"Desperate times call for desperate measures," I mutter, standing at the foot of Nick's bed with a glass of cold water in my right hand.
I splash the water across Demi and Nick, taking cautious steps backwards as they jolt upright.
"I am going to kill you, Bailey," Demi grumbles.
"Good morning to you, too."
"Why is it still dark outside?" Nick squints at the window.
"I just threw water at you, yet you're wondering why it's still dark outside?"
"It's too early for you to be questioning my logic."
"Why exactly did you throw water at us?" Demi interjects.
"To wake you up...isn't it obvious?"
"It's official: for your birthday we are buying you a cat collar that has bells on it, and you will wear it on your wrist, so we can hear you when you're about to pull some kind of prank," Nick's serious expression nearly has me doubled over in laughter.
"Why did you wake us up, Bailey?" Demi sighs, switching on the nightstand lamp.
I'm about to comment on her lack of enthusiasm about being woken up, but then I notice the faint tear tracks lining her cheeks. She cried herself to sleep. I don't doubt that she did so because of Wilmer.
"It's Jordan," I reply. "We have a problem."
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"I am going to kill him."
"You're in a murderous mood today, aren't you?" I grin as Demi glares at me.
"Jordan, you do know that none of this is true, right?" She scrolls through Jordan's phone, reading the hate that we are all now receiving, courtesy of Wilmer alerting the media.
"I know," Jordan sighs. "But that doesn't make it go away or hurt any less. That doesn't make it better. I'm getting accused of being the reason that 'Dilmer' split up. You two were apparently perfect, and I'm supposedly the reason that your marriage fell apart."
"Am I the only one who hears how ridiculous that sounds?" I pause. "Bright side: I have earned the title of 'love child'."
"That's not a good thing."
"Yes, it is," I insist. "I'm the only person in the universe who can use 'yeah, well, I'm Nemi's love child, bitch' as a comeback."
"Where do you come up with this stuff?" Demi pinches the bridge of her nose.
"Does 'I'm an author, bitch' ring any bells?"
"Can we just forget about all of this?" Jordan suggests. "It's not that big of a deal."
"Yes, it is! I'm not going to stand back and allow my daughter to be cyber-bullied because of something that she has no control over!"
"What can you do, mom?" Jordan abruptly stands, her tone growing louder. " I mean, honestly? Nothing! I'm just gonna have to suck it up and put on a brave face and pretend like it doesn't affect me. I'm use to it. I'm use to acting like my life is perfect. If you and dad had just stayed together-,"
"Jordan-,"
"....and not been so stupid, none of this would be happening right now. You two could have tried harder or something to salvage your marriage, but you didn't, and now I'm left to deal with the aftermath of your selfish decisions," she returns to my bed, an exhausted, defeated expression on her face.
I'm shocked, to say the least. Never have I heard Jordan speak to Demi like that. Or anybody, for that matter. It makes me wonder how long she's been bottling stuff up inside.
Realizing that trying to continue a conversation with her daughter will result in nothing more than a screaming match, Demi silently exits my room with Nick in tow.
"Jordan?"
"What?" She snaps. "I know what I said was stupid, okay? I know that she didn't ask for any of this to happen. I know that none of this is her fault. Or mine. Although I know that their relationship was toxic, I can't help but wish that they'd go back to being the happy couple that everybody speaks of. Fans and the media claim that they were once so in love with each other, so inseparable. I've never witnessed it! I've scoured the internet looking for that kind of love between them. It seems to have only been there before I was born. What if I really did ruin their marriage?"
"You didn't-,"
"You don't know that, Bailey!" She takes a deep breath, trying to calm herself, and it must work because when she speaks again, her tone is much softer. "Before I was born, mom had a slip-up and almost went back to rehab, but dad helped her through it. After I was born, she suffered from postpartum depression. It was awful. Dad tried to help her, but eventually he just gave up. He couldn't understand how she was feeling. He couldn't understand why she was basically rejecting me. When she eventually recovered, their relationship was rocky. She didn't trust him, and he was afraid that she'd become depressed again. They'd walk on eggshells around each other for my sake, forging the facade of a happy couple, then yell and scream when they assumed I wasn't listening."
"How do you know all of this?"
"I've pieced together enough bits and pieces throughout my life to form the entire puzzle."
"You know that she's not going to let this go, right?" I hesitantly question, claiming a seat beside her.
She nods and places her head on my shoulder.
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Demi left. I don't know when she left or where she went, but when Jordan and I go downstairs, she's nowhere to be found, leaving Nick to explain to us that she probably just needed some time and space to clear her head. Jordan and I decide to gain back the few hours of sleep that we both lost, and I think Nick does the same.
I'm awoken by a sound that I can't seem to place in my sleepy haze. Faint purple, orange, and pink hues light up the sky outside my window. Although I'm tempted to fall back asleep, my paranoia-triggered by the mystery sound-won't allow that. What if there's a serial killer in the house? What if somebody is trying to light the house on fire?
Better me than Jordan or Nick.
I cautiously slip out of my room, cursing when I realize that I don't have a suitable weapon.
I am basically signing my death certificate.
I creep down the stairs only to breathe a sigh of relief when I notice Demi standing in the foyer. She has yet to notice me and jumps when I clear my throat.
"You scared me, Bailey."
"Clearly. Where were you?" I ask as she flips light switches, illuminating the dark rooms.
"I needed to think."
"About?"
"Why must you question everything?" She finally looks at me.
She looks tired. Not the 'I work long hours' or 'I only got four hours of sleep last night' kinds of tired. More like the 'I am all out of hope and all out of fight' kind of tired.
It's evident that she has been been crying, but, after this morning, I hardly give her red eyes and tear stained cheeks a second thought. I do, however, take notice of the familiar ring of bruising around her neck. The bruising is blotchy and the surrounding skin is a few shades lighter than her normal skin tone, as if she hurriedly applied foundation. Being bounced around from troubled foster home to troubled foster home, I've witnessed enough domestic abuse to recognize the bruising.
"You confronted Wilmer about what's happening to Jordan, didn't you?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about."
"Oh, really? In that case, I suggest putting rocks in your pocket next time and walking into the ocean because it would be a hell of a lot more effective than trying to choke yourself."
"I fell," she says, after a pause.
"On your neck? In such a such a way that it created perfect handprints," I gently place my hands around her neck, swallowing the lump in my throat when my hands line up perfectly-albeit smaller-with the bruising. "It's a wonder you didn't break it," I back away from her. "If you're going to lie to me, I think, as your daughter, you should at least have enough respect for me to lie well."
"I'm not lying to you."
"You've lied to me before, so why wouldn't you be lying now?"
Her gaze flickers away from mine, and I can tell that her resolve is fading.
"You cannot tell your dad-,"
"Why not?" My tone is suddenly loud, on the verge of yelling. "He loves you! He'd lay down his own goddamn life for you, if it meant that you'd be safe!"
"I know-,"
"So, why can't you tell him the truth? He knows so much already. Hell, he's a part of this whole fucked-up equation. Yet you continue to push him away and not fully let your guard down."
"You're the exact same way!"
"How so?"
"You won't open up to anybody. You hide behind a sarcastic, snarky facade. You won't even address Nick and I as your parents, Bailey. It's all because you're scared. You're scared of being vulnerable, and you fear that as soon as you become attached to someone, they're going to either stab you in the back or be yanked away from you before you can even blink. You've been hurt so many times before, baby-girl, and it shows, but it's not healthy for you to be living in constant fear. It's not healthy for you to be so guarded. It's not healthy for you to not be able to trust anyone."
Silence.
My hands shake, and I curl them into fists. My vision swims. My chin trembles.
"You're a hypocrite," I say through clenched teeth.
"I know."
You remind me a lot of your mother...
Maybe Dianna did actually know what she was talking about.
Maybe Demi and I are more alike that I originally presumed.
"Why are you two yelling?"
We both turn our attention to a confused, half-asleep Nick. I swipe away my unfallen tears and comb my fingers through my hair.
"Demi," he approaches her, seemingly more alert as he notices the bruising on her neck. "Why the hell did you go over there?"
"I just wanted him to know how much he's hurting Jordan," she mumbles, directing her eyes to the floor. "He was drunk, and-,"
"That's your go-to excuse for his behaviour, isn't it?" He slams his fist down on the dining room table.
Although his anger is understandable, it startles me; however, I know that Nick would never harm a fly, let alone ever hit someone. He'd rather take his anger out on a punching bag, or by doing something productive.
Demi tenses at the sound, at the sight of him so angry. As Nick continues to furiously ramble and sulk back and forth between here and the kitchen, I watch Demi. She shoves her trembling hands into the pockets of her jeans. Her breathing visibly speeds up. Nick breaks something in the kitchen, and the sound of shattering glass causes Demi to jump much like she did earlier. Her eyes are dilated, and her body sways, as if she's about to pass out.
While barely touching her, I lead her to a sitting position on the floor.
"Nick, I'll buy you a punching bag for Christmas! Just stop beating shit up and come help me!"
Thankfully, he obliges. I sure wasn't about to step in the way of him and his murderous thoughts towards Wilmer.
"Dems," He reaches out to touch her, but she swats his hand away, bringing her knees closer to her.
"Mom," I curse my voice for cracking. "Nick won't hurt you. He loves you. We're not going to hurt you. You're not in danger. You're safe."
I manage to help her stabilize her breathing, and I manage to calm her down enough so that Nick can lift her and move her to the couch.
"Nick," She whimpers, shielding her face against his chest.
"I'm here, love," His eyes meet mine. "I'm not going anywhere."
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"Jordan," Demi enters my room as Jordan and I are talking on my bed. "We need to talk."
"I'm sorry about what I said earlier. None of it was true-,"
"Not that," Demi shakes her head, her hands tucked behind her back.
"Then what?"
"I found this," She outstretches one arm and uncurls her fingers, revealing a blade. "In your trashcan."
My stomach twists.
"Are you harming yourself?"
"No."
"Jordan," Demi sighs. "Please don't lie-,"
"I'm not lying," Jordan's tone is calm as she avoids looking at me. "The blade is Bailey's."
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