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)
I look up, frowning. “How?”
“Let’s start with you not fucking up the Bailey situation. You know you need to clean up this mess.”
“Already on it.” I nod.
Grin rolls his eyes. “Wanna come in?”
“Can’t,” I say. “Got lots of fires to put out.”
“Well.” Grim smirks. “Consider mine done.”
CHAPTER 33
Bailey
I’m carving a dove-shaped cut on my skin using a boning knife I stole from the kitchen.
If Mom ever finds out, she’d blow a gasket.
But she’s not here to chide me. I’m in the sanctuary of my studio. Just me and my demons.
Blood trickles through the fresh scar on my flesh. I chose my hip bone for this DIY tattoo, to keep it hidden from view.
I’m not only cutting because I caught Lev holding Thalia like she was a precious, rare thing.
I’m also doing this because my injuries are making my eyes water with agony.
The endorphins numb the pain of my injuries. Plus, life these days is just a string of little Lev breaks callously sewn together by disappointment.
I could really use some painkillers and Xanax right about now to numb all the pain. The anxiety that’s clogging at my throat. But Lev flushed them all away. Asshole.
Once I’m satisfied with my handiwork—the dove looks small and tiny and red—I dump the bloodstained knife on the floor.
I pick up my phone and scroll through Lev’s messages from yesterday.
Lev: It’s not what you think. Me and Thalia.
Lev: I can explain.
Lev: I’m coming your way right now.
Lev: Your dad said you went to Goodwill. I looked around but couldn’t find you.
Lev: Sorry. Got caught up in a homemade episode of Dr. Phil(th). I’m under your window. Throwing rocks.
Lev: OKAY THROWING STONES NOW. Don’t tell me you aren’t hearing this.
Lev: Fine. Will try you again tomorrow. I just wanna make one thing clear: I’m NOT with Thalia. You are my one. You are my only. You’re my forever.
Lev: <3
Lev: (This was my heart, not my dick. Though you’re welcome to both.)
Lev: For reference, this is my dick: <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<3
But it’s four o’clock tomorrow and still no sign of Lev. I came down here hours ago to practice, but I’m struggling to care anymore. About Juilliard. About my relationship with Lev.
My hunger for success is gone. It’s replaced by a hollowness only drugs could fill.
The doorbell chimes. I stay where I am, spread like a snow angel on the floor, staring at the ceiling.
Lev wouldn’t knock. He’s a barger—my heart can testify.
I close my eyes. A tear rolls down my cheekbone, slipping into my ear.
Quietly, I can admit to myself that I’m not okay. I’m not getting better. I’m not on top of things. I don’t have a plan.
Maybe I’ve finally hit rock bottom. Because right now, I feel like I’m pancaked to a hard, jagged surface.
A perky, high-pitched voice impales my sanctuary from above.
“Hi, Mrs. Followhill! Is Bailey around? Thought I’d check on her!”
Thalia.
I scramble to my feet and zip up the stairway to the living room. She can’t come down here. I’m not sure what’s going on between her and Lev, but I’m positive her version of the story isn’t good for my psyche or sobriety right now.
Plus, she was the one who called me to come to All Saints High yesterday, under the guise that we’d be training in the gymnasium.
I should’ve known it was a setup. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.
I’m halfway up the stairway when I hear two sets of feet pounding on wood.
Thalia materializes in front of me, Mom standing behind her. Thalia is grinning like the cat who got the canary.
Or in my case, the turtle dove. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t look like the 2.0 version of me. She looks pale, dark circles shadowing her eyes.
“Ohmygosh, Bails! Where were you yesterday? I thought we were gonna practice together!” She smacks my shoulder, air-kissing my cheeks. Mom is studying us acutely.
Her bullshit meter is probably dinging so loudly, she’s going deaf.
“Honey, are you accepting visitors? Thalia was very adamant you were expecting her.”
Mom looks like she’s about to cut a bitch. Speaking of cutting, she absolutely cannot get into my studio, or she’ll see it looks like a mini crime scene. Ugh.
“Right now’s not a good time.” I force a smile. “I’ll call you later?”
“Why don’t you walk Thalia upstairs?” Mom suggests. “I’ll get into the studio and grab some of the empty water bottles—”
“No!” I shriek. “You can’t go in there.”
The muscles in Mom’s face go rigid. “Why not?”
Because apparently, whenever I can’t get high, I stoop so low I have to cut myself.
“I’m going to throw them into the recycling trash today. It feels wrong that you have to take care of it.”
“Don’t be silly.” Mom squeezes my arm. “It’s no trouble at all. You cleaned the whole house yesterday.”
She slips past me, and it’s better Thalia see than my mom. I have to stop her, so I find myself blurting out, “Thalia and I need to practice there now.”