isn't appreciated."
"I hope you know that I don't care."
I ignore her irritated glare, spearing a sausage link with my fork.
"If we do a live, video chat, the media will be on it faster than bees on honey."
"Ooh, are we going all Hannah Montana up in this shit?" I smirk.
She rolls her eyes but doesn't bother scolding me.
"Which means," she continues, "that we're probably going to have to be on some talk show within the next week or so. Are you two okay with that?"
"I'm used to it," Jordan reassures, finishing the final bites of her food.
"I'm down," I answer.
Demi raises a perfect eyebrow, giving me a pointed look.
"What did I say now?"
To no surprise, I get no response. I groan in annoyance.
"I'm okay with that," I roll my eyes.
"Good because you don't have much of a choice. What about Ellen?"
"Why her show?"
"She's not rude, and she doesn't judge like a lot of other talk show hosts," Demi explains with a shrug.
"Yeah, okay, I'd love to," I answer with a grin.
"Great," Demi smiles. "Now, as for meeting my friends today-"
"Who are we seeing?" I interrupt.
Demi clucks her tongue, avoiding my gaze. I raise an eyebrow, wracking my brain for ideas about who we're meeting. I then gasp.
"Wait, does it have to do with Kevin Jonas?" I excitedly grin.
She stays silent.
"Oh my gosh, it does doesn't it?" I loudly question.
Demi nods, biting her lip to suppress a smile. I can't help but squeal.
"Somebody's a fan girl," Demi laughs.
"Well, duh! It's Kevin, Joe, and Nick fucking Jonas!" I continue to squeal, ignoring Demi's slight glare for my use of colorful language.
"Isn't there another one?" Jordan questions.
"Yeah, Frankie, but nobody gives a shit about him," I answer.
Jordan's jaw drops, the corners of her mouth turning upwards. Demi clamps a hand over her mouth, but I can tell that she's resisting a laugh.
"Wait, but, how do you know enough about them to be a fan girl or whatever?" Jordan questions. "They broke up a long time ago,"
"Yeah, they broke up before I was even born, but with all of the research that I've had to do on the Queen over here,-" I shoot Demi a look, "I learned a lot about the Jo Bros," I explain.
"The Jo Bros?" Demi snickers.
I swallow a mouthful of eggs while shooting her a glare.
"Shut up."
She jokingly holds her hands up in surrender. I shake my head at her.
"Which one is your favorite?" Jordan wonders, sipping from her glass of orange juice.
"Nick."
"Why?"
"I honestly don't know," I respond thoughtfully with a shrug. "No offense Demi, but Joe's kind of a douche."
"No offense taken," She assures, her nose crinkled in distaste.
I chuckle at her expression
"And Kevin's just......Kevin. I don't know. Nick just seems more genuine than his older brothers. Plus, I totally ship 'Nemi'."
"What's 'Nemi'?" Jordan wonders.
I dramatically gasp with a horrified expression.
"I'm kind of wondering the same thing," Demi pipes up.
I gasp louder this time, dramatically clutching at my heart. Demi raises her eyebrows in silent questioning.
"It's you and Nick's ship name," I smirk in a 'duh' tone.
"Why do we have a ship name?"
I tip my head back to face the ceiling.
"God, please help these oblivious celebrities in our world," I mutter, resisting a laugh.
Demi smacks my arm.
"I'm serious!"
"Well, there may or may not have been rumors."
"What kind of rumors?"
"Oh, nothing really. Just that you two might have possibly hooked up during the 'Neon Lights Tour' back some, oh I don't know, fourteen or fifteen years ago," I nonchalantly reply.
"I can assure you that that rumor is false."
"Quick to reply, aren't we?" I tease.
"Quick to assume that I'm a cheater, aren't we?" Demi mocks.
"Cheater?" I repeat in confusion.
"Let me guess, you totally skipped over everything during that time period of my life that didn't include Nick Jonas and me, am I right?"
"No," I scoff. "I skipped over everything during that time period of your life that didn't include Nick Jonas, you, Joe Jonas, and Kevin Jonas. Don't be so egotistical, Demi," I tease with an eye roll.
"Mom was dating my dad at the time," Jordan helpfully supplies before Demi can retort.
"Damn," I whistle. "You two been together that long?" I joke.
"I am not having this discussion with you," Demi deadpans.
I feign a pout.
"Hurry up and finish eating, so you can get ready, and we can leave."
"Fine," I grumble, stabbing another sausage link. "But don't say I never tried to talk to you."
I can hear Demi mumble something along the lines of 'for God's sake', and I have to bite my lip to keep from laughing.
"Since I'm finished, I'm going to go get ready," Jordan informs, setting her dishes in the dishwasher and heading upstairs.
"I'm done, too," I announce, rising to my feet.
Demi glances at my less than half eaten plate with raised eyebrows.
"What? I wasn't that hungry," I truthfully defend, before scraping my food down the garbage disposal and setting my dishes in the dishwasher.
"You'll be eating a large lunch," Demi chimes.
"Whatever," I mutter, walking past her and towards the stairs.
To avoid suspicion and being overheard by Jordan, I purge in one of the bathrooms in one of the guest bedrooms before entering my own room. I hear the water turn on in the shower as I'm rummaging through my closet for something to wear. I finally decide on an outfit when I hear Jordan's bathroom door opening and closing, signaling that she's now in her room. I take a quick shower, resisting the pleads of my demons. After drying my body and hair with a towel, I cake makeup onto my scars and cuts that aren't concealed by my undergarments. I'd rather be safe than sorry. After that, I slip my feet and calves into a pair of long, black socks that go up to my kneecaps. I slide into a black, leather skirt and a black and white, striped, long-sleeve shirt. I lace up a pair of black combat boots and finish the outfit off with a red scarf that adds a pop of color. I slightly curl my brown hair and apply light, natural looking makeup. With a shy, satisfied smile towards my reflection, I exit the bathroom. I scour through my closet for my black, leather jacket, shimmying into it as I hear footsteps behind me.
"Ready?" Jordan questions.
I gently untuck my hair from the collar of my jacket, whirling around to find Jordan dressed more casually than me.
"Why are you all dressed up?"
"Because I'm meeting the Jonas Brothers, duh!"
She rolls her eyes.
"That's the thing," Demi's voice from the doorway startles me. "You're meeting a couple of guys who share the same DNA and a last name, not the Queen of England."
"The Queen isn't shit compared to those guys."
Demi opens her mouth, probably to scold me for my cursing, but I cut her off.
"And do I sense a twinge of hostility or bitterness? Maybe both?" I sing, resisting a laugh as she glares.
"I'm not bitter."
"Denial!" I smirk.
She rolls her eyes, turning on her heel. Jordan and I follow her downstairs.
"You can't say that you're not bitter and expect me to believe that."
"Actually, I do," Demi says, grabbing her purse off of the kitchen counter. "Because I have no reason to be bitter," She adds, leading us to the front door.
"You dated one of them, and he dumped you-"
"Have you ever heard of something called moving on? That was, like, seventeen or eighteen years ago."
"There's a song called 'Moving On'? I don't think I've heard it," I say in a sarcastic yet innocent tone.
I run to the passenger side door of the car before Jordan can even think about protesting. I yank on the handle, only to be rewarded with a loud, screeching alarm and the harsh blinking of the headlights.
"Demi!" I yell, my heart hammering against my ribs.
Her loud, infectious laughter makes me want to punch her right now.
"You can never be too careful!" She chuckles, pressing a button on her keychain to cease the loud sound and blinking light.
"Your driveway is, like, a mile long. I doubt any car jacker is going to walk it, just to try to steal a car. You know, unless it's one of my fellow 'Lovatics'," I tell her, grumbling the last sentence, before cautiously opening the door and claiming the passenger seat. "So, back to what I was saying before your demon car sprung to life, you also might've possibly slept with Nick Jonas on tour."
"Think about that for one minute, miss thinks she knows it all. Hypothetically speaking, if that did happen, why would I be bitter over it?" Demi inquires, pulling out of the driveway.
I shrug.
"Hell if I know. Maybe he wasn't that good in bed?" I suggest.
"I so should've brought my iPod," Jordan groans.
I weakly chuckle under my breath, pitying her for her innocence that is gradually be corrupted by me, and not in that way, you sick perverted people.
"I mean, you can't tell me that you guys shared a tour bus for so many months and never slept together," I state.
I hear a thumping noise from behind me. I crane my neck around to find Jordan gently beating the side of her head against the glass window. I can't help but laugh.
"You find this funny, don't you?" She accuses, continuing to beat her head upside the glass.
"Very much so," I chuckle.
"I. Hate. You," She mutters, accenting each word with another thump.
With an annoyed sounding sigh, Demi turns up the volume on the radio. I shake my head, staring out the window while mouthing the lyrics to song after song. After a while, I skim through the radio stations, pausing on each one to see if I know the song currently playing.
"We're almost there," Demi informs "Why do you choose now to change the station?"
I ignore her, continuing to click through the stations. I grin mischievously as a familiar rock bass pounds through the speakers.
"Oh hell no. You are not listening to this song," Demi sternly states.
"Chill, princess, I've got this song memorized," I smirk as her jaw drops. "You're beside me on the seat, got your hand-Hey!" I exclaim when Demi presses a button on the radio to mute the audio.
"It worries me that you've got that song memorized."
"And I know it what it means," I wink, knowing that doing so will infuriate her, before reaching and pressing the same button that she pressed.
"We were headed south. I guess nobody ever taught her not to-"
I groan in annoyance when Demi mutes the radio again.
"Really?"
"Yes, really!"
I roll my eyes, deciding to just finish singing the song a capella style.
"We were headed south. I guess nobody ever taught her not to speak with a full mouth."
"Bailey!" Demi scolds.
"'Cause this was it, like flicking on a switch. It felt so good; I almost ran into the ditch."
"We're here," Demi grumbles.
With a grin, I press the button and turn the volume up incredibly loud. I get out of the car while playing the air guitar.
" We were parked out by the tracks, we're sitting in the back
And we just started getting busy when she whispered, 'What was that?'
'The wind, I think, cause no one else knows where we are.'
And that was when she started screaming, 'That's my dad outside the car!'
Oh please, the keys, they're not in the ignition
Must have wound up on the floor while we were switching our positions
I guess they knew that she was missing
As I tried to tell her dad it was her mouth that I was kissing."
The music stops, so I'm assuming Demi turned the car off.
"I recorded your solo," Jordan smiles, waving her phone.
I chuckle, not really caring, as long as it doesn't end up on the internet. I look at the massive house in front of me, just now noticing the small crowd of three men that have gathered on the porch. Was I really that loud?
"Great first impression, Bailey," Demi sarcastically says as we walk through the grass.
"At least now they know what they're getting, take it or leave it."
"Demi, I honestly didn't think you'd show," Kevin muses as we reach the porch.
"Well, I haven't seen you all in forever, so I figured why not."
I guess I know where I get my epic lying skills from. There's am awkward pause. Nobody knows what to say. I hate awkward pauses.
"If somebody doesn't start talking, I'm going to bust out into a random, inappropriate song," I warn.
"Guys, this is Bailey, and I think you all met Jordan when she was a baby," Demi introduces.
"You killed my vibe!" I feign a immature, whiny tone.
"What vibe?" Jordan snickers.
I elbow her as the guys lead us inside. I raise my eyebrows in awe of the place.
"Demi!" A dark haired woman squeals.
"Dani!" Demi grins, engulfing the woman, Kevin's wife, I think, in a hug.
"How have you been?" Dani wonders.
"Good, you?"
"Busy."
I softly snort. Demi rolls her eyes.
"You'll have to excuse Bailey. Her head is always in the gutter."
"Most moms would be worried," I say.
"One: I'm not most moms. Two: Should I be worried?"
"No."
"Well, okay, then."
"Most moms don't trust their kids so easily," I point out, slightly perplexed.
"She's not most moms," Jordan chimes in.
"And those moms usually have a reason as to why they don't trust their kids so easily," Demi informs.
"And you don't?" I arch an eyebrow.
"Nope," She replies, shaking her head. "Well, at least, not yet."
I roll my eyes, but, on the inside, I'm feeling happy and loved and just a bunch of other sappy emotions that I've never felt before. She trusts me. Someone actually trusts me. My mom trusts me. We all gather in the living room. Jordan and Demi share a large, plush looking chair. Dani cuddles into Kevin's side on the couch. Nick claims a recliner across from Demi and Jordan. Joe perches himself on the couch arm separate Kevin and Dani, leaving me to stand, shifting my feet uncomfortably as my gaze lowers to the floor.
"Bay," Demi calls.
I raise my bowed head to find her patting the arm of the chair. I gratefully take the seat, not wanting to be the center of attention or the oddball left standing. The red colored chair is plush underneath my fingertips. It's relaxing.
"So, Bailey, how did you become a part of Demi's family?" Joe questions.
I sink my teeth into my lower lip, looking at Demi nervously through my peripheral vision. She intertwines her fingers with mine, kneading circles into my skin. Taking that as a sign to proceed with the truth, I take a deep breath and close my eyes, hating eye contact.
"She adopted me after giving me up," I respond.
I hate all of the sentimental, life-story bullshit, so I prefer to go with the method that's like ripping a band-aid off: quick, easy, and only slightly painful. There's another pause. I slowly flutter my eyes open. With no explanation, Nick rises to his feet and heads upstairs.
"Your bathroom's upstairs, right?" Demi questions moments after his departure.
Dani nods. Demi let's go of my hand, flashes me a small smile, and goes upstairs. When nobody decides to start talking, I shift my gaze around the room, looking for something to help me spark up a conversation. My gaze drifts outside.
"You have a pool?" I idiotically question, staring at huge pool.
"Yep," Kevin replies, popping the "P". "Wanna go swimming?"
"Really?"
He nods.
"I don't have a swimsuit."
"You and Jordan can use some of Alena's."
"Your daughter?"
He nods again.
"She's slightly older than the both of you, but I'm sure the suits will still fit. And she's out with some friends, but I'm sure she won't mind."
Dani leads us to her daughter's room upstairs. I still haven't spotted Demi or Nick anywhere. Dani leaves Jordan and I to get ready. Alena's room has dark pink walls with black curtains and stuff accenting them. By all of the photos, I say she has a lot of friends. To my surprise, though, bands such as Black Veil Brides and Blood on the Dance Floor catch my eye. At least the girl has good taste in music. Jordan and I rummage through the drawer that Dani pointed out to us earlier. Jordan finds something and locks herself in the bathroom to change. I continue to rummage through the drawer, not finding anything in a small enough size. And no, I'm not calling the girl fat, quite the opposite actually. From the size of her swimsuits, I'd assume that she's a healthy weight with curves that most girls her age would kill for. I finally decide to just wear the smallest swimsuit I can find. It's a two piece, but it looks like shorts and a tank top. The shorts are brown and the tank top is pink, not exactly my top choice of colors, but it's not like I have much of a choice. I then find white swim shorts that have a drawstring so I can tighten them. Jordan exits the bathroom wearing an orange two piece, but the top piece cascades down her flat stomach in slight ruffles.
"You look really pretty," I compliment.
"Thanks," She shyly smiles, yanking her hair back into a high ponytail.
I lock Alena's bedroom door after Jordan leaves. I quickly change into the tank top and shorts, my hands drifting across my fat abdomen and thunder thighs. I pinch my fatty flesh, regretting my decision to go swimming and wishing that I looked like Jordan. I toss the white shorts onto the girl's bed and enter her bathroom. My eyes wander around the room, searching for anything that can be used to inflict pain. I don't want to break one of her razors and risk suspicion. I can't find any tweezers or nail clippers either. Damn. My eyes scope out the sink area, zoning on a tube of toothpaste. I scoop the tube up, tossing it back and forth between my palms. I run my fingertip across the bottom edge of the tube. Desperate times cause for desperate measures, right? I lift up the hem of my tank top and place the bottom edge of the tube against my flesh. I then forcibly drag it across my abdomen, relishing in the slight pain and increasing the pressure. I repeat the process several more times before placing the toothpaste back where I found it. I admire the inflamed, scratch like cuts on my skin with a newfound curiosity. Never in my life would I imagine using a toothpaste tube to self-harm. The dull ache sends a wave of tranquility coursing through my veins. Touching the scratches only intensifies the aching feeling. I make several more scratches before exiting the bathroom, double checking to make sure that everything is as it should be. I slide into the white shorts, tugging the drawstring as tight as it'll go, and exit the bedroom. I hear laughter and excited squeals coming from outside. I'm about to head out when a sudden noise stops me. I listen intensely, thinking maybe I'll hear it again. No such luck. It sounded like a piano key being pressed. I slowly walk through the corridor, knowing that I really shouldn't be snooping through a house that isn't my own. I reach the end of the hallway, only to find a closed door. I bite my lower lip, debating on whether or not I should open the door. Deciding that I really don't have much to loose, I cautiously turn the knob, pushing the door open. The light from behind me spills into the room, illuminating the darkness from the closed curtains. An astonished gasp slips past my lips as I take in the sight in front of me, wishing that my own stupid curiosity hadn't gotten the best of me.
ns 15.158.61.50da2
