Page 99 of Bona Fide

? Bow Down — I Prevail ?

Twelve—that’sthe number of clients that have canceled their events with A Series of Fortunate Events after Demi released the video of my allegedly sleeping with men at parties.

Eight—that’s the number of days Mama has been in the hospital.

Six—the nights Marty has stayed at my house.

Four—the number of awkward conversations Marty and I have had.

One—the most powerful number of all.

Wade is standing outside my door right now, banging on it like a madman. Dogs started barking somewhere in the neighborhood with his loud voice, on the verge of waking my neighbors.

The loud slams to my metal door sound like he’s taking a battering ram to it. And the longer he stays out there, the longer he’s at risk.

He’s in danger of exposing himself here.

He’s a hazard for my mental health and the fractured heart that I’ve been trying to handle with care. And every single hit that lands on my door splinters it deeper.

His pleads are ones of mercy, as though a man has a gun to his head right now, and he's begging for his life.

I can’t listen to him anymore—literally. My hands tremble as I make my way into my bedroom to grab my headphones and turn off all the lights inside my house.

Shoving them in my ears, I search for my rock playlist on Spotify and hit shuffle.

Bow Down by I Prevail filters through my earbuds, and I crank it to the max, ignoring my headache and the fragile line my body is walking right now.

Lying on my bed, I close my eyes, focusing on my own kind of silence. The voices, drums, guitars, everything plays in a perfect melody of what I call serenity.

It’s something that would calm me down at night when Marty was out dealing or when he went away to the Marines.

And now I feel that same shift and tilt.

One more degree to the side, and I'm a goner. I'll fall down that deep hole again, and I don't want to.

Not for Mama.

Not for Marty.

But because I can’t keep on doing it. I can’t be that girl anymore. I have to take care of my family, not go off the rails when I can’t handle things anymore.

My playlist skips to the next song, and I can hear him, my name being repeated over and over again.

Please go home.

I can’t bear to look at you.

Nothing that he said feels true anymore. He could've just gotten rid of Chase the first time, but he came back. He brought an imaginary being in my life, made me comfortable, then deceived me.

Then there’s the marriage thing.

The Demi thing.

Mama’s house burning to the fucking ground thing.

Fake sex tapes of me screwing old, privileged men thing.

Then it hits me so hard that I sit up in bed.

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