Even Heroes Have Scars

[89] All I Wanna Know

Ansley's P.O.V.

~ Mid April 2018 ~

I was so stunned from the moment I walked through Demi's door last night to the moment she woke up with no recollection of past events. At what point could the feeling of shock end and just be replaced by disappointment or acceptance?

No words could describe my emotions when Demi asked, "What are you guys doing here?" through a raspy voice as she groggily rubbed her eyes.

Cody excused himself and exited the room, leaving me to fight this battle alone.

"I don't even really know what to say to you," I deadpanned to Demi in response, my eyes trained on her as she shifted uncomfortably in bed.

Of course, she was beautiful in this moment, as she is in all moments. A face free of makeup, eyes free of despair. But there was no smile, a sight that brought me back into the moment at hand. The realizations about last night hit me like a wrecking ball, so unexpected.

"When did you get here?" Demi questioned, leaning against the bed's headboard.

"Late last night," I replied.

She nodded. "I must've already been asleep. I don't remember."

"I dragged you up the stairs to your bed from the living room."

"I don't remember."

"You were passed out."

"I was sleeping. I was tired."

"You were drunk."

"I was asleep."

"You were drunk."

She froze now, the accusation sinking in as my eyes shot knives into hers.

For a brief moment, I did contemplate the idea of her truly just being asleep last night. But no, she was slurring her words. She couldn't stand up. She threw up for half an hour. She was hungover right now. There was no denying it, no matter how much I wanted to. I wanted her to be telling the truth, but she was more cohesive when she talked in her sleep than she was last night. No amount of lying could fool me on this. Demi wasn't one to lie to me much, but after her recent actions, especially after Boston and her going M.I.A. for the past few days, lies and deceptions were expected until enough grilling could pull the truth out.

"I don't know what you're talking about," she attempted to defend, but there was no use.

I paced the room a bit to help disperse my anxiety instead of standing still and letting it bottle up. "I have to wonder when this relapse took place. I'd assume three days ago, since that's when you suddenly went A.W.O.L."

"I didn't go A.W.O.L..." she argued.

"We haven't gone more than sixteen hours without communicating one way or another in probably a year unless you were on some sort of retreat. I was relying on tabloids to see if you were even alive. I thought maybe someone took your phone or you were on some sort of trip or in treatment, but that didn't make any sense either, because surely you or Phil or your mom would've told me. I mean, we would sleep together on the phone every night for the past few months. Did you really think I wouldn't notice you disappearing for three whole days?" I rambled, allowing all of my anxieties to piece together and assure myself that I wasn't crazy for thinking all of this.

"I just needed some time to myself," she mumbled.

A forced chuckle escaped my lips. "Okay, say I were to believe you – if you really needed time to yourself, you could've told me. We're supposed to communicate with each other, remember? This isn't a one-sided relationship, and I know you know that, 'cause I've been reminding you of it for months. What did I do that made you feel like you couldn't communicate that to me?" I pondered, following her lead, as my grilling was getting me nowhere.