If Only I Knew How to Hate You

Alex

Confused, I watch Bailey stomp out and slam the flimsy door. Reluctantly, I stand and walk over, knocking on the door. “Bay?”

“Go away. I’m fine.”

“What’s the matter?”

I hear her aggravated sigh. “Nothing. Okay? I’m. Just. Tired.”

Oh right, doctor’s today, stressed….I scratch my head. “You need anything? Advil, maybe?”

“No,” she mumbles and I hear water running. “I’ll be fine. I’m just going to crash, okay? Seriously. I’m fine.” And she’s silent, ignoring me.

Doubting I could do anymore, I decide it’s best to shrug it off and join the guys in watching- shuddering, I fall into my seat. “That’s horrible!”

“I know!” Zack’s eyes are glued to the screen, along with everyone else’s. I laugh quietly at the way we are, and shrugging it off, I turn my attention back to the television to watch.

The week eases by and things fall in routine, being on the bus and doing the concerts. Sometimes Bailey’s at the merch, or she’s talking to people, or napping or calling Missy, while I’ve got my own things to do, too.

At one point, we have to run back to L.A. skipping a day on Warped so MTV can premiere something of ours- it sort of sucks, but if you don’t premiere when MTV says, then it never does, you know? But yeah… Bailey enjoyed seeing Missy again but still got pulled back on the plane like it was a death warrant.

July 14th morning arrives at about five in the morning when I wake up and realize Bailey isn’t there. I hear the shower going, after a moment, so that’s where she is. I stumble out of bed, looking for some water, just when I hear her phone start buzzing.

I glance to the door, and pick it up. “Hello?”

“Alex?”

“Hey, Missy.”

“Hey! Where’s Bailey?”

“In the shower.” I yawn and scratch my head, glancing around, squinting.

“How long has she been in there?” Missy asks sharply after a moment, her mood turning.

“Huh? Uh, I don’t know. Dang, Missy, it’s five in the morning,” I complain. “I just woke up.”

“Well find out!”

“Why?”

“Because it’s her birthday!” And she starts cussing me out to all confusion. I just hear that it’s her birthday though, leaving me stupefied. I’d totally forgotten, I can’t believe it! Hurriedly I try to think of something to do for her…. “ALEX!”

I mutter a curse, wincing at her loud voice. “What?”

“Get her out of the shower! I want to talk to her!”

“She’s going to kill me.”

“I bet you fifty bucks she still has clothes on,” Missy growls.

“Someone’s PMS’ing,” I scowl, hang up and go knock on the door. “Bailey?” I ask softly. And again. And again, a little louder each time. Finally I turn the knob, it being unlocked.

I cough, seeing the room utterly filled with steam. She’s using all the hot water! But how can she stand it so hot? I try to move it away, stepping through. “Bailey?” I call, reaching the curtain.

I hear her muttering to herself, and I figure she must be partially asleep as I fling the curtain aside. To my dismay, she’s in her pajamas- but her skin is redder than a lobster from the heat and she’s scrubbing it with a sponge much too hard, welts appearing and there’s blood on her knee.

Her hair is stuck on her face and she’s shaking, muttering something about blood and getting it off of her. “Just get it off, please, just get it off,” she says over and over and I realize she’s mixing tears with the shower. “Not his blood, not his…”

“Bailey…” I turn off the water but she doesn’t notice- though I do see she stops rubbing so fast and she’s rocking a little, unsteady. “Bay, honey,” I whisper, laying a hand on her back.

She jumps, taking a deep breath and starts shaking harder. “I, I…” she starts to collapse but I catch her in time, though barely. She’s not out, but she momentarily lost her strength, and grabs at my arms, struggling for breath.

“I didn’t- I don’t want- the, the water, the fan,” she stammers.

“Shhh,” I soothe her, wrapping some towels around her. “It’s okay. Bailey, shhh. Step out of the shower. Yeah, see, it’s okay, Bay…” I keep trying to soothe her shaking body as I awkwardly help her dry, though after a moment her hands start moving the towels, too.