Damaged Goods: An Angsty Football Romance (All Saints High Series)

I’m carving a dove-shaped cut on my skin using a boning knife I stole from the kitchen.

If Mom ever finds out, she’d blow a gasket.

But she’s not here to chide me. I’m in the sanctuary of my studio. Just me and my demons.

Blood trickles through the fresh scar on my flesh. I chose my hip bone for this DIY tattoo, to keep it hidden from view.

I’m not only cutting because I caught Lev holding Thalia like she was a precious, rare thing.

I’m also doing this because my injuries are making my eyes water with agony.

The endorphins numb the pain of my injuries. Plus, life these days is just a string of little Lev breaks callously sewn together by disappointment.

I could really use some painkillers and Xanax right about now to numb all the pain. The anxiety that’s clogging at my throat. But Lev flushed them all away. Asshole.

Once I’m satisfied with my handiwork—the dove looks small and tiny and red—I dump the bloodstained knife on the floor.

I pick up my phone and scroll through Lev’s messages from yesterday.

Lev: It’s not what you think. Me and Thalia.

Lev: I can explain.

Lev: I’m coming your way right now.

Lev: Your dad said you went to Goodwill. I looked around but couldn’t find you.

Lev: Sorry. Got caught up in a homemade episode of Dr. Phil(th). I’m under your window. Throwing rocks.

Lev: OKAY THROWING STONES NOW. Don’t tell me you aren’t hearing this.

Lev: Fine. Will try you again tomorrow. I just wanna make one thing clear: I’m NOT with Thalia. You are my one. You are my only. You’re my forever.

Lev: <3

Lev: (This was my heart, not my dick. Though you’re welcome to both.)

Lev: For reference, this is my dick: <<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<<3

But it’s four o’clock tomorrow and still no sign of Lev. I came down here hours ago to practice, but I’m struggling to care anymore. About Juilliard. About my relationship with Lev.

My hunger for success is gone. It’s replaced by a hollowness only drugs could fill.

The doorbell chimes. I stay where I am, spread like a snow angel on the floor, staring at the ceiling.

Lev wouldn’t knock. He’s a barger—my heart can testify.

I close my eyes. A tear rolls down my cheekbone, slipping into my ear.

Quietly, I can admit to myself that I’m not okay. I’m not getting better. I’m not on top of things. I don’t have a plan.

Maybe I’ve finally hit rock bottom. Because right now, I feel like I’m pancaked to a hard, jagged surface.

A perky, high-pitched voice impales my sanctuary from above.

“Hi, Mrs. Followhill! Is Bailey around? Thought I’d check on her!”

Thalia.

I scramble to my feet and zip up the stairway to the living room. She can’t come down here. I’m not sure what’s going on between her and Lev, but I’m positive her version of the story isn’t good for my psyche or sobriety right now.

Plus, she was the one who called me to come to All Saints High yesterday, under the guise that we’d be training in the gymnasium.

I should’ve known it was a setup. Hindsight is twenty-twenty.

I’m halfway up the stairway when I hear two sets of feet pounding on wood.

Thalia materializes in front of me, Mom standing behind her. Thalia is grinning like the cat who got the canary.

Or in my case, the turtle dove. For the first time in a long time, she doesn’t look like the 2.0 version of me. She looks pale, dark circles shadowing her eyes.

“Ohmygosh, Bails! Where were you yesterday? I thought we were gonna practice together!” She smacks my shoulder, air-kissing my cheeks. Mom is studying us acutely.

Her bullshit meter is probably dinging so loudly, she’s going deaf.

“Honey, are you accepting visitors? Thalia was very adamant you were expecting her.”

Mom looks like she’s about to cut a bitch. Speaking of cutting, she absolutely cannot get into my studio, or she’ll see it looks like a mini crime scene. Ugh.

“Right now’s not a good time.” I force a smile. “I’ll call you later?”

“Why don’t you walk Thalia upstairs?” Mom suggests. “I’ll get into the studio and grab some of the empty water bottles—”

“No!” I shriek. “You can’t go in there.”

The muscles in Mom’s face go rigid. “Why not?”

Because apparently, whenever I can’t get high, I stoop so low I have to cut myself.

“I’m going to throw them into the recycling trash today. It feels wrong that you have to take care of it.”

“Don’t be silly.” Mom squeezes my arm. “It’s no trouble at all. You cleaned the whole house yesterday.”

She slips past me, and it’s better Thalia see than my mom. I have to stop her, so I find myself blurting out, “Thalia and I need to practice there now.”

Mom rotates her head, scanning Thalia’s attire, which comprises of two-inch heels, a skirt that barely covers her private business, and a shirt my dad likes to refer to as a shra—a shirt-bra.

Mom is about to argue, but then Thalia shrugs off her backpack and lifts it in the air. “I’ve got training gear in my backpack.”

“I need to check your bag for drugs,” Mom says matter-of-factly. I’m about to die of humiliation.

Thalia tosses her bag into Mom’s hands, the picture of nonchalance. “Be my guest, Mrs. Followhill.”

She flips the bag upside down and goes through each item meticulously. Rummaging through textbooks, a box of tampons and an array of fruit-flavored ChapStick. Finally, Mom takes a deep breath and nods.

She goes back upstairs, and I reluctantly lead Thalia into the ballet studio.

Thalia closes the door and leans against it, a wicked glint twinkling in her eyes. I don’t actually think she’s evil. Very few people are.

Normally, people don’t finger their ultra-thin moustache and mwahahaha when they see others suffer.

But some people have no boundaries and very little healthy judgment, and I feel like Thalia falls into that category.

“What do you want?” I pick up the bloodied knife and clean it with the hem of my shirt.

Thalia looks around. “First of all, what the heck happened here? Why is there blood on the floor?”

“Aunt Flo’s in town,” I mumble, picking up a paper towel roll I keep here to wipe sweat from the floor and clean it. “I’ll ask again—why are you here?”

Thalia pushes off the door. “Well, because we didn’t practice yesterday like we planned, silly! Why did you leave all of a sudden?”

“You know why I left.” I dump the sullied paper towels into the trash can. The metallic scent of blood tinges the air, prickling my tongue.

“Not everyone’s a brainiac, doll. Spell it out for me.”

“You wanted me to catch you with Lev.”

“How can you catch me with my own boyfriend?” She gasps in shock. I’ve met fantasy books more believable than this girl. “So what if we had a moment? It’s not like we noticed you.”

“Are you still together?” I choke out the question.

She stops a few feet away from me, giving me a once-over. I know I look terrible.

Suddenly, I regret asking her.

Her innocent expression breaks into a delighted, shocked smile, and my heart sinks further. “He hasn’t spoken to you? Oh. Of course we are.” She eats the space between us, gathering me into a hug. “And all thanks to you. Your friendship and your advice helped me so much.”

I’m stiff in her embrace. My heart is pounding like crazy. I want to make this stop.

The truth pours out of my mouth like a gushing wound. “I had sex with him on Saturday.”

Now it’s Thalia’s turn to become a pillar of salt.

“What?” she whispers.

I nod into her hair. “I’m not saying this to hurt you, I swear. But either you’re lying about the fact you’re together or he’s cheating on you. Either way, you deserve the truth.”

She pulls away from me like I’m fire. “I mean, things aren’t perfect, but we’re working on it. Especially now, after what happened.”

“What happened?” My throat turns dry. Her perfume—my perfume—clings to my lips, the bitter taste of it exploding in my mouth.

And I know in this moment that I’m never going to wear it again. It is ruined for me forever.

“He didn’t tell you the good news?” She bats her lashes. “I’m not going to college. I’m joining him wherever he goes. I’ve a feeling he is going to propose.”

The entire world tips over like a bowl of hot oil. The burn scorches through my inner organs, turning everything into ash.

I stumble backward. My back hits the mirror. I glance behind my shoulder.

Look at my face.

Find strength.

And remember who I am.

The words fall out of my mouth on their own accord: “You’re lying.”

That serene grin on her face spreads wider. I’m woozy. “Aww, I know it’s shocking. Totes unexpected! But I mean, all of your families marry young, right?”

Yes. To people they’re in love with. Lev is not in love with Thalia.

Turning around, I pick up my phone from the floor and scroll down to find his name.

“What are you doing?” Panic laces her voice.

“Calling him to ask if you guys are still together.”

“P—put the phone down, you wacko.”

I hit send instead. Screw her. So far I have been easily manipulated because my head is a mess, but one thing is clear to me—Thalia has been playing a game all along.

Thalia pounces on me, ripping my phone from between my fingers. She hurls the device across the room. It hits the opposite mirror, which cracks noisily.

A large chunk of glass collapses to the floor, blanketing my phone. Thalia grabs me by the shoulder and pushes me onto the sea of broken glass.

She is trying to hurt me. My survival instincts kick into high gear, and I raise my arms, pushing her back.

She tries to catch my shirt, but I dodge, running toward the door. She is faster, though. And she reaches there first, blocking my way out with her body.

I open my mouth to yell for my parents, and she slaps a hand over it, her eyes manic.

“If you want to get out of here alive, you better not fucking scream, Bailey.” She removes her hand from my mouth slowly.

I stare at her in horror. Her eyes are filled with tears. She’s shaking inside her skimpy clothes. “Let him go.”

“What?” I sputter. “I’m not the one clutching on to him, Thalia. I have no ownership over him.”

“Stop being so greedy,. Her voice spikes up. “You are surrounded by many rich, handsome boys. All of them can make you happy. I only know one. I only have a chance with one. And you’re ruining it for me.”

Is this what it’s about?

Securing a cushy future for herself?

I’m not trivializing poverty or struggle, but Lev is more than a paycheck. He is my entire world.

I shake my head. “No can do, Thalia. I will fight for him with everything I have in me.”

“How lucky for me that your everything is not much,” she hisses out.

With a growl, she grabs on to my dove bracelet and rips it from my wrist.

It’s torn and tattered on the floor between us, a fatal blow in one shot. I drop to my knees on a gasp, frantically looking for the pendant between the shards.

My heart is pounding in my ears. Where is it?

“You’re a silver-spooned princess,” she accuses, standing above me, glass crunching beneath her, while I’m searching for the unspoken love declaration Lev gave me. “No wonder you were perfect all the time. It’s easy to be when you have the entire world in the palm of your hand. As soon as shit started becoming real, you fell apart. Look at you.” An icy laugh bubbles from her throat. “A scrawny, purple mess. Just because Lev is confused, doesn’t mean he isn’t going to realize he made a mistake. We will get back together.”

“Jesus.” I heave out a sigh. “You’re the one who is high if you believe that. Lev would have never fallen in love with you, with or without my presence in his life. He is a kind person. An expansive thinker. Your souls are oil and water. Mix them together, and they still won’t stick.”

Thalia towers over me, a scorn painting her face. “Look up, Bailey.”

I do. And that’s when I see the pendant dangling from between her fingers.

“Our souls don’t need to match. Love is a story they sell privileged idiots and you eat it up and ask for seconds. The only thing that needs to fit is his dick between my legs, and we have no problem in that department.” She lets out a manic laugh.

I stand up before she kicks me while I’m down—while kicking me while I’m down.

“Plus, now that I have this, maybe I can convince him I’m his true love.” She puts the pendant to her heart, grinning. “Like Cinderella’s slipper…”

“You’re nuts,” I whisper.

“Nah, you’re just slow to catch up on the plot. I guess every good story needs a villain.” Thalia’s mouth hooks in a miserable smile. “And I’m the villain in yours.”

“Why are you doing this?” I ask, even though I know. Why do we do things we shouldn’t do? From pain. From desperation. From anger.

The question seems to sober Thalia, who actually responds in earnest.

“I wanted the fairy tale for myself, and with you gone to the East Coast, I thought I could have it. I wanted hearts and roses. Love declarations and neck kisses. I wanted the glitzy life, the nice cars, the year-round vacations. And I watched from the sidelines, seeing how all the Coles and Followhills and Rexroths and Spencers married young. Married well. You all seem so happy, so fortunate. I wanted that for myself. To write my own destiny. Lev is extraordinary. And you? You’re as ordinary as they come.”

“Ordinary and extraordinary aren’t antonyms, Thalia,” I say sadly. “They coexist beautifully. You cannot have beauty without ugliness. Love without hate. A rainbow without the rain. Being special is nothing special. The things that make us great are the things that we control. Our choices. And you?” I shake my head. “You’re not a good person. He could never love you.”

She looks left and right, as if searching for hidden cameras.

A horrible feeling crawls all over my skin. She is planning something foul.

Thalia pushes a hand inside her bra. She takes something out and throws it into my hands.

I catch it instinctively and hold it in my fist. I can feel what’s inside it without even opening my hand.

Pills.

Tranquility.

All in a small, square transparent bag.

Heaven.

I shove it back at her chest with quivering hands. “No. I’m done.”

“You need it,” she insists.

Someone bangs on the basement door loudly. Mom’s voice filters in through the crack. “I heard something crashing. Is everything okay?”

Thalia and I are locked in an unwavering stare-off, but she no longer feels as dangerous.

I drop the bag of drugs between us. It’s at our feet. Every cell in my body wants to bend down and pick it up. But I can’t. I want to do better. To get better. So I remind myself of all the people I cannot disappoint.

My parents. Daria. Lev. Myself.

“Bailey? Bailey, answer me!” Mom bangs louder.

“Take them,” Thalia whisper-shouts, her eyes turning into slits. “You won’t get another chance. Sydney is going out of town tomorrow. Do it.”

“Mom!” It takes everything in me to turn around and yank the door open.

I fall into Mom’s arms, crying, crying, crying. I’m full of glass and blood and demons.

“You should leave,” Mom clips out to Thalia, my head nestled in her hands.

I feel like the most fragile thing in the world right now. A tissue paper ripped to shreds.

Thalia picks up her stuff and scurries her way out.

Mom doesn’t ask about the mirror.

About the blood.

About the state of me.

She just kisses the crown of my head and tells me, “I love you. I love you. I love you.”

And in that moment, in the arms of a mother who loves me unconditionally, I know the meaning of true wealth.

Mom encourages me to take a shower. Perhaps because I look like the post-bucket Carrie scene.

I don’t argue for a change. I sit curled up under the showerhead, letting the water whip at my paper-thin skin.

When I hear the front door open downstairs and Lev announcing himself, I bark out a bitter laugh. Of course, he is finally here when I’m unavailable.

But this time, he says he’ll wait. I turn off the faucet, sitting naked and shivering in the shower, and listen to broken crumbs of his conversation with my parents.

“…not going anywhere. Your kid is harder to pin down than the president.”

“When did you try pinning down the president?” Dad asks conversationally. “You know his address is public knowledge, yeah?”

“She isn’t in a great place today,” Mom admits faintly.

“A great place for her would be rehab,” Dad interjects. “Kid is less than a hundred pounds. She’s a ticking time bomb.”

No, I’m not. I frown, huddling toward my mirror to take a good look at myself.

And then I see that maybe I am less than a hundred pounds after all. My cheeks are sunken, my skin is pale, and you can see the outline of every bone in my torso clearly.

“Well, what do you suggest, kicking her out?” Mom barks at him. Mom and Dad never fight, so of course, I’m filled with fresh guilt. Ever since I came back from Juilliard, I’ve caused nothing but trouble and heartache. I made my parents miserable. Destroyed Lev’s life. And caused Daria pain and sorrow.

“If her sobriety is at risk, heck yes,” Lev spits out.

I don’t know who I’m mad at, but I’m fuming.

Maybe it’s at him for selling me out or at myself for this gigantic fall from grace.

Or at the world, for making me believe for eighteen years that everything would be okay, just for me to crumble out of the safety net of my parents’ house in less than a year.

That’s it. I’m gonna go downstairs and shove it in their faces that I actually refused drugs just today, when Thalia tried to give them to me.

I step out of the shower and slip into a bathrobe. My skin is ice-cold and I’m trembling from withdrawals. They continue arguing downstairs when my gaze halts over my hip bone.

The carving of the dove has somewhat healed, and the jagged skin sticks out. I run my finger over it and shiver. A gust of wind. Like the window is open, but it’s not. It’s crazy, but I feel like something’s happening. Like Rosie is here somehow.

Downstairs, Lev says, “Where’s the draft coming from?”

I press my lips together, fighting tears. “Thank you, Rosie,” I whisper.

There’s a glimmer of hope in the sea of darkness I’m drowning in.

A small hope that Rosie is watching over us and maybe she has a big, good plan how to get us out of this.

“What draft?” Dad asks. I start putting my clothes on, walking over from the bathroom to my room, listening to them as I get dressed. “Anyway, I’m not feeling comfortable sending her back to Juilliard before she completes some sort of program. She’s been slacking on her support group meetings.”

“Well, Juilliard is no longer something we need to be worried about, for better or worse,” Mom says decidedly.

My heart grinds into miniscule smithereens. I can’t move.

I.

Can’t.

Breathe.

“What do you mean?” Lev echoes my thoughts. There is silence, so much silence, too much silence. Marx, say something. Anyone. Anything.

“We got the letter in the mail yesterday,” Mom sighs, finally. “I hid it from Bailey. I know it’s horrible—it was addressed to her. But I couldn’t risk her finding out tha—”

“What’s in the letter, Mel?” Dad’s voice is urgent.

“She is not going back.” Mom’s voice cracks in the middle, like a twig. “Juilliard has a strict no drug abuse policy. They’re extremely diligent about it. What happened to Bailey is no secret, and it’s horrible optics. Plus, they want her to get better. She’s not a risk they’re willing to take, and frankly, I don’t blame them.”

There’s a beat of silence before she really hammers it home. “Bailey is not going back to Juilliard. They decided for her. And that’s final.”

I fall down on my knees, a feral cry escaping my lips. My mouth is dry and my ears are clogged, full of white noise.

The dream is dead.

Her dream is dead.

My dream is dead.

This makes no sense at all. They sent me an email asking me to retake the practical exam.

Why did they change their minds?

But then I remember what Mom told me on the plane to Jackson Hole.

Juilliard doesn’t usually send emails about things like that.

She is right—they sent snail mail. But someone did send me an email. It just wasn’t authentic. Who could push me into working harder for an old dream, into taking drugs?

Thalia.

I grab my phone and get into the email again. Sure enough, the email address looks suspicious. [email protected].

How did I not pay attention? A freaking yahoo address. And Juilliard is spelled wrong.

Is this amateur hour? I should’ve seen this right away.

But of course, it slipped past me. I was drugged up, in pain, and too jaded to focus on the details.

I don’t deserve Juilliard. Or Lev, for that matter. I’d only slow him down.

He is destined to greatness, and me? I’m below average.

From the corner of my eye, I notice something sitting on my nightstand.

It’s the drugs Thalia brought over today. She must’ve put them here when Mom was comforting me, before she slithered her way out.

They’re here, in plain sight, waiting to be consumed. How could I have missed that?

The same way you missed so many things these past couple months.

No Juilliard. No future. And…let’s admit it, after the confiscated dove pendant, maybe no Lev, either. That bracelet was our lifeline.

The one thing that bound us together, even when we were torn apart, each of us living on another coast.

Those things on my nightstand? They could make me shut down and forget who I am.

Rather than walking, I crawl my way to my nightstand. My knees hit the floor. I push three pills past my lips and swallow without water. Then I take the rest of the pills—I don’t even know what they are—and shove them down my throat. I slacken against my bedframe, head hanging in shame, and stare out the window.

To the doves sitting on my tree.

To the sun twinkling in the sky.

To what very well could be the last day of my life.