Chances That You're Burning Through

Original | Chapter Eight

~Demi's POV~

"I got her," I tell Wilmer. "Take Bri and Bec inside." 

"Are you okay?" He questions, his eyes searching my face for the truth. 

"We'll talk later," I reassure, dodging his question for the time being. 

His gaze holds mine for a beat longer before he nods. He shakes awake Rebecca and scoops Bri up into his arms. I watch as he leads a groggy Rebecca into the house while carrying a sleeping Brianna. Once they enter the house, I exhale a heavy sigh. This evening has been way too eventful for my liking, but I wouldn't change anything about it. Through the rear view mirror, I watch as Anabelle sleeps. When I saw her sitting on her hands at the table, my heart shattered. When I saw her purging in the bathroom, it took every ounce of my strength to refrain me from sobbing. When she unleashed her sass on Joe, although it was extremely rude yet hilarious, I felt a swell of pride at the fact that she's my daughter. She reminds me so much of myself. I have yet to find out if that's a good thing or not. I get out of the car and open her door. She looks so fragile. I pick her up bridal style. When I carried her earlier, I was surprised at how light she was. It makes me wonder how long she's been doing this to herself. I feel immense guilt. If I had never given her up, there's a chance that she wouldn't be in this position, that she wouldn't be slowly killing herself. I shut the car door and enter my home. I carry Anabelle up to her room and lay her down on her bed. I cover her with a blanket before kissing her forehead and returning downstairs. I find Wilmer sitting on the couch in the living room, staring at the blank television.

"What's wrong?" I ask him. 

"You tell me."

I sit beside him on the couch, not wanting to explain what happened tonight but knowing that I have to. I shut my eyes, mustering up every ounce of my courage. I debate on how I should word my explanation. 

"Do you remember when I said that eating disorders seem to be a generational thing? That my mother suffered from an eating disorder as well as my grandmother?"

He nods. 

"When I went upstairs to check on Anabelle, I found her purging up her dinner," I confess, tears filing my eyes. "And when we were all sitting at the table, she was sitting on her hands," I say, my voice beginning to crack.

"And that's why you made her run water over her hands, to numb them, right?" 

I nod, my tears spilling over and running down my cheeks. He wipes my tears away with his thumbs.

"It's going to be okay, hermosa," he reassures, stroking my hair.

"How can you say it's gonna be okay?" I question, a sob ripping out of my throat. "She's slowly killing herself, and I-I didn't even realize it."

He rubs comforting circles on my back as I sob into his chest.

"I-I just d-don't know what to d-do."

"Anabelle's strong, Dems, just like you. We'll help her see that she is worthy and beautiful. We'll show her that things will get better, that it can't rain forever. We have to show her that we're willing to fight her battles with her, that she's not alone."

I remove myself from the warmth and security of his chest. His hands lower down my back, wrapping around my waist. I sniffle and dry my tears, willing myself to stop crying. I've done enough of that the past few days to last me the rest of my life.

"You always know just what to say," I observe, pecking his lips. "But, don't let that go to your head," I chuckle as he feigns a pout.

I mock him, jutting my lower lip out. He smirks then nips at my lip causing me to giggle. Our lips collide, molding together perfectly. He pulls me closer to him, sinking his teeth into my bottom lip and tugging. I softly moan into his mouth, allowing him access to let our tongues fight for dominance. One of his hands slip underneath my shirt, his fingers tracing my spine. I shiver despite my flaming cheeks. His hand glides upwards, his fingers now toying with the clasp of my bra.