(Sierra's POV)
"You should probably just go back home," Demi mutters to Wilmer as we approach the front door of our home.
"Why?" he inquires.
"Uh... well, um, because my family doesn't exactly, uh... they don't, um-"
"They hate you right now because you cheated on Demi," I state bluntly, rolling my eyes.
"I was trying to be subtle."
"Yeah? And how exactly was that working out for you?"
It's Demi's turn to roll her eyes.
"It's not that they hate you. It's just that-"
Wilmer holds up a hand to silence her. "It's okay. I don't blame them for hating me. I'd be worried if they didn't hate me. Hell, I even hate myself for cheating on you. You deserve better and-"
She cuts him off by connecting her lips with his.
Suddenly, the front door opens, revealing a startled Maddie.
"Ew. Okay, gross. So, um, not only do you people nearly give me a heart attack, but now I'm scarred for life, too. Great. I mean, I thought you two had broken up, but besides that, you could've just gotten a room. And this is the last time that I'm offering to check the mail because, thanks to you two-"
Demi clamps her hand against her younger sister's mouth.
"You've watched The Notebook with me," she deadpans, retracting her hand.
"And I hated every minute of it. Bea and I mock that movie."
"You watched the entire Twilight series."
"The only part of the whole series that I can truthfully say that I love is the fight scene in the final movie, and even that wasn't legit. Are you people going to come inside or just stand out here like a bunch of gnomes?"
"What about the mail?" Demi reminds her.
"It'll be there for Dallas to get tomorrow."
We trail inside behind Maddie. As Demi closes and locks the door with her back turned to us, I notice how Maddie looks her sister up and down with a worried expression.
"Gnomes?" I tease.
"Shut up," she glares at me.
I hold my hands up in surrender, a smirk on my face.
"Seriously, though," Maddie directs her attention back to Demi, "I thought you two had broken up."
"We did," Demi nods. "W-we are."
"This is one of those times when the 'It's Complicated' status on Facebook is actually a real thing," I chime in, noticing Demi's discomfort with the topic.
"Dallas isn't gonna be too happy about this," Maddie states.
"Dallas needs to get over herself," Demi snorts.
"Meow," I claw the air like a cat.
"Oh, Sierra," Maddie chuckles. "Still as sarcastic as ever, I see."
"I was only gone for a day, smart one."
"And in just one day, you obviously failed to keep me out of the loop," she says, motioning between Demi and Wilmer. "Some sister you are," she scoffs, pretending to be annoyed with me.
"What is this? Gang up on Sierra Day? No thank you."
"I feel bad for you."
"Why?"
"You've had to witness their lovey-dovey-ness."
She feigns a gag as I laugh and Demi rolls her eyes.
"What's annoying is that while they're sucking each other's faces off, I'm standing here like an awkward turtle just twiddling my thumbs and staring into space like..." I clasp my hands and toy with my thumbs as I move my eyes to look to the ceiling, to the side, and then down to the floor. "Oh, look, a quarter."
I lunge for the circular object by my feet.
"It's shiny," I grin. "Hey, Demi, follow the shiny thing, okay?" I say in an excited tone, holding the coin up to her face and slowly waving it back and forth.
Demi gently grips my upper wrist, stopping my movements. She plucks the quarter right from my grasp.
"You just stole my quarter, you..." I bite my tongue, knowing that Dianna hates it when we curse.
"Aw," Demi ruffles my hair as if I'm three. "Look who can't say bitch."
"Aw," I mock. "Look who is one."
"You're just jealous that I am twenty-five cents richer because of your quarter."
"You own a mansion, drive a Lexus, and can belt out notes like Kelly Clarkson. Of course I'm jealous of your freaking quarter," I sarcastically agree.
"Technically," Maddie snatches the coin from Demi's hand, "it's my quarter now, suckers."
'What the hell is he doing here?"
Like a light switch being flipped, the joking, playful aura in the small corridor switches to tense and angry.
"Dallas, please don't start with me," Demi walks past her older sister, probably in search of Dianna.
"What the hell is he doing here?" she repeats.
"He drove me and Sierra here," Demi sighs, sounding annoyed.
"So, that's where you were yesterday?" Dallas accuses. "Isn't it, Demi?"
"So what if it was? What does it matter to you?"
"He hurt you, Demi. He cheated on you. Or did you forget that?"
"Why would you even ask me something so stupid?" Demi turns around to face Dallas.
"Funny. I was going to ask you why you're acting so stupid."
"Me? I'm the one who's acting stupid?" Demi laughs sarcastically.
"Yes, Demi, you are, because you're the one who's crawling back to the guy who-"
"I'm not crawling back to anybody. Even if I was, why would you care, Dallas? It wouldn't pertain to you anyway."
"You're my sister, Demi."
"Really? Because you sure as hell don't act like a sister to me."
"I care about you. I don't want you making stupid, irrational decisions like you have a tendency of doing."
"Oh, so I'm stupid and irrational now?"
"That's not what I said, Demi," Dallas shakes her head.
"But that's what you were implying," Demi kneads circles into her temples with the tips of her fingers. "I need a minute," she mutters, heading for the stairs.
"But mom needs to talk and you and Sierra," Madison reminds her.
"I don't care," Demi snaps, slightly clutching her head. "Just tell her that I'll be back down in a minute," she commands in a softer tone.
She retreats up the stairs, and we hear a door shut moments later.
"Good going, Dallas," Maddie spits.
"You're ganging up on me now, too?"
"Nobody's ganging up on you. We're being realistic."
"So am I."
"No, you're not. You're the one who's being stupid and irrational. It has never been, is not, and will never be your relationship, so back out of their business."
I glance at Wilmer as he shifts uncomfortably. I point towards the stairs, and he nods.
"Where are you going?" Dallas wonders as I'm ascending the stairs.
"To check on Demi," I reply without looking at her.
I gently knock twice on Demi's bedroom door. Upon receiving no response, I roll my eyes and open the door myself. I find Demi with her face down in a pillow.
"Smothering yourself isn't gonna do any good."
She raises her head and cranes her neck to look at me.
"I wasn't trying to, but thanks for the idea," she offers a weak smile before returning to her previous position.
I sit with her on the bed.
"You're not stupid or irrational, Dems," I mumble.
"Try telling that one to Dallas," she sits up. "You and Madison are the youngest, yet you two understand me the most."
"Wilmer understands you," I smirk, bumping her shoulder with mine.
"Shut up," she giggles, gently smacking my head with the soft pillow.
To my surprise, I giggle along with her.
"As much as I hate to admit it," she wraps her arms around the pillow, "Wilmer probably knows me the most."
I give her smile, and the silence that follows is comfortable.
"I'm proud of you, Demi."
"For what?" she snorts. "Being the ultimate fuck-up?"
"That would be me. I'm proud of you for everything. You're so strong, even if you fail to realize it."
"You shouldn't be proud of me. I'm not strong. I couldn't even keep my breakfast down this morning."
I frown.
"Well, I'm still proud regardless. You tried, right?"
"Of course I tried. I tried so hard, but they were too loud."
I give her hand a reassuring squeeze.
"I know," I murmur. "But you tried. That's all that matters. I'm proud of you because you tried."
"I'm proud of you, too, Sierra."
I smile at her, and she does the same to me.
"Now, how about we go see what mommy dearest wants," I suggest, rising to my feet.
Demi nods and begins to stand but quickly sits back down, clutching her head.
"What's wrong?"
"The whole room is spinning," she whimpers, "and it feels as if somebody is taking a jackhammer to my skull."
"Do you want me to call our mom up here?"
"Ow," she breathes out after shaking her head in response to my question. "Can you just get me two painkillers from my bathroom?"
I nod, hurrying to her bathroom and scouring her medicine cabinet. I open the small box and pull out the sheet of blue capsules. Popping two of the pills through the foil, I return the sheet to the box and return the box to the cabinet.
"Here," I drop the two pills into Demi's palm, and she swallows them dry. "Are you sure you don't want me to call Dianna up here?"
"I'm sure. I'll be fine in a couple of minutes anyway once the pills kick in," her words fail to reassure me. "Ready to go back down?"
I nod. I watch as she manages to stand on her feet; however, she stops walking as she reaches the door, leaning on the wall for support.
"Dems," I easily approach her. "Maybe you should sit back down."
With alarmed eyes, I notice her body beginning to sway opposite the wall. I lunge forward and catch her before her head hits the floor. I ease her onto her back. Her eyes are closed, her face peaceful. I curse and check her pulse, breathing a sigh of relief when I feel her heartbeat.
"Wilmer!" I yell, scrambling to my feet and running to the top of the staircase. "She passed out."
"What?" he exclaims.
He rushes up the stairs with Maddie behind him.
"Mom! Dad!" Dallas shouts before hurrying upstairs as well.
"She fainted," I hastily lead them to Demi's room.
"I'm calling an ambulance," Dallas states.
She retrieves her phone from her pocket, explaining the situation and reciting the address to the person who answers.
"Let's get her downstairs," Eddie scoops his stepdaughter up bridal style, emitting a gasp.
"What's wrong?" Dianna's tone is worried, just like everyone else's.
He shakes his head with a calculating expression.
"She feels way too light," he explains with solemn eyes, his gaze locking with his wife's.
They seem to communicate silently as she shakes her head. She moves closer to Demi, her fingertips grasping the edge of one of her daughter's long sleeves. The sound of sirens rings out. She drops Demi's sleeve as we all hurry downstairs. As everyone else heads outside, Wilmer grips my wrist.
"You have to tell them."
"No, I don't," I shake my head. "I'm pleading the fifth."
"They're going to find out eventually."
"Yes, from doctors and trained professionals. If I tell them, they're going to wonder why she told me, the adopted girl that she initially hated, instead of her own flesh and blood. What am I supposed to say? Oh, yeah, she told me and not you because I do the same shit, and she feels a connection with me? Get real."
"The paramedics need to know, Sierra."
"They'll find out on their own."
"About her self-harming, yes, but not necessarily about her eating disorder. What if it meant life or death?"
"It doesn't."
"But what if it did? What if her fate rested on your shoulders and all you had to do was speak up? If you don't tell someone, I will."
I yank my wrist from his grasp and run outside to find two paramedics buckling Demi to a stretcher and loading the stretcher into the back of an ambulance. One paramedic, however, is speaking with the family. I approach them.
"Does anybody know what happened prior to Ms. Lovato passing out?"
"Sh-she was complaining of a headache and of feeling dizzy," I hesitantly reply, crossing my arms over my chest in an act of self-comfort.
"You were with her when she fainted?"
I nod.
"I gave her two painkillers, too."
"Do you think you know why she might've passed out?"
I bite back a sarcastic response, knowing that it won't help the situation at all.
"She has, um, a history of anorexia and bulimia-"
"But she's recovered," Dianna interjects.
I'm sorry, Demi.
"But she has relapsed," I close my eyes, willing myself not to cry, not here in front of everyone.
The paramedic places a hand on my shoulder.
"You did the right thing, kid," he reassures before running towards the ambulance.
The sirens slice through the tension-filled air, and the bright lights blind me, yet I can't stop staring at them, afraid to look at my own family.
"Sierra, you're going to tell us everything in the car," Dianna grips my forearm, gently dragging me towards her car.
"No," I shake my head, removing my arm from her grasp. "It's not my story to tell."
I jog towards Wilmer as he's about to shut his car door. I hold the door open.
"You're heading to the hospital, right?"
"Of course," he nods.
"Can I come with?"
He peers over my shoulder, probably at my family, then raises a questioning eyebrow. I don't elaborate.
"Get in," he jerks his thumb toward the passenger seat.
I flash him a grateful smile.
ns 172.70.127.112da2
and then Add to home screen.