The Ballerina & The Devil

Sixty Six. The End

A/N: The song in the media box is Dead in the Water by Ellie Goulding.

WARNING: The material in this chapter may be triggering to those who suffer from eating disorders and/or suicidal thoughts. If you don't think that's something you can handle, but don't continue on.

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Deacon stormed into the house before me, clearly still all in his feelings about the whole Chase thing. He hadn't spoken a word to me in the car ride, as usual, but made it very clear he was even more unpleased with me than before.

I didn't understand what his deal was. Did he expect me to be miserable alone until he got around to talking to me again? I always knew he had a big ego, but I was never aware it was that big.

I shut the front door behind me, stopping in my tracks when I saw my dad and mom sitting on the living room couch looking slightly troubled.

I debated silently whether or not I should walk back out like I hadn't seen them. Usually when they had those looks on their faces, the conversation that was about to ensue ended badly...for me.

Before I could, however, Dad spotted me and motioned me to join them.

I dropped my bag and made my way to where they were, taking a seat in between them.

"Hi," I said tentatively.

"Hi, sweetheart," Mom smiled, but it didn't reach her eyes. "How was school?"

Horrible.

"Pretty good," I lied

"Good," she nodded and glanced at Dad. "Umm, so we- your father and I, came up with a decision about what's going to happen with you."

"And?" My heart began to thud loudly against my chest.

"Dem," Dad started, shifting in his seat. "We've decided that...it would be best for you to go back to treatment."

The rapid heart beats stopped all together, and my heart fell like a rock into the pit of my stomach.

"Dad," my throat suddenly dried up, panic taking over. "Dad, you said that you would talk to Mom-"

"I know, I know," he pressed his lips together, looking a little upset. "But, hon, Mom knows more about this stuff then I do, and she just thinks it would be more efficient if you went back into treatment-"

"You have got to be kidding me!" I spun around to face my mother. "Are you joking? Just because you're a nurse doesn't mean you know everything!"

"Demi," she began, but I stood up refusing to listen to her.

"So that's it, you've just decided that I'm going and that's it? I don't even get an opinion on what happens?"

"No, Demi, you don't," Mom laced her fingers together. "It's obvious you don't know what's best for you-"

"As opposed to you?"

"Actually, yes," she nodded. "I work with people who have eating disorders everyday. I understand this illness, and I understand what it takes for people like you to go into remission. You aren't going to get any better if we you don't go to professionals and work it out-"

"So because you work with 'people like me' you know more about this than I do?"

"That's not what you said."

"But that is what you said, Mom," I threw my hands up. "And these so called professionals you keep talking about didn't work it out the last time, so what makes this time any different?"