My goal of sleeping myself into oblivion proves futile. I'd consider it nothing more than a cat nap. Heaving a sigh, I sit up and remove my earbuds. My stomach grumbles, and I frown upon realizing that I'm going to have to walk downstairs to get food.
I honestly think I'd rather chop off one of my own limbs and eat it raw than go downstairs.
My stomach grumbles again.
Gouge out my own eyeballs with ice-cream scoops?
I soon get that annoying nauseous feeling in the pit of my stomach, reminding me that I'm hungry, as if I didn't know that already.
Oh, fuck it.
I trudge downstairs, and instantly everyone looks at me.
"Plot twist: I'm Beyoncé in disguise," I roll my eyes.
"Nick and I want to talk to you, Bailey," Demi informs.
"I'm hungry."
"Dinner's almost ready. I'm sure you can spare two minutes out of your busy schedule," she sarcastically retorts.
"Fine," I huff, knowing that she's not going to drop the subject.
Might as well get it over with, right? Like getting a shot or ripping off a band-aid.
Back in my room, Nick and Demi stand while I sit on my bed, awkwardly toying with my fingers.
"Why did you freak out, baby-girl?"
"You consider that freaking out?" I snort, looking at her. "I just don't want to call you 'mom', okay?" She winces at my harsh tone, causing me to feel guilty, yet I continue. "And if you think that I'm going to voluntarily open up to you and allow myself to be vulnerable, you're wrong."
There's a pregnant pause, so tension-filled and quiet that it makes me want to scream.
She nods slowly, appearing as if she's on the verge of tears.
"I'm sorry-"
"Never be ashamed of what you feel, Bailey. Never apologize for conveying your emotions. You have the right to feel any emotion that you want. There's something else that I want to talk to you about, though."
"What is it?"
She sighs and sits beside me.
"Have you noticed anything....off about Jordan lately?"
"Um, no," I furrow my eyebrows. "Why?"
"You know what self-harming is, right?"
"It doesn't take a genius to break the word down," I say, then realization suddenly hits me. "You think that Jordan harms herself?"
"I found a blade in her trashcan," she brushes away a few tears that managed to fall.
What have I done?
"I can talk to her," I offer, trying to refrain from pleading. "See if she'll open up to me."
"She probably will open up to you more," she mumbles. "You'll tell me what she says, right?"
"Of course," I nod, lying through my teeth. "I'll try to convince her to talk to you."
~
"Okay, who cooked dinner?" I shift my gaze around the table. "It sure as hell wasn't Demi because the food doesn't taste burnt."
"Was that really necessary?"
I nod while grinning.
"You still can't cook, Dems?" Dallas snickers as Demi rolls her eyes.
"My cooking isn't that bad."
I blink at her incredulously, then turn to Nick.
"You can cook, right?"
"I can cook better than Demi..." he sheepishly trails off, and Demi scoffs.
"That sounds less than convincing. Looks like I'm going to be living on pizza and chinese take-out."
"You make it sound like a bad thing," Jordan interjects.
"It is a bad thing," Demi reprimands. "It's not healthy."
"Food poisoning isn't healthy," I retort.
A sudden techno ringtone interrupts our playful banter.
I furrow my eyebrows when nobody makes a move to retrieve a phone.
"Oh!" Jordan gasps. "I forgot that I changed my ringtone."
I shake my head, amused, as she answers the call.
"Here," she angrily thrusts the phone at Demi, both her tone and visibly deflated mood worrying me.
"Hello?" Demi rolls her eyes as Wilmer, I'm assuming, speaks. "What am I doing? I'm spending time with your daughter. Y'know, time that you clearly don't have for her."
"Can we put him on speakerphone?" I groan. "I feel as if I'm in a soap opera."
To my surprise, Demi obliges, looking pretty fed up.
"I do have time for my daughter, Demi!" He barks, but she seems unfazed.
"I'll be upstairs," Jordan abruptly rises to her feet, her eyes glassy as she runs upstairs.
I bite my lip in contemplation, ultimately deciding that I'll let her cool down before I go talk to her.
"No, Wilmer, you don't. You don't give a damn about her. You don't care about anybody but yourself."
"If I didn't care about her, why am I bothering trying to get custody of her?" He retorts, and my eyes widen, knowing that this will crush Jordan.
"Maybe because you're trying to ruin me?"
"Don't flatter yourself, sweetheart."
"You alerted the media."
"Only because I want them to know the truth."
"That you're even more of an asshole than everyone originally presumed?"
"You're the crazy bitch who stayed with me," she winces when he calls her crazy, and, as she closes her eyes as if to shield her in someway, I can tell that that one adjective cuts deep.
"Oh hell no," I growl, beginning to stand, but Dallas yanks me back to my chair.
Demi calmly places the phone on the table, reaching around to the back of her neck to fiddle with the gold chain that slips underneath her shirt. She manages to unclasp the chain, revealing her wedding ring.
"You're right," she emotionlessly slides the ring off of the chain, grabs the phone, and walks to the kitchen. "I'm crazy, and I'm stupid, but guess what? I can finally be truly happy now."
"You were happy."
"No," she laughs humorlessly. "I'm just a damn good actress," she flips the garbage disposal switch, then explains to Wilmer what the sudden loud noise is.
Giving the ring one last glance over, she tosses it into the sink, soon emitting an even louder grinding sound of metal on metal. After a few moments, she stops the garbage disposal, telling Wilmer what she did.
"Aside from Jordan, I wish that our relationship never happened, but it has allowed me to see how much I was missing out on," she glances at myself, then Nick. "And I refuse to miss out on anymore."
With that, she ends the call, returns the phone to the table, and retreats to Nick's room without uttering a word. As Nick goes to check on her, I retrieve Demi's ring from the sink, knowing that it's not fully destroyed. I place the now deformed ring in my pocket.
"Can you do me a favor?" I ask Dallas.
"Sure, anything."
"Google how to destroy a wedding ring."
~
"Jordan," I knock on her door. "Can I-,"
She opens the door, revealing her blotchy red face.
"He hates me," she sulks over to her bed. "My own dad hates me."
"He doesn't hate you."
She shoots me a withering look. I sigh, sitting beside her.
"He doesn't care about me. I'm irrelevant to him. I could drop dead right now and he wouldn't care."
"Don't say that."
"It's the truth!" She exclaims, angrier than I've ever seen her.
Actually, I don't think I've ever seen her truly angry. She sighs and buries herself underneath her blankets.
"I-I just want to be alone," she sniffles.
I nod, even though she can't see me and exit her room.
~
"You want me to do what with my wedding ring?"
"Tie it to explosives and blow it up," I grin.
"I vote sell it and donate the money to a charity," Dallas interjects.
"Write the charity a check and destroy the ring. It's the best of both worlds."
"You're a violent child, aren't you?" Dallas smirks at me.
"I prefer 'pyromaniac in training'."
"You shouldn't even be a part of this conversation," Demi points out.
"Too bad," I snort. "I am almost an adult, thank you very much."
"You still have four years to go, darling," Nick pipes up, and I hush him.
"Age is nothing but a number," I recite, and Dallas laughs.
"Go to bed, Bailey," Nick and Demi order in unison.
"So rude," I jokingly mutter, stomping up the stairs.
~
I'm awoken by a hand frantically shaking my shoulder.
"What?" I groan, noting that it's still dark outside.
"Bailey," Jordan sobs. "I need your help."
"Cut the light on," I sit up, wiping the sleep out of my eyes.
The sudden, harsh light blinds me temporarily. When my eyes finally manage to adjust to the brightness, I'm shocked by the sight in front of me.
ns 15.158.61.51da2
