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)
“You just what?” Dad frowns, leaning closer.
“I…”
“Out with it, Lev.”
“I just really wanted a new mommy.”
He stares at me in confusion, before he sees the smile creeping on my face.
“You little shit.” He sits back, kicking me under the table. I cackle. “I almost had a heart attack for failing you in a whole other way.” That only makes me laugh harder.
“So. Dumped Thalia yet?” Dad pops a strawberry into his mouth.
“Am I that obvious?” My laughter dies.
Dad shrugs. “It was a question of when, not if, once Bailey set foot across the street. It’s the Cole curse.”
“To be in love with women who don’t want our asses?”
“To try to substitute our heart’s desire before we wear her down.”
“I don’t think I’ll ever wear Bailey down.”
“You can always wear her skin, then. You seem obsessed enough to do that.” But when he sees I’m not in the mood for jokes, he tilts his chin down. “Look, our vacation in Jackson Hole next week will be a good opportunity for you two to reconnect.”
“She hates me now,” I rasp. “I mean, Sober Bailey still likes me, but the one hooked on painkillers thinks I’m an asshole.”
“She doesn’t hate you. She hates what the drugs are doing to her. The cravings. The lack of control. She’s a good kid, Lev. She’ll figure it out, but it might be a long journey, and I’d advise strongly against seeking love from someone who is struggling to love themselves right now. Keep her safe. Don’t take advantage of her situation—and don’t let her slip. If anyone can help her, it’s you.”
I don’t know if I can, but I know I must. Bailey saved me when I needed her the most.
I’ll die before letting her down.
CHAPTER 14
Bailey
The comedown is brutal.
I’m not going to pretend I’m handling any of it well. Not when the Vicodin and Xanax wear off, or the haze over the memory of what I did when Lev babysat me.
Who, by the way, is undoubtedly a very bad babysitter.
The memories flooding my brain make me want to crawl under a rock and hibernate until everyone in my life dies.
I can’t believe my best friend shoved his finger up my butt. Upon request. That I tried to seduce him. And failed. That Lev, who normally looks at me like I hold the answers to all of the world’s mysteries in the palm of my hand, finished the night washing me off in the shower with pain and pity in his eyes.
Which is why I refuse to see him, despite our friendly exchange. He visits me every day, leaving my favorite Froyo outside the studio door in the basement and small boxes full of…nothing.
I don’t know what the point behind the boxes is, but I keep them. It feels wrong to get rid of something Lev gave me. Even if it’s technically…well, nothing.
“Bailey, open the fuck up.” He bangs on the door, and it rattles like the thing inside my chest.
“Busy,” I moan.
“Busy being full of shit?”
“That too.”
“Dove.” I hear him plaster his forehead over my basement door, groaning in pain. “Please.”
“I’m not your problem.”
“You’re right. You’re my solution. My salvation. So open up.”
I never let him in. Can’t look him in the eye after Anusgate, also known as the Buttmageddon.
Even if I wanted to look him in the eye, I couldn’t on account of my pupils are currently the size of a poke bowl. I’m popping Xanax like they’re Mentos.
The only reason my parents are missing the signs is that I’m on house arrest with the drugs hidden, so technically, they think there’s nothing here to get high on and aren’t looking…at all.
There’s no point in denying what is starkly obvious at this point—I am an addict.
I’m dependent on painkillers, and I let my reliance run the show.
But that doesn’t change the fact that I still need to train if I want to remain at Juilliard.
I just need to prove to my professors that I can do this.
Once I ensure my spot is secure for next year, I can lay off the pills and really start taking care of myself. I’ll detox. Drink plenty of water. Meditate. Push through in more sustainable ways.
Since I don’t accept any visitors, I have plenty of time to work out. I stretch, dance, rehearse, and stay on top of my academic schedule.
For all intents and purposes, I’m still a Juilliard student. It’s not like they officially kicked me out.
Mom is the definition of worried sick.
She’s literally been coughing and sneezing nonstop. Psychosomatic, my dad tells her when he thinks I’m not listening. She throws judgy looks my way when I go to the basement every day, pushing plates of food to my chest, begging me to stop.
“I don’t understand why you’re pushing yourself even harder when you’re on a break.” This, from the woman who had me training in the studio five days a week since the age of six.