Knife's Edge

CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

If we're trying to look for silver linings, at least it's harder to fall asleep on an empty stomach. Sure, my insides feel like mush, my throat akin to sandpaper... but at least no sleep means no nightmares.

Am I right or am I right?

I lie awake at midnight, still dressed in my jeans and hoodie from earlier, listening to the distant buzz of the TV downstairs. I haven't been back down since my talk with Stella; I haven't been out of my room since hopping off the express train to vom-town.

The best I could manage with what little energy I had left was to trudge over to my bed and flop down face-first, exhausted. I hadn't even bothered to brush my teeth, although the lingering taste in my mouth is making me regret that oversight.

With a sigh, I roll onto my back and stare blankly at the ceiling.

It might make me pathetic, but I have this sudden urge to call Charlotte. I want her to tell me that everything's going to be okay. I want to listen to her voice, hear her laugh – she always makes things better.

But it's midnight and I don't want to bug her. It's way too late to call.

Her empty bed sits a mere three meters away, blatantly mocking me. Sometimes, I really hate that she's gone.

One more week, that's all I've got left to wait before her visit. Seven more days to go and she'll be here, in this room, in that bed. Then, hopefully, she can fix everything like she always does. She can fix things with Bailey like she always does – like older sisters are supposed to know how to.

I don't know anything, anymore – except that, if Bailey didn't hate me before, she probably does now.

I start to wonder if I made the right call, tattling on her about the Wilson's thing. I wonder if there's a better way I could've handled it.

Maybe I shouldn't have got her into trouble. Maybe I should've said that her first shift was a disaster or something, found some excuse for why she wouldn't be returning for a second one.

But that would've meant lying again.

I hate that I feel so crappy about doing the right thing.

I remember Lucas's words as he told me that Bailey's a good kid. Selfishly, I wish he was wrong. It would make everything so much simpler.

Because, really, the only thing Bailey is guilty of here is making a friend – her only friend, might I add. Not exactly a crime, is it? And, like she said, it's not like she planned any of it. It was entirely circumstantial.

If you think about it, this is all Mr Harden's fault, really.

He's the one that partnered them for that stupid project in the first place. I mean, honestly, what chump ever thought teacher-assigned partners were a good idea, anyway?

I groan and roll onto my side, willing my brain to shut up. I can't remember the last time I had nothing to think about. Sometimes my brain feels so full it hurts, crammed with a bunch of problems.

The list goes as follows:

Problem A – Bailey's friendship with Alex and the rest of the Coleman's.

Problem B – My friendship with the Coleman's (because to say I'd still cross the street if I saw one of them walking towards me would be a lie).

Problem C – This dread I feel over the Crawford's someday finding out about problem A and B, the shit-storm it would cause for our entire family.

Problem D – Whatever this new problem with Bailey is. Scratch that, whatever the real problem with Bailey is. And the fact that she won't talk to me about it.