~Bailey's POV~
"So, Nick's here?" Jordan clarifies, still dazed from being awoken by Dallas screaming at Nick.
"Is it really that much of a surprise?" I snort, directing my gaze out the french-style double doors that lead to a balcony.
"How do you feel about Nick being here?"
Turning to face her, I arch an eyebrow. "Well, Dr. Phil, I'm not particularly thrilled about it." She rolls her eyes. "Or maybe I am. You're the doctor here, so you're supposed to know how I'm feeling."
She's silent for a moment, probably reluctant to deal with anymore of my sarcasm. "Are you going to forgive him?"
"For?"
"Leaving."
"Are you?"
"He's not my dad."
"I don't want to forgive him," I slowly reply, returning my gaze outside. "But I can understand why he acted like such an asshole."
"Care to enlighten me?"
I emit a soft sigh and rise from my sitting position on the floor. I begin to pace back and forth. "Betrayal can make people act like idiots."
"Betrayal?"
I nod. "And fear."
"What does that have to do with anything?"
I stop pacing to look at Jordan's confused expression. "When you've realized that you've been betrayed, fear hits you. It's the first thing that you feel. When Demi first cut Nick out of her life before she went to treatment, I bet that he felt betrayed."
"But they eventually became friends again," she argues. "I mean, Bailey, you wouldn't be standing here had they not."
"But then she left again," I point out. "After fear hits you, anger and frustration soon follows. After Demi left, a part of Nick had to have given up trying to find her. That hopelessness would have soon morphed into anger, frustration, and then resentment. Back at the hospital, he even admitted that he resented her decision."
"But he also admitted that his resentment blinded him from seeing how much mom was hurting."
"After anger and frustration comes disappointment and disillusionment," I shrug.
Her eyebrows furrow together. "I don't think you're using 'disillusionment' the right way."
"I'm not talking about Nick."
She emits a half-sigh, half-groan sound. "If you were a fortune cookie, I'd return you because you're too confusing."
One corner of my mouth quirks upwards. "I'm talking about with Demi and Wilmer. They've both felt betrayed by each other, which eventually caused the state of disillusionment. That disillusionment is why Nick and Demi are together again-"
"And currently arguing."
"-and why Wilmer..." I trail off, realizing how sensitive of a topic this must be for her.
"Nearly got mom killed." In an effort to remain silent, I purse my lips at her surprisingly blunt statement. "Disillusionment is being disappointed once you realize that something or someone is not as good as you once thought. Before I was born, mom and my dad had an on-again-off-again relationship, right?" I nod although her question sounds rhetorical. "When dad started initiating rules and conditions for mom to follow while they were in an off-again stage of their relationship, mom realized that both him and their relationship was disillusioned. When dad found the letters that mom had written to Nick, he convinced himself that both mom and their relationship was disillusioned, and that," she inhales a sharp breath, "is why we're here now. Disillusionment and revenge can go hand-in-hand."
The silence that follows her revelation is awkward and tense. Her words, although accurate, are nothing but poignant reminders of what has happened in the past and, dare I say, foreshadows of what could happen in the future.385Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡBbzrfhfKj8
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Releasing a sigh, I begin to pace again.
"You do realize that Nick does the exact same thing, right?
I return my eyes to Jordan. "What do you mean?"
"Pacing back and forth like that. I've noticed that he does it quite a lot actually."
"We-" I stop speaking as a series of soft thumping noises shatter my train of thought. "What was that?"
With furrowed eyebrows, Jordan shrugs. I claim a seat beside her on the only bed in the room. I listen intently for the sound again and shift my gaze all around the room in an effort to find what created the sound in the first place. A sudden flash of movement outside the french-style double doors catches my attention as I watch a small rock soar over the railing of the balcony and skitter to a stop across the wood floor, creating the series of soft thumping noises.
"My new goal in life is to be a flying rock," I state, grinning innocently as Jordan shakes her head, clearly not amused. "I'm going to go ask Mr. Rock how his travels were." I rise to my feet, about to cross the room to get to the balcony, when Jordan grips my wrist.
"Do you honestly think that going out there is a good idea after everything that has happened?"
I roll my eyes as a different flying rock clangs into the black, metal railing of the balcony. "Dallas lives in one of the safest gated communities around here. It's probably just a bored kid from a couple houses over, wanting to elicit some cheap scares." She doesn't release my wrist, her pleading. I sigh. "Just stay here." I yank my wrist out of her grasp.
Despite my confident words of reassurance to Jordan, I can't help but to open the double doors apprehensively. Once on the balcony, I close the double doors behind me, ignoring Jordan's protests to do otherwise. Standing in the middle of the balcony, my eyes widen as another rock is thrown over the railing; however, my body relaxes slightly as it skids to a stop at my feet.
"Bailey!" A familiar voice hisses. "Is that you?"
Shaking my head, I approach the railing and lean over, mentally smirking at the fact that, for once, I'm looking down at the familiar blonde girl. "Sara, if you didn't know that it was me, why the hell would you call my name?"
Sara looks away from me, sheepishly chewing on her bottom lip. "My yellow power ranger powers told me that it was you, but I just wanted to make sure that they were accurate."
"Your yellow power ranger powers?"
She looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes and nods, but I can tell that she's trying not to laugh by the way that the corners of her mouth quirk upwards. "My powerful power ranger powers."
I can't help but to laugh. "Why are you throwing rocks at Dallas' window?"
"Well, technically, it was at her balcony doors," she jokingly corrects, "and do you realize how many Taylor Swift songs just popped into my head?"
"Three," we say in unison, my answer more of a questioned guess.
"Love Story, Hey Stephen, and The Other Side Of The Door," she elaborates matter-of-factly.
"Well, technically, Love Story and The Other Side Of The Door were pebbles," I mock.
"They all come from the same rock family," she waves her hand dismissively, "They're just cousins."
Again, I find myself laughing. "Seriously, why are you here?"
I expect her to joke about how I "don't want her here" and will "miss her presence" once she leaves, but I'm surprised when her joking demeanour and amused smirk vanish. "Can you just let me in through the front door?"
My eyebrows knit together. "Why come around here and throw rocks if-"
"I don't want Dallas to see me."
Confusion and surprise render me speechless for a few moments as I try to grasp the reasoning behind her wanting to be secretive around Dallas when they've seemed so close. "There's a tree." I idiotically point at the large tree near her, referring to how one branch swoops near the balcony, seemingly barely out of reach. She could climb the tree and reduce her risk of Dallas seeing her.
She shakes her head. "The railing is loose."
Looking down, I shake the metal railing that serves as the only protection from me plummeting to my death. Sure enough, the metal bars emit a clanking sound. I stop shaking them, fearing that all of the railing would fall if I so much as loosen my grip.
"Meet me at the front door," I direct, and she nods, beginning to walk to the front of the house.
With many unanswered questions swirling around in my head, I return inside.
"Who was that?" Jordan arches an eyebrow, having not moved from her spot on the bed.
"Freddy Krueger. He said that he'll be visiting me in my dreams tonight; therefore, I probably won't live to see morning. I thought that it was considerate of him to give me a heads-up."
"Nothing says considerate like being brutally murdered in your sleep. Who was actually there?"
"I thought magicians don't tell their secrets."
"But you're not a magician."
"Watch me make myself disappear." I open the bedroom door and escape into the hallway before she can even begin to protest.
I hear voices floating up from downstairs, but I can't make out any words. I creep along the hallway and down the stairs, ducking behind the wall that arches to form the living room doorway. I peek around the wall to find Nick's back to me with Demi across from him and Dallas to the side, as if a referee. By the way that Demi stands with both of her hands on her hips, and by the way that she glares at Nick, I can infer that she's quite pissed. My gaze flickers to the front door, knowing that I'll never make it without Demi and Dallas seeing me.
"You can't just show up here and kiss me and expect everything to be okay again!" Demi suddenly shouts, but I can tell that they've been arguing for God only knows how long, and I can't help but to wonder how Jordan and I didn't hear anything. "That's not how it works, Nick! Apologies can't solve everything."
"His cheek is still red from when you slapped him," Dallas deadpans. "I think he has been punished enough for kissing you, Demi."
"Whose side are you on?" Demi scoffs at Dallas, who rolls her eyes. "You were the one lecturing at me earlier and calling him an asshole."
"How about we focus on Bailey for a minute?" Nick frustratedly interjects, piquing both my curiosity and confusion. "Demi, why would you-" A ringtone interrupts him, and I watch as Demi retrieves her phone from her pocket, a frown etched onto her face.
"Hello?" She answers, and I internally groan at the fact that I can't hear what is being said on the other end of the conversation. "Yeah," her gaze flickers to Dallas, "she's here. I'll put you on speaker." Demi removes her phone from her ear and taps at the screen a couple of times before holding the device out in front of her. "She can hear you now, Madison."
"Sara is on her way to your house, I think," Maddie informs, straight to the point.
"Why would you think that?" Dallas wonders.
"She came by here looking for Bailey, so I told her that Bailey was over there," she pauses, and I think back to just a few hours earlier when Demi's family and Nick's family were arguing and deciding over who would stay at Nick's house to watch for Wilmer while we hide out at Dallas', all despite Demi's protests. "She was acting kind of weird."
"What do you mean weird?" Dallas questions, and I recall Sara's abrupt mood change outside.
"She seemed nervous, I guess. She wouldn't make eye contact with me, wouldn't look up from the ground actually, and she had a hoodie on with the hood up despite it being, like, ninety degrees outside." Sara was wearing a hoodie when she talked to me, now that I think about it. A grey one. Why didn't I think more of it?
"Okay, well, we'll keep an eye out for her," Dallas slowly says, sounding as confused as she looks. "Thanks, Mads." With that, Demi ends the call and returns her phone to her pocket. "I'm going to try to call Sara," Dallas sighs and heads to her bedroom, leaving Demi as the only true obstacle preventing me from reaching the front door.
"Now can we talk about Bailey?" Nick's voice is nothing but a soft murmur.
"What about her?" Demi crosses her arms over her chest.
There's a pause, and I fear that they can hear me breathe with how silent it is. "You," Nick's voice cracks, and he clears his throat, "you think that she has an eating disorder?" As his words grow softer, I realize that he's trying not to cry.
"I think that she's..." Demi's words trail off as she releases a heavy breath and turns so that her back is facing me.
I know that now would be a pretty good time to at least attempt to make it to the front door, but I can't seem to rip my gaze away from my parents. Demi's shoulders shake before she sits on the couch and shields her face with her palms. It doesn't take long for Nick to claim a seat beside her and hold her as if they weren't just yelling at each other minutes ago.
"What am I supposed to say?" Demi sobs, removing her hands from her face to look at Nick. "That I think she's slowly killing herself? That I think she's forcing herself to throw up? That this is all my fault and-"
"Why would you think that this is your fault?"
Through her tears, she releases a short, bitter chuckle. "Why wouldn't I? All I do is pull the self-pity card, right?"
Damn.
Nick's grip on her slowly weakens until his arms are wrapped limply around her waist. "I shouldn't have said that."
"Yeah, no shit," she sniffles, and I can't help but to smirk at the fact that she just voiced my mental reaction to his idiotic statement.
"Seriously, Dems, none of this is your fault."
"So it's just a coincidence that Bailey's sick while Jordan's perfectly fine?" She scoffs. "I basically set Bailey up to fail."
"Jordan has scars, too, Demi."
"But Jordan doesn't inflict her own scars." Her words feel like a slap to my face, leaving behind nothing but the sting of guilt and shame.
Seemingly in deep thought, Nick leans back against the couch, keeping his fingers interlocked with Demi's. "What about therapy?"
I almost jump out from my hiding place and charge in there. Who the hell does he think he is to suggest therapy for me? Like hell I would actually go. I don't need some shrink to tell me how fucked up I am when I am more than aware. I don't need pity parties or fake sympathy or to lay on a couch for an hour sharing my sob story of a life.
"Therapy? For Bailey?"
No, Demi, for Freddy Krueger who will be haunting my dreams tonight. I should send him to your dreamland for asking such a stupid question.
"Yes and no," Nick hesitantly replies. "I think Bailey would benefit from therapy, but I also think that we could all benefit from therapy."
He must have been hit in the head with way too many flying rocks.
"Have you not met me?" Demi deadpans. "I'm, like, the poster-celebrity for therapy." I have to clamp my hand over my mouth to stifle my laughter at her bluntness.
"You don't think we could all benefit from it? With all that Wilmer has done, with Bailey's past, with-"
"Okay, I get it. What would you get out of it?"
He shakes his head, a small, incredulous smile on his face. "You honestly don't get it, do you?"
"Get what?"
"I mean it when I say that I am never leaving you three. What I said earlier was a mistake. Walking away from you earlier was a mistake."
Why the hell is he wasting his breath by stating the obvious?
"You're just now figuring that out?" Demi snides, clearly not impressed with his attempt at an apology.
Nick shakes his head and grasps both of her hands. "When you walked away from me fourteen years ago, I made a promise that I would not chase after you. I didn't want to interfere with whatever happiness you were seeking, even if it meant losing you and my child. But I also made a promise that if you ever came back to me, I'd never give you reasoning to leave again. I broke that promise earlier, but I am willing to spend the rest of my life making it up to you. I want to show that you and those two girls upstairs are my entire world. I want to show that I am willing to lay down my own life for you three - well, okay, hopefully not show -" she giggles, and I roll my eyes at the fact that she's basically putty in his hands right now, but there is also a small smile gracing my lips "- but-"
"Nick," his name is but a soft murmur on her lips, her tone no longer hostile, "what's your point?"
"My point is that I want you and Jordan and Bailey to be able to trust me. I want to be able to give you the love and attention and respect that you have been deserving of for so many years now. God, Demi, I want to marry you. I want to be able to call you mine for the rest of my life and wake up beside you every morning and make up for all of the years that I missed and adopt Jordan as my own if she'll let me."
"And you think that family counseling is going to make all of that happen?"
"I think it'd be a step in the right direction."
"A step in the right direction," she echoes, sounding as if she's mulling over his words.
"Yeah, I-" My eyes widen when she connects her lips with his, and I immediately divert my gaze, feeling beyond awkward.
Like, c'mon, they're my parents. There are just some things that I'd rather not witness - or hear - before I die. Cue disturbed shudders.
I notice Jordan about to descend the staircase, and I hold a finger to my lips to silence her. She creeps down the staircase, then crouches beside me.
"I need you to distract them," I whisper to her.
She leans past me to peer past the wall. "They seem pretty distracted to me. You're trying to get to the front door, aren't you?"
"I need you to distract them so they don't end up having sex on Dallas' couch," I deadpan, deliberately ignoring her question.
She rolls her eyes. "They're not going to end up..." I arch a questioning eyebrow as she trails off, frowning at me. "Back of the tour bus," she nods to herself, "right, okay." I shake my head in amusement as she stands and gingerly steps through the living room doorway. "Um, am I interrupting something?" I bite my lower lip to stifle my laughter as Demi and Nick quickly separate.
"Of course not, baby-girl," Demi hastily replies while combing her fingers through her hair. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing, it's just.." My eyes widen in fear at her long pause, and I begin to worry that Jordan won't be able to lie decently enough to actually distract Demi and Nick. "I woke up and noticed that Bailey's hand was bandaged up, and I guess I just got a little worried."
Why didn't she just ask me herself?
I watch as Jordan takes a seat on the sofa chair near the windows, and I raise my eyebrows, impressed at her quick thinking, as Demi and Nick turn to face her, their backs now to me.
I tune out their conversation and stealthily make my way past the living room and down the hallway. I pass Dallas' room, faintly hearing her pleading to Sara's voicemail, and release a relieved breath as I reach the front door. Just as I'm beginning to wonder how I'm supposed to open the front door without alerting Demi and Nick, I hear familiar Top 40 music begin to play, and I smirk, knowing that Jordan just turned on the music channels on the living room television.
I carefully open the front door, revealing an awaiting Sara. I instantly notice her grey hoodie with the hood up, causing shadows to dance across her face from the yellow porch light. Her blonde hair is parted so that it obscures the right side of her face, and a few strands appear damp and clinging to her skin, only emphasizing the suffocating humidity in the air. I can't help but to feel guilty for making her wait outside this long. As I replay Dallas' phone conversation with Maddie, my mind is once again swirling with questions.
"Unless you want Demi and Nick to catch us, we have to be quiet going upstairs."
She mutely nods her bowed head, something uncharacteristic for her usually bubbly, happy personality.
Shit doesn't hit the fan until I'm leading her upstairs.
"I've left Sara so many voicemails," Dallas distressingly announces from behind us, and I picture her stopping just outside the living room doorway, where I was hiding earlier. "Bailey?" Don't you dare stop. "Sara?" Oh fuck.
We both slowly turn around, as if stalling for time, and slowly descend the stairs as Demi, Nick, and Jordan join Dallas in the hallway. I shift as I notice that all eyes are on us.
"What the hell is going on?" Dallas nearly shouts. "Sara, I know that your parents are out of town, but don't think that I won't call them right now. You have five minutes to explain to me what the hell is going on and why you're sneaking around. I thought that you were with Preston for the evening-"
"I was," Sara quickly reassures, her voice a quick, timid squeak.
"So what happened?"
Sara lowers her head and toys with her fingers. "We got into a fight," she nearly whispers.
"You've caused all this worry and did all of this sneaking around because of a fight?" Dallas incredulously scoffs and shakes her head. "You've said it yourself that you don't like leaving fights unresolved-"
"No," Sara cuts Dallas off. "No, Dallas, you," she pauses and visibly takes a deep breath. "We got into a literal fight."
"What does that even mean, Sara?" Dallas throws her hands up in exasperation, but I find myself watching Demi as her eyes widen slightly and her lips part.
Demi's lips form inaudible mumbles, and Dallas shoots her a sideways glance before returning her attention to Sara. I, however, keep my attention on Demi, whose eyes scan Sara from head-to-toe as if searching for something in particular.
"How much clearer can I be?" Sara suddenly yells, but her voice cracks; I didn't even realize that she's crying. "If I tell you," her tone has returned to a soft, timid whisper, "you have to promise to not tell my parents."
"Sara, I can't-"
"Just for right now. Please."
"Okay," Dallas murmurs after a long pause, worry evident on her features.
Sara slowly yanks the hood of her jacket away from her head, then tucks her hair behind her ear.
Anger flushes my cheeks upon seeing the ring of purple bruising around her right eye.
"Preston hit you," Dallas gasps, her jaw slack, her eyes wide.
As I watch my family, I realize that there is only one person who isn't mirroring Dallas' shock.
Demi.
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