"Can I have my phone back now?"
"Nope."
"Can I have my phone back now?"
"No, Bailey."
"Can I have my phone back now?"
"You're acting like a two year old," she sighs.
"Consider it a talent. Does that mean I can have my phone back now?"
"Keep it up and I'm going to throw it out the window."
"Maybe if you would just give it back..."
"Maybe if you weren't such a smart-ass..."
"That shit was funny, and you all know it."
"I still don't get why you played all of those songs," Jordan confusedly says.
"Thanks for sharing," I dryly shoot down her attempt at receiving answers.
"Bailey, be nice to your sister," Demi commands without much conviction.
"Does it feel weird saying that now?"
"I know it feels weird hearing it. But a good kind of weird," Jordan inputs.
"There's a good kind of weird?" I raise my eyebrows at her.
"To answer your question, Bailey: it does feel a little weird," Demi admits.
"Nick, you're awfully quiet," I observe after what seems like an hour long pause.
"Get used to it," both him and Demi tell in unison.
"That was just.....odd," I mutter.
Another seemingly drawn-out pause. What is it with these people and not talking? Is that normal? Am I the only one who can't tolerate sitting in silence?
"Can I have my phone back now?"
"Do you honestly want me to throw it out the window?"
"You'll just buy me a new one anyways; it's your money wasted," I shrug.
She furrows her eyebrows in confusion before rolling her eyes when she realizes that I'm right.
"I'm assuming your homeschooled brain finally caught up to the gist of things?" I tease.
"Hey! Nick was homeschooled, too!" She defends.
"Oh, I know."
"Wait, how do you know?" He inquires.
"Well, the most obvious reason is that you were acting and performing as a child when you should've been in school. The more not-so-obvious reason is the over decade old Keek or whatever that you two posted backstage either before or after one of the concerts for the 'Neon Lights Tour'," I respond, fuzzy with the details. "Do either of you even remember that video?"
They're quiet for a moment, probably wracking their brains for a memory. I glance over at Jordan to discover her asleep with her head pressed against the cold, water pelted glass. I silently wonder when it started raining and hope that it won't develop into a thunderstorm. I lean over, hovering my lips above Jordan's ear.
"Jordan?" I softly call out before poking her cheek when she doesn't respond.
Up close I can see all of her tiny, barely noticeable freckles. I poke her cheek again for good measure, feeling slightly envious at how smooth and soft her skin is, and, no, I don't mean that in a creepy way, you perverts. When she doesn't budge, I assume that she's asleep. Wow, she falls asleep quickly.
"I remember that video now!" Demi snaps her fingers. "After the concert I snuck onto your tour bus, and-,"
"Jordan may be asleep, but I'm still back here!" I shriek. "Just because I ship 'Nemi' doesn't mean I want mental images like your perverted fans," I shudder.
"You didn't even know what I was going to say, yet your mind heads straight for the gutters."
"What were you going to say, then?" I taunt.
"After the concert, I snuck onto Nick's bus, and we played chess," she surely states.
She's a damn good liar but chess? Seriously? She couldn't have came up with something better on the spot?
"They're calling it chess now?" I arch an eyebrow. "Demi, do you even know how to play chess? I mean, I bet you call the knight piece 'horsey'."
Even Nick snorts at my statement, obviously trying to stifle his amusement.
"Keep it up, Bailey, keep it up."
"Well, if you insist..."
"You're despicable."
"No, I'm Bailey, and you're Demi. Remember?"
I gaze out my window, observing the rain fall. I drag my fingertip against the fogged-up glass, creating random patterns and streaks.
"So, just for confirmation, you two did sleep together on tour, right?"
"How about we play a game called 'Bailey, be quiet until we reach Nick's house'?"
"Or we could play 'Demi, stop answering a question with another damn question'?"
"I prefer the former."
"Tough shit. Now, answer the question."
"I refuse to obey orders given by a fourteen year old."
"How do you know how old I am?'
She shoots me a deadpan look. I raise my hands in surrender.
"How was I supposed to know you actually acknowledge my birthday?"
"Well, I would think that me being your mother would be a huge hint."
"Yes, because you're such an over-achiever in the 'mom' category," I sarcastically shoot back.
"How many times do I have to say that I did what I thought was best at the time?"
"You can say it however many times you want, that doesn't mean I'm going to believe you."
"Since you seem to think you know everything, enlighten me on what you think I should've done."
"You could have given me to my dad."
She doesn't say anything.
"Or did he not want me either?"
"You have it all wrong, Bailey," she mumbles, shaking her head.
"Do I?" I shrill, not caring the slightest bit if I awake Jordan. "You won't even tell me who my own father is, Demi! Are you afraid that I'm going to try to contact him or something? I won't, okay? If you don't want me to contact him, I won't. All I want to know is his name; that's all I want," I rant, practically screaming at the top of my lungs.
Realizing that we're parked in Nick's driveway, I open my door and step out into the pouring rain. Slamming the door shut, I run to the front door of his house. My enraged and ashamed tears mingle with the falling precipitation, slightly blurring my vision. To my surprise, the door is unlocked. Not caring that I'm entering a house that isn't my own, I search each room until I find a bathroom. Locking the bathroom door behind me, I finally let my tears fall. Although I hate crying, when you bottle up your emotions for a long period of time, there comes a time when you just explode. Imagine shaking up a bottle or a can of soda, then opening the container. As a result, the soda sprays everywhere. That's kind of how I feel right now. As strangled sobs burn and rip their way past my lips, I scour the cabinets for anything that I can use to inflict pain on myself. I curse myself for being stupid enough to let Demi obtain my blade as I find a box of razor blade refills crammed in the back of one of the drawars. My skin is crawling with a strong urge to cut. The urge is so strong that I'm even considering slicing my wrists, but I know that I'd regret doing so. I'm stripping down to nothing but my undergarments when I hear a door shut. Are they just now coming inside? Shaking my head, I trail the blade along my skin, enjoying the shiver of pleasure that shoots up my spine.
"Bailey?" Demi calls out to me.
Biting my lower lip, I push the blade deep into my thigh and forcibly drag it across my flesh. The relief washes over me instantly, drowning my fury.
"Bailey?" She repeats.
Sighing, I resist the urge to cut until I preferibly bleed out. Instead, I wash off the blade and return it to the box. I hold a wad of toilet paper against the cut as I search for any kind of bandages or medical gauze. I manage to find a roll of gauze and tape. Why the hell does Nick keep this stuff in his bathroom? Shaking my head, I toss the toilet paper into the toilet and quickly tape some of the gauze over the cut. I flush the toilet and turn on the sink faucet as I return everything to its rightful place and double check to make sure that no blood has dripped onto the floor. After shutting the water off, I exit the bathroom and return downstairs.
"I was in the bathroom," I grumble to Demi, still slightly pissed at her for no good reason.
"Look, Bailey, I'm-,"
"Sorry, I get it," I roll my eyes. "Can I just go to sleep?"
"It's still kind of early."
"And I'm still kind of tired," I snap. "What's your point?"
She sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose, as if trying to make me vanish or something. Good luck with that, bitch. You're stuck with me now.
"C'mon, I'll take you to one of the guest bedrooms."
"Where'd Nick and Jordan go?" I wonder, following behind her.
"Nick took Jordan to one of the other guest bedrooms."
"You seem to know your way around here pretty well," I observe.
She doesn't comment as we reach a closed door.
"Nick and I'll be downstairs if you need us, okay?"
"I highly doubt I'll need either of you," I snort.
"You'd be surprised, Bailey. Oh, and here's your bag," she hands me the purse that I packed earlier.
How did I not see her holding that? I'm so not observant.
"Technically speaking, it's your bag with some of my shit inside."
She rolls her eyes, not even bothering to scold me on my cursing.
"Goodnight, Bailey," she mumbles before turning on her heel and heading back downstairs.
I enter the room with a sigh, suddenly feeling abnormally tired for this time of night. I guess the day has been pretty eventful, though. Wait, scratch that because 'eventful' is an understatement. 'Eventful' is when you go to a sports game or get pulled over by a police officer and receive a speeding ticket, not having a beer bottle thrown at you and witnessing the aftermath of your mom getting shoved around by her jackass of a husband. I quickly change into my pajamas and collapse onto the huge bed, letting my heavy lidded eyes surrender to sleep.
Do you know when you begin to wake up from a deep sleep, and you're slightly aware of your surroundings yet you're also simultaneously still in your own little world of dreams? If not, then I'm probably sounding like somebody who's as high as a fucking kite or something. Anyways, that's the state of slumber that I'm in when I hear a loud clap of thunder boom. Astraphobia is the fear of thunder. Although I like to imagine myself as the badass who isn't afraid of anything, thunder scares the shit out of me. People who are perky 24/7, especially before the sun has even risen, both scare and annoy the shit out of me, but that's a different story for a different time. As another clap of thunder booms, I struggle desperately to pry my eyes open but to no avail. My breathing quickens as do my heartbeats.
I was maybe nine at the time. My adoptive parents had left me home alone to attend some important dinner or something. Heavy rain pelted the roof of the house, causing a patch in the ceiling of my room to leak. I trudged through the freezing cold rain and muddy ground out back to reach the shed. The shed door was heavy with a squeaky hinge, and the white paint was peeling away in curling strips, but I managed to open the door and prop it open with a fold-out, metal chair. I grabbed a large bucket, exited the shed, and kicked the chair away, causing the door to loudly slam shut. Startled by the loud noise, I stumbled backwards. My feet pretzeled underneath me. Instictivly my hands reached out to get a grip on anything to help me balance myself. Instead, my right arm clipped the edge of the shed, the splintered, wood shards digging into my skin and tearing up my flesh. I landed in a puddle of mud. Lightning lit up the sky as a shiver ran throughout my body. Gritting my teeth, I forced myself onto my feet. My ankle throbbed painfully, and I assumed that I had sprained it. Carrying the bucket by the handle with both hands, I dragged myself through even more mud and rain while continuing to shiver. Thunder boomed from above, causing me to jump. When back inside the house, I placed the bucket underneath the leaking patch in my ceiling. Peeling away my soaked and mud covered tee-shirt from my stomach, I wrinkled my nose in disgust and decided to take a bubble bath. I entered the bathroom and stripped out of all of my filthy clothes. I took a very quick shower first to rinse away all of the mud from my hair and body. The water stung when coming in contact with my newly scratched arm, but I found myself slightly enjoying the pain. After clensing my body of all of the mud, I ran the water for a bath and filled the tub to the rim with strawberry scented bubbles. As I lowered my defrosting and aching body into the water, I sighed in contentment. I leaned my head back against the edge of the tub, my neck greeting the chilled porcelin and causing goosebumps to arise along my skin, despite the steaming water. Suddenly, the room was submerged into complete darkness. I abrubtly sat up, causing bubbles and water to splash everywhere, including onto the tiled floor. The only sounds that I heard were the water running from the tub faucet, the rain continuing to heavily pelt the roof, and the occasionally clap of thunder. I was about to shut the faucet off when a brute force clung to my face. A muffled scream slipped past my lips before what felt like a hand shoved my head back. The water covered my face as my skull cracked against the bottom of the tub. I thrashed wildly, ignoring the waves of dizziness that accompanied my pounding head. My lungs screamed for oxygen that I couldn't provide. Upon realization that I wouldn't be able to strike my attacker, I opened my mouth and bit down on the person's palm. The person released me, allowing me enough time to surface. Choking and spluttering on the water that flooded my mouth, I struggled to rise to my feet in the darkness. The person gripped a handful of my hair. I yelped as I was yanked out of the water and placed on my feet. Before I could put up a fight, the person punched the back of my knees, causing them to buckle and allowing me to be picked up bridal style. I could smell the heavy, suffocating stench of a man's cologne and aftershave. A new wave of fear coursed through my veins. My heart pounded painfully against my ribcage as my whole body tremebled with fear. As he walked, I quickly discovered that the entire house lost power, for I couldn't see anything. He dropped me onto a soft surface. I could tell it was my bed by my fluffy pillow and my hand-me-down stuffed dog that had matted fur and only one beady eye.
"Please-please don't hurt me," I stuttered pathetically.
I heard the clattering sound of a belt hitting the wood floor. I tried to scramble off of the bed, but he easily was able to catch both of my wrists in one hand, pinning them above my head. He placed one knee on each side of me, straddling my tiny body but hovering above me. Tears freely flowed down my cheeks as he placed a roughly callused finger against my lips, silently telling me to be quiet. I obliged, mostly because I wasn't asking for an early death sentence, no matter how shitty my life was.
Suddenly, a beautiful, melodic voice breaks through my flashback, causing the vivid scenes to scatter. My demons scramble to put the pieces of my flashbacks back together, wanting to torture me more. Although I can't make out the words being sung, I cling to the voice for dear life as I'm forced to relive snippets and pieces of one of the worst moments in my life.
I tried focusing on the sounds of the storm raging outside instead of the scorching pain between my legs and his sick, pleasured grunts. Although the pain was immense, I didn't dare let myself scream; however, I did allow myself to silently bawl. With each long clap of thunder, he released a throaty moan whereas I released a hopeless, pathetic sob.
That melodic voice turns to two, one a female's and one a male's. I recognize the voices singing, but I can't place them partly due to the fact that I can't make out the words and partly because my demons, my flashbacks, won't allow me to.
"I had fun, Hailey," he whispered in my ear when he was finished, tracing my jaw-line with a calloused finger.
I recognized his voice.
~
~
~Demi's POV~
~
~
"I know you have a lot on your mind," I state to Nick in a factual tone, breaking the uncomfortable silence that we were previously sitting in.
"And you don't?" He snorts.
I steal a glance at him from the corner of my eye. He's bouncing his leg, a nervous habit. I hesitantly reach for his hand that rests upon his bouncing knne, intertwining my fingers with his.
"What're you thinking about?" I wonder.
"What am I not thinking about?" He retorts.
"Like father, like daughter," I mutter.
"No," he shakes his head. "Definitely more like mother, like daughter."
"How so?" I arch an eyebrow.
"You're both sarcastic."
"I am not sarcastic!"
He shoots me a deadpan look. I roll my eyes.
"I'm not that sarcastic."
"You're both persistent, especially when it comes to getting your way."
"I do not get my way."
"Why do you think that?"
I sigh.
"If I was prone to getting my way," my gaze flickers to the floor. "I'd have ended up with you a long time ago," I quietly admit, blood rushing to my cheeks.
"Technically speaking..."
"Technically speaking, we fucked," I roll my eyes again. "But I always wanted something more, a realtionship, yet I was too stupid to realize it until it was too late."
He stares at me with a blank expression. I nervously fiddle with my thumbs, wishing that I had just kep my mouth shut.
"Such vulgar words shouldn't come out of such a pretty little mouth."
I smirk, feeling slightly relieved.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fu,-" I'm cut off by his hand covering my mouth.
I playfully glare at him. He returns the smirk. I lick his palm, catching him off guard.
"Classy, Demi," he smiles, shaking his head.
"You should know by now that classy and I really don't go together."
He smiles in amusement, but that smile soon turns into a frown. He carefully traces my bottom, split lip with the tips of his fingers. He then does the same to my bruised eye.
"Do either hurt?"
I shake my head, lying.
"You're lying," he states
"Just a little," I confess.
"I'll get you some ice," he proceeds to stand up, but I grip his bicep, halting him.
"I don't need any ice."
"Dems,-"
"No, just-just kiss away the pain."
Damn. When the hell did I start sounding so clingy and desperate? I blame it all on Nick.
He leans in apprehensively. As cliché as it sounds, I feel complete when his lips touch mine. He's my drug; he's certainly a hell of a lot better than any drug I have ever done. The high that I would achieve before treatment is nothing compared to the high that I feel just from kissing him. He breaks the kiss, but keeps his lips in contact with mine.
"I can be your hero, baby," he murmurs against my lips. "I can kiss away the pain," he kisses me slowly, passionately. "I will stand by you forever," he intertwines my fingers with his. "You can take my breath away."
He pecks my lips a final time before releasing me, yet still keeping our fingers tangled.
"I think you just beat Enrique Iglesias at his own game," I chuckle.
"Why did you change her name?" He suddenly blurts out.
"What?"
"Bailey. Why'd you change her name?"
"She changed it."
"Why?"
I shrug.
"She said that she wanted nothing to do with me, so she changed it," I solemnly explain.
"What about her middle name?"
I laugh softly.
"She kept it."
He grins as if he just won the lottery or something. He's the one who picked her middle name: Ariana.
"She loves me more," he teases.
"Well, you are her favorite 'Jo Bro'," I snicker as he groans.
"How the hell does she even know about the band?"
"Well, Nick, there's this magical, far away land called the internet, and,-"
"Way to prove my points of like mother, like daughter, and you're both sarcastic."
I'm about to retort when I hear fearful, stomach churning wails.
"Bailey," I mumble, jumping to my feet and sprinting upstairs with Nick behind me.
Flinging the bedroom door open, I find her sitting up with eyes squeezed tightly shut and a pillow clutched against her chest. As another clap of thunder booms outside, she whimpers and presses her face into the pillow. She's shaking like a fucking Chihuahua and tears are flowing down her cheeks like waterfalls. She must be suffering through one hell of a nightmare. I carefully climb onto the bed as Nick does the same but to the opposite side of her.
"Bay?" I shake her, but she doesn't respond.
Another round of thunder hits, causing her to emit a quiet scream.
"What do I do?" I cry, yearning to relieve my baby of her pain.
"Do what you do best," Nick suggests. "Singing," he adds upon noticing my bewildered expression.
Nodding my head, I quickly choose the chorus of a song.
"Settle down, it'll all be clear.374Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCW66xJI9HY
Don't pay no mind to the demons; they fill you with fear. The trouble, it might drag you down. If you get lost, you can always be found. Just know you're not alone 'cause I'm going to make this place your home," I sing desperately, trying to calm Bailey down.
Her whimpering quiets and her grip lacks on the pillow, but her eyes do not open.
"Sing another song," Nick tells me.
"Help, I have done it again.
I have been here many times before,
hurt myself again today, and the worst part is there's no one else to blame."
"Be my friend, hold me, wrap me up, unfold me. I am small and needy, warm me up and breathe me," Nick and I harmonize.
"Ouch, I have lost myself again, lost myself and I am nowhere to be found.374Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡVobyKhHiWL
Yeah, I think that I might break. I've lost myself again, and I feel unsafe," I sing.
We repeat the chorus two more times. Although she's still visibly rattled, the worst of her nightmare seems to be over with. I lay between her and the wall as Nick lays on the other side of her.
"Mommy?" She whimpers with eyes still closed.
My breathing hitches in shock.
"Mommy, please don't let him hurt me," she begs.
I run my fingers through her hair.
"I promise I'll never let anyone hurt you ever again," I whisper into her ear, not caring if she's even awake to hear me or not, before kissing her cheek.
My blood boils just at the thought of someone hurting her. Is that what her nightmare was about? Someone hurt her? If so, who and why? As if sensing my rage, Nick once again intertwines my fingers with his, which instantly relaxes me.
"We won't let anyone hurt her or Jordan," he seriously states.
"Never," I agree, even though I'm the cause for most, if not all, of their pain.
ns 15.158.61.6da2
