~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.
"Am I interrupting something?"
We separate immediately, acting as if the other just burst into flames. I turn around, yanking my shirt down in the process, to find Anabelle wearing a smirk. Her smirk does nothing to hide the pain in her bloodshot eyes. Without answering her, I scoot over, motioning for her to sit between Wilmer and I. She hesitates slightly before claiming the seat.
"What's up, baby-girl?"
She looks down at her lap, fiddling with her thumbs.
"It was a nightmare, wasn't it?" I ask, already knowing the answer.
She looks at me with a surprised expression.
"Bloodshot eyes, pale skin, and sweating," I tick off three of her current appearance characteristics on my fingers.
"Not many people know that nightmares can do all of that to a person."
"I had dreadful nightmares while in treatment," I admit. "Reliving the past can really mess up your sleep."
"Tell me about it," She mumbles, returning her gaze to her lap.
"Do you want to tell me about it?" I softly pry, hoping that she does.
Her expression shows her internal conflict.
"You don't have to if you don't want to," I reluctantly add.
"It, uh, it was about one of my best friends. She was addicted to cocaine and ultimately it killed her. In my dream, she was happy, and we were laughing in a graveyard. Then I looked up to see that a storm had started brewing. I turned back to her to tell her that we should leave only to see her snorting a line of white powder from her palm. She offered me some, but I only sat there. Thunder boomed, rain poured, and lighting streaked the sky as her body kept withering away until she was nothing but a skeleton. Her eyes were black and hollow as she lifted a bony hand and blew the remainder of the powder into my face. Then I woke up."
I close my eyes as the images flood my mind. Cocaine is something that nobody should ever become addicted to. I open my eyes to find Anabelle snuggled into Wilmer's side, but staring blankly ahead. I grip her free hand, rubbing circles onto it with my thumb.
"Anabelle, I'm going to ask you something, and I want you to be a hundred percent honest with me, okay? I won't get angry, and I won't judge," I reassure.
She looks at me with peaked curiosity, awaiting my question. I take a deep breath, preparing myself for whatever her answer my be.
"Have you ever done cocaine?"
She immediately, vigorously shakes her head no. I breath a sigh of relief.
"When I caught my friend doing it for the first time, she made me promise to not ever do it because it's not worth it. I'll admit that I've thought about doing it, but I've never actually done it."
"Good. That is some of the worst stuff to get addicted to."
"Weren't you addicted to it?"
I nod. She chews thoughtfully on her bottom lip.
"You don't have to answer this," She slowly reassures. "But, what was it like being addicted to it?"
I debate on how to answer her question. I could sugar coat it with the intentions of protecting her, but then what if that makes her even more curious about the drug? I could be brutally honest and risk scaring her. I could use scare tactics to make her not want to do the drug, but then I'd be playing with our fragile trust. Taking a deep breath, I decide to be one hundred percent honest with her, like I hope she is with me.
"It's different for everybody. I would feel extremely happy and confident for about half an hour. I would feel invincible and on top of the world, thinking that my life suddenly seemed perfect. But once that thirty minutes was up, I crashed into a deep depressive state. I started needing more and more of it to achieve that same high, that invincible feeling. It got so bad that I started not even caring who saw me doing it as long as I was doing it. It got so out of hand that I started putting that drug before my family, my friends, and my fans."
"What finally made you stop?"
You.
"Treatment helped a lot, but, at the end of the day, it was up to me to make sure that I stayed clean."
She's silent, but I can see her debating with herself again.
"You can ask me anything," I reassure.
"W-Why did you and Joe break up? Being a Lovatic and all, I've heard rumors and assumptions, but..." She trails off, shifting her gaze to the floor.
"How do we go from my cocaine addiction to my relationship with Joe?" I dodge her question with a nervous, breathy chuckle.
"You don't have to answer," She mutters, looking as if she's mentally beating herself up for asking.
I sigh, lifting her chin up so that she's looking at my face.
"What rumors have you heard?" I inquire, not really too fond of hearing her answer but kind of stalling for time so to speak.
"Um," She thoughtfully clucks her tongue.
I mentally cringe, preparing myself for a very long list that sounds horrible to the public.
"I've heard that it was a publicity stunt, that he cheated on you, that you cheated on him, that he didn't want a girlfriend who had issues, that it was a mutual agreement, that you were pregnant, that-"
"Wait, what?" I interrupt, realizing too late how suspicious I both look and sound.
"Some of the tabloids were claiming that you were pregnant at the time. I figured that they were just fishing for drama and headlines that sold," She slowly explains with a perplexed expression.
"Uh, yeah, that's probably what they were doing," I agree with a fake smile.
"So, were any of those rumors right?"
"What?" I ask, too dazed by the fact that a tabloid correctly guessed one of my secrets at the time.
I mean, if they were right about that, what else could they be right about? This is one of the reasons that I try to pay no mind to the press and media.
"Were any of those rumors true about why you two broke up?"
With a jolt I remember what her original question was, the question that I was dodging. With a heavy sigh, I reminisce the last month or so that I dated Joe, recalling how quickly everything went downhill. I hastily think about what I want to say. How do I explain to a child how her father and I broke up before she was even born without telling her that she's my child? If that question doesn't confuse somebody, figuring out the answer surely will.
"From the very beginning, our relationship was built upon lies and secrets," I slowly explain. "I thought that I was the only one with secrets, but it later turned out that that wasn't the case. Our relationship was good starting out. We were best friends turned Hollywood's golden couple. Overall our fan-bases loved us. Some of my fans hated that I was with him and vice versa. As our relationship progressed, my issues took a turn for the worse. He started getting suspicious, wondering why I never ate or why my voice would sometimes crack in odd places or sounded really raspy. Remember earlier when I told you about him finding me in the bathroom?"
She nods.
"Well, that was when everything really started going downhill. He could hardly look me in the eyes. I thought he was ashamed or embarrassed by me, which only fueled my demons. He told me that he wanted to break up with me because he couldn't stand the limelight. I knew it was a lie. He grew up in the limelight, just like me. Plus, even if he had broken up with me because of the limelight, not only was he basking in it after we broke up, but he was never removed from it after we broke up. The point is, I honestly don't know why we broke up because I can't read minds, but I do know that I'm glad we broke up. The ending of our relationship influenced my choices and my decisions before, during, and after treatment. So, in a sense, I'm thankful that our relationship happened and ended so tragically," I conclude.
Her eyes widen slightly as she digests everything that I've said. I mentally run through everything that I said, almost breathing a sigh of relief when I realize that I never mentioned her or my pregnancy once.
"Oh, but don't be spilling that to anybody on Twitter," I joke with a wink, trying to lighten the serious mood.
She giggles, her cheeks tinting red. I glance at my watch, realizing how late it is just as a yawn slips past my lips.
"Tired?" Wilmer wonders.
I'm kind of surprised he stayed both on the couch and awake during the conversation. I nod.
"I should probably be returning to bed anyways," Anabelle says, rising to her feet.
She begins walking to the stairs but hesitantly turns back.
"Demi?"
"Yeah?"
"Thank you."
"For what?" I ask, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion.
"For everything," She responds with a small smile before bounding up the stairs, her bedroom door clicking shut moments later.
Wilmer and I retreat to our bedroom, change into our pajamas, and I fall asleep with a smile on my face.