Blessing In Disguise

Original | Chapter Four

(Sierra's POV)

The next morning, I'm woken up by yelling. I groggily sit up in my bed and listen to what's going on. The voices are muffled, but I can still understand what they're saying.

"I'm an adult! I can do whatever the hell I want!" somebody, possibly Demi, screams.

"You may be an adult, but you act like a child," Dianna says.

I get up from my bed and open my bedroom door, amplifying the yelling. I follow the voices until I reach the living room.

"What's going on?" I ask, my voice thick with sleep.

Demi, Dianna, and Dallas are in the living room. I have no idea where Eddie and Maddie are.

"Nothing," Demi answers quickly.

Dallas snorts.

"Demi here just got the bright idea to go out last night and become a drunken whore," she explains.

"I was not being a drunken whore!" Demi screeches.

"Oh, my apologies. Does drunken slut sound better, sister dearest? Or what about prostitute?"

"Fuck you, Dallas," Demi hisses.

Dallas' face drops for a moment. A look of hurt and surprise flashes across her face, but it is soon replaced by anger.

"You are the most unappreciative bitch I've ever met, Demi. We were all there for you when you needed us the most, and how do you repay us? You push us away and treat us like shit, just because-"

Dallas' words are cut off by a slapping sound. It takes me a second to realize that Demi slapped her own sister. The room is silent. I could cut the tension with a knife if I wanted to.

"You have no idea what I've been through, Dallas, and you certainly have no idea what I'm going through now," Demi says in a tone that sends an uneasy shiver down my spine.

She then spins around on her heels, and the sound of her walking upstairs is heard. A few seconds later, a door slams.

"I'm sorry," Dallas apologizes, heaving a tired sigh.

"It's okay. It's not your fault," I try to reassure her.

"But it is my fault," Dallas whispers, more to herself than to me.

I open my mouth to say something, but Dianna beats me to it.

"It is not your fault, Dallas. If it's anybody's fault, it's mine. I'm her mother, for Christ's sake. I should have noticed that something was terribly wrong a long time ago."

Dallas looks like she wants to deny what her mother said, but instead she just drops the subject.

What is it with this family and leaving me out of the loop? I mean, what could be so horrible that they wouldn't want to clue me in at least a little bit?

I shake my head and walk back upstairs to my bedroom to take a shower and change into an outfit for the day. I enter my bathroom and take a quick shower, then change into a simple white tee-shirt and jeans. I also apply some makeup over my cuts to cover them. Returning to my room, I lace up a pair of grey and white Nike sneakers and throw on a blue and white striped jacket, finishing off my outfit with a necklace and coordinating earrings.

I walk to Maddie's room and softly knock on the slightly ajar door.

"Come in," she says.

I walk into her room and find her on her bed, watching television just like last night.

"Hey, Sierra."

I give her a small wave.

"I would have gone to your room this morning, but apparently Demi is in one of her moods again," Maddie says.

"How often is she like that?" I quietly ask.

"She never used to be like this, but recently... she's just changed, I guess. I'd love to tell you about it, I really would, but it's just not my story to tell."

I nod, not knowing what to say. This whole family is confusing. Why won't they just tell me what I want to know?

"What does your sister mean by a fan? Why does she keep saying that I'm just another fan?"

Maddie stays silent for a minute.

"I don't know if I should tell you," she finally says.

"Why not?"

"Because you might actually become one of her fans. Right now, you're a member of the family. Nothing more, nothing less. And that might be a good thing. But if you really must know, my computer's right over there," she replies, pointing towards an Apple desktop.

She gets up from her bed and exits the room, leaving me there to battle with myself yet again. Should I really Google her older sister? That sounds incredibly creepy. I decide against it, for now at least, and instead head downstairs to find Maddie.

"Can I please tell her?" Maddie begs somebody.

"I don't care, Madison, but do not come whining to me when she pretends to be your friend only to get closer to me," Demi answers.

Why do I have a feeling that they're talking about me?

"She's not like that," Maddie grumbles.

"How do you know? What exactly do you know about her personal life? For all you know, she could be as fucked up in the head as I was at that age!"

"You weren't as bad as you describe, Demi. You had a mental illness. It wasn't your fault," Maddie tries to reason with her sister, sounding much older than she really is.

"Now you're just making it sound like I was crazy. What mental illness causes somebody to purge six times a day and eat only two meals a week?"

"Eating disorders. Bulimia. Anorexia. You know this, Demi. Why are you asking me?" Maddie questions.

Wait, has Demi suffered from the things that I'm suffering from right now? No. There's no way. Demi's perfect, aside from her bitchy personality. I'm broken beyond repair. Demi looks like she hasn't had a bad day in her entire life.

It's eerily quiet for a minute. Maddie breaks the silence, and her tone makes me want to collapse into a fit of sobs.

"A-are you relapsing?" Maddie whispers, sounding close to tears herself. She sounds so vulnerable and hurt.

"Don't be ridiculous, Madison," Demi mutters.

I hear footsteps coming my way, so I move away from the wall that I was tucked safely behind and act as if I were just coming down the stairs. Demi turns the corner. Her face is pale, really pale, and her eyes are bloodshot from tears that have yet to fall. I hear her sniffle, but she still hasn't noticed me, for she's keeping her gaze low. She bumps into me, sending me to the floor. I expect her to give me a rude remark about how I should watch where I'm going, but instead she stays silent. She walks past me, stuck in a hollow-looking state. I don't know which is worse: her yelling at me or her not acknowledging me at all.