Total pages in book: 140
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 137433 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 687(@200wpm)___ 550(@250wpm)___ 458(@300wpm)
The words hit her so harshly, she bucks and staggers backwards. Her knees lower, her head slumping down. I hit where it hurt. Bull’s eye.
“Please quit.” Her words come out as a pant. “You’re right. I pushed too hard. But I changed my mind. It’s not worth it. The ballet. The school.”
A rusty laugh bubbles out of me. “It’s not about you anymore. This is who I am. Whether I wanted it or not, I’m hooked for life.”
I turn to storm out of the studio. It’s only when my foot hovers over the debris of glass beneath me that I remember Mom dropped the bowl.
My mouth falls open even as my foot falls. Mom’s killer instincts snap her into action. She pounces forward, pushing me out of the way so I don’t step on the glass. The shards beneath her feet make a terrible crunching sound.
We both wince, looking down.
She is barefoot.
Blood spreads beneath her foot, pooling like a never-ending lake.
Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
“Mom!” I rush around the glass and pick her up even though she is about twenty pounds heavier than me. I bolt upstairs, shaking, crying, screaming.
“Dad, help! Mom’s hurt!”
My body strains to get her up the stairs. She weeps into my neck, boneless and hopeless.
I slip over her blood on the stairs and yelp. My injuries are burning, reminding me how broken I am too.
I hear the thrashing of feet hitting wood as Dad rushes to meet me halfway on the basement stairway. He takes Mom with frightening ease. Red paints our feet like lipstick kisses. It looks like a crime scene.
She saved me, even after all the horrible things I said to her.
“Holy sh—what happened? Is she okay?” I don’t think I’ve ever seen Dad as pale as he is right now. His face is a mask of terror.
“She has glass in her feet.” I chase after him. “She needs to go to urgent care. They’ll suction it out.”
“What did you do?” he growls, and I’ve never heard this tone from him before.
“No! I…I mean, I fucked up, but she dropped a bowl. It was…not really…”
His deathly glare makes me shut up.
He studies me for a fraction of a second before saying, “Stay here. Don’t you dare leave this house, Bailey.”
I follow him to the front door. Mom is still crying. I don’t know how much of it is the glass and how much of it is us. We’ve never fought before.
The door slams behind Dad. I’m all alone. It’s eight thirty in the morning, and my parents have left me alone for the first time since I got back.
a lot of blood to clean up. I need a pick-me-up. I need to stop feeling like a failure, because right now? Breathing is too much of a task.
I go downstairs and tug my drug bag from behind the mirror.
Only one more Xanax. Crap.
I hesitate only for one moment before I pull the mangled note with Sydney’s number from the bowels of my drawer and make the call.
“Sydney? It’s Bailey. Wanna come over?”
Of course, he says yes.
There’s no steadier client than an addict.
CHAPTER 15
Bailey
Three hours later, my parents are back from urgent care.
Mom’s foot is bandaged securely. She looks tired and miserable, suckling on Jamba Juice. I wait for them in the kitchen, head hung low and hands in my lap.
After Sydney popped in to sell me more drugs, I cleaned up all the mess in the basement and stairs. I made lunch—herbed salmon and broccolini—folded the laundry, and put fresh flowers in Mom’s office upstairs.
I’m sick with guilt and as high as a kite. My body is lax, relaxed, and pain free.
My mind is clear, like my thoughts are cruising through fluffy, white clouds in the sky.
As soon as Dad places Mom on a seat at the dining table, I drop to my knees and take her hand in mine. I can’t even feel the hardwood floor beneath my banged-up kneecaps, which means the pills are doing their job.
“I’m sorry, Mom. I didn’t mean to—”
“You’re checking into rehab.” Dad cuts into my words, pressing a hand over Mom’s shoulder behind her. Like I’m going to hurt her or something. “I’ve already paid the down payment.”
My head snaps up. “Why? Because Mom and I had a fight?”
“Because you’re acting like a stranger and one I don’t want under my roof,” he says matter-of-factly. “And because you invited over another stranger when we were at the hospital, which means I’m gonna cancel all my meetings for the rest of the day so I can play hide-and-seek with a bag of pills.”
I brick up, press my lips together, and sneer. “Sydney is a friend from high school.”
“We said no guests when we aren’t around,” Dad snarls.
Dad’s not gonna find anything. I’m smart enough not to hide drugs where they’d look.