"I don't get what your issue is, Jade," Bailey grumbles as we make the silent trek home. Well – more accurately – as I make the silent trek home with Bailey sulking behind me.

After Lucas left me alone in the kitchen, I had stood for a while contemplating our whole conversation. Then, I remembered why I was there in the first place, and my anger soon returned.

I had planned my scolding for Bailey down to the very last syllable. I had rehearsed it in my head, over and over, until my brain turned to mush and all but leaked from my ears.

The words, 'stupid,' 'selfish,' and 'shitbag,' had cropped up a lot – and I was more than prepared to speak them the moment my sister arrived. Only, when Bailey finally had walked through the door (with Alex barely a step behind her), the words had all dissolved on my tongue.

It wasn't my anger that had deflated. Believe me, I am still fuming.

It was me. I had deflated.

One look at the defiant expression on Bailey's face was all it took to defeat me... because I knew it was all futile. My whole speech, every single word of it, was useless.

She wasn't going to listen. She never listens. So, what was the point?

There wasn't one, so I chose not to say anything. Instead, I walked out without even a second glance in her direction.

It left her no option but to follow, moping after me like some sad, stray dog being led on its final walk over the rainbow bridge. As if I'm somehow the bad guy in this, even though she's the violent canine taking chunks from my arm each day.

Well, Fido, it's time to reap what you sow.

We didn't say goodbye to any of the brothers as we'd left, carefully navigating our way around a stack of gaming consoles on our way to the front door. I don't know if they noticed the storm brewing in their kitchen; I don't really care if they did.

I haven't said anything to Bailey since we left and, honestly, I think my silence is bothering her more than words ever could.

"It's the perfect plan!" Bailey insists when I say nothing, my lips sewn together like sutures. "We tell Stella and George that I've landed myself a job at the café so you can keep an eye on me."

I don't need to turn to know the face she pulls as she speaks those five words.

"But, instead," she continues, "I'll get to hang out with Alex. This way, there will always be an excuse to tell Kraken-Karen or Nitwit-Noah, if they ever show up at the house when I'm not there. It's not like they'll ever go to the café to check."

Clearly, Bailey has put some thought into this plan. It's a shame she never puts this much thought into anything actually worthwhile.

"And," she adds, taking full advantage of my silence, "on the off-chance that they do go there – maybe after they've been told that's where I am – you could just tell them that I've finished early and am headed home. It's a flawless plan, as long as I only hang out with Alex on days you're at work. It's perfect–"

But it doesn't sound perfect to me. It sounds complicated, messy, and completely absurd. And, finally, I snap.

"Bailey. Enough," I interrupt. Spinning around in the middle of the street, I turn to face her.

A spooked rat scuttles out from a nearby, overturned wheelie bin as my voice whips out. The words reverberate along the street, sounding like an angry A Capella group.

"Are you insane?" I demand. "I am not lying to social for you! I'm done lying for you, full stop!"

"Why not?" Bailey argues, annoyed. She folds her arms and glares at me. "It's such a simple solution!"

"No. There's already a simple solution," I correct, unable to stop my short laugh of disbelief. I glare right back at her as I grit out, "Stop. Seeing. Alex. It's really not that hard!"

"But he hasn't done anything! It's not fair! He's my friend!"

All true statements – yet all completely irrelevant.

"You know what's not fair, Bailey?" I reply. "Stella and George work so hard in order to put a roof over your head. They never had to take us in; they chose to. And you're throwing it back in their faces!"

All true statements – and all completely relevant. It needed to be said.

Believe it or not, I think those words actually stick a little. I can see it in the way her brow furrows with guilt. She looks at the ground and scuffs at the pavement below her feet, unable to meet my eyes for a few seconds.

"I'm not trying to," she mumbles and, I'll give it to her, she does sound sincere. "This isn't about them."

Then, she sighs out a frustrated sound and looks back at me.

"Look, I didn't ask go get partnered with Alex for that dumb project. I didn't want to be; it wasn't my choice. But Stella and George were on my ass about my grades and, without that project, I would've failed English. So, I had to do it." Then, under her breath she mutters, "You're not the only one with exams this year, you know."

I purse my lips, surprised by the sudden honesty. Bailey doesn't open up like this much. Her go-to is always shouting, with the occasional expletive added in for good measure.

But she's right. My first year of A-levels is Bailey's first year of GCSE's, and she still has a few exams left before she breaks up for summer. Academically speaking, this is a big year for the both of us – which is partly why I chose not to grass her in when she first snuck off to the Coleman's house.

I want her to do well in school.

But I don't see how any of that's relevant now.

"I never expected to become friends with him afterwards," she continues, folding her arms defensively. "I never planned to get on so well with his brothers, either. But I am and I do."

Her voice becomes unexpectedly emotional as she says, "Why should it matter what family he comes from? It's not like he got to choose his parents, Jade! Of all people, I thought you would understand that."

But they're not safe to be around, Bailey! And you're jeopardising our life with the Crawford's. Of all people, I thought you would understand that.

"I get that, Bailey." More than I'd really like to. "But we've got to put our family first."

Because that's what it really boils down to. It's what it always boils down to.

We've had this argument before – a lot – over these past few weeks. It's starting to get old – and not the cool, ancient Aztec ruins sort of old, where you could keep exploring for days and never get bored. It's more like a three month old loaf of bread, so stale and mouldy by now that not even that rat would want to touch it.

I shouldn't have to keep reminding her that our family – our proper family – comes first.

We waited for years for a chance at this life. Why is she so hell-bent on destroying it?

"I'm not saying it's not complicated," I continue. "And I'm not saying that Alex is a bad kid, or that he chose the path that life put him on." 

But shit happens and it is what it is. 

"But none of that changes anything, Bailey. Even without everything at home – with Oscar and social, and all that crap – it doesn't change the facts. Being around him, around them, is dangerous."

The word doesn't sound quite right as it rolls off my tongue, but I can't think of an alternative. I mean, didn't Lucas basically admit as much, back there in the kitchen? You're right to stay away from us. I had pondered over those words a lot, once he'd gone. Even he warned me to stay away.

If that's not hearing it from the horse's mouth, I don't know what is.

"Oh, here we go with this crap," Bailey scoffs, her usual anger returning as she throws her hands up in the air. "What is it you think they're going to do, exactly? It's not like they chased you down the road with a knife!"

The snarky reference shocks me like a bug-zapper, sudden and painful, because I know I never told her about that incident. And, furthermore, she doesn't even seem to care.

"Finn told me," she explains, mistaking my disbelief for confusion. Then, with a huff, she says, "And before you get pissy at him for telling me the secrets you were lying about, he only told me because he was trying to defend you. Which, by the way, they all seem to do a lot."

The glare she spears me with is so icy, she could probably solve global warming with a single glance. Then, she sneers, "Those guys all have mad respect for you. It's such a shame you can't see past your own nose long enough to return the favour."

Her words bite, like the rabid canine she really is.

I thin my lips into a line, refusing to let her make me feel bad. It's not my fault they have such a bad reputation. My views on the brothers – as complex as they're starting to become – are totally irrelevant.

"You saw the house, back there," I mutter, hitching my thumb over my shoulder for emphasis. "It's not a question of who they are as people, Bailey. It's what they do that's the problem."

I've caught her out with that one. It's written all over her face.

"That could've been... totally legit," she tries to argue, but even she sounds sceptical.

Then, annoyed that she's got no defence, she goes on the attack. "Fuck sake, Jade! They jump through hoops every time we're around, trying to hide that shit from us. It's not their fault that you showed up without warning. They're careful but they're not fucking psychic!"

It's truly a talent, how she always manages to put the blame on me. You honestly can't make this shit up.

I'm starting to think there's nothing I can say that she won't argue against – but that doesn't mean I'm about to stop trying.

"You know what's definitely not legal, Bailey? The gun I saw in Lucas's car on Saturday!"

But I say two words too many and, as always, she completely misses the point.

"Why the fuck were you in Luke's car on Saturday?" Bailey demands angrily, letting out an incredulous laugh. Her eyes widen to the size of saucers in her haste to prove her point. "You keep telling me to stay away from them! God, you're such a hypocrite!"

She has me there, caught in a trap of my own making. The look on her face tells me she knows it, too.

"That's not the point," I mutter, trying to brush over the incriminating facts. "My point is there was a gun!"

"So?" she replies, folding her arms. Her shrug is so nonchalant, it's physically nauseating. "Did he aim it at you?"

The stubborn set to her mouth makes me want to scream.

Genuine disbelief escapes me in the form of laughter – because how is she still not getting it? How is that her response? How is she so casual about this?

"Of course he didn't," Bailey mutters, answering her own question. She twists her lips like a petulant child and rolls her eyes. "And he wouldn't. The guy has a total crush on you. It's kind of vomit inducing, actually."

Her words would be terrifying if they were in any way true.

But Lucas Coleman does not have a crush on me; he doesn't even see me as a friend. At best, we share a mutual understanding – our one and only similarity, which is to know the hardships of being an older sibling. That's it.

It's a hardship that my younger sister is irrefutably proving, right this very minute.

And I am sick of it.

"I'm telling Stella," I say. "All of it. Everything."

The words have left my mouth before my mind even knows it's made the decision. And it might just be the only right decision I've made so far.

Forget waiting for Charlotte. This is happening now.

Bailey's scowl dissolves instantly, like a child dropping a full stick of candyfloss into a muddy puddle, devastatingly abrupt. The way her eyebrows pinch together, her eyes suddenly wide and distressed, only serves to concrete the mental image. She looks worried.

"What?" she asks quietly, as if unsure she heard me right. "You can't..."

Surprisingly, she doesn't sound angry like I'd been expecting. Instead, her words come out small – weak – as if there's something in my expression that tells her I'm not bluffing.

Instead of replying, I turn away and start walking.

She's quick to grab my wrist, her grip so tight it's almost painful as she pulls me to a stop. And the strain it puts on my bad shoulder is painful, zipping through me like a bullet and making me wince.

"Ow!" I complain, annoyed as I spin back to face her. "Get off."

She lets go – of my arm, not the argument.

"Jade, please," she insists, panic lacing her voice. She takes a single step towards me, nervous and skittish – like a bumblebee trapped inside a pint glass, desperate to find a way out and with a definite potential to sting.

Although, just like a bee, she seems to realise that lashing out will be the end of her – the end of it all. So, credit given where it's due, she tries her best to stay calm. Well, calm might not be the word for it – she's quite clearly freaking out – but she doesn't get mad.

She gets desperate.

"You can't! If you tell Stella, I'll never be allowed to see them again. I'll never be able to hang out with Alex ever again!"

"Exactly," I reply, the word blunt and to the point.

I expect her to fight; she chooses to beg.

"Jade, please," she whispers, shaking her head. Her wide eyes glisten with the first sign of tears.

I haven't seen Bailey cry since she was five years old.

It was in the hospital, not long after I'd woken up from my operation. She had suddenly realised that she'd lost Mr. Bunny – her tattered, cuddly bunny toy that she never went anywhere without – and she'd cried about it, non-stop, for weeks.

She never cried again after that. Not even when our second foster placement – some guy called Frank, with a fast temper and even faster fist – gave her plenty of reasons to.

So, I can't lie. The sight of her now, breaking in front of me, stings worse than any bumblebee ever could.

"Please. I'll stay away from them – even Alex – until this crap with social goes away. I promise. I mean it this time! Just, whatever you do, don't tell Stella or George."

"That's just it, Bailey," I sigh, softening my voice in the hopes my words might hurt less. "This is bigger than that, now. It's not just about our two month probation, or the deal we made with Oscar and Owen. This is about you – what's best for you. I mean..."

I trail off and huff out a laugh, my throat aching with my own set of tears as Bailey tries to blink away hers.

"You don't even care that they own weapons, Bailey. I told you there was a gun and you didn't even blink. Clearly, you can't be trusted to make smart decisions – not when it comes to the Coleman's – so I'm making the decisions now. I don't want you around those guys again. Not ever."

Bailey scoffs, some of her spark returning as she says, albeit shakily, "What the hell do you know about what's best for me?"

A lot more than you do, it seems.

Then, before I can reply, she adds, "Hanging around the Coleman's is the smartest decision I've ever made."

But that's not even a little bit true. Surely, she has to know that.

"Explain it to me, then," I demand, desperate – intrigued, even – to understand her logic. "Help me to understand. Tell me one good reason you have to back that theory. Because, honestly? I bet you can't."

As predicted, Bailey remains silent – pensive and resentful. Her watery eyes glare at me with something close to loathing. She folds her arms defensively and, for a split-second, I genuinely think she's going to punch me.

"See?" I reply, rolling my eyes. My voice creeps louder with frustration as I say, "Even you can't think of one good reason to–"

"Because they make me feel safe."

Her voice wobbles at the end, desperate and shaky, and there's an emphasis on that last word that confuses the hell out of me. Because Bailey is safe – she has been for years. We have been for years.

That's why I'm so pissed at her in the first place – for endangering that security.

"I... don't understand," I reply, bewildered but wary. 

I don't get it... and I really, really want to.

I can see it bubbling away inside of her, seeping through the first small crack in her otherwise flawless façade of teenage angst and bitchiness. The thing that's been eating away at her all this time, the thing that makes her so angry at the world, the thing that we've all been fighting against for years:

Bailey is scared of something.

And I have no idea what.

Please talk to me, kid. You can tell me anything – you should know that.

'She'd come to you if she ever needed help.' Lucas's words, spoken a mere half hour ago, are already coming back to bite me in the ass. Because I realise that, up until now, I had actually believed them. Now, however, as I look at the obvious uncertainty on Bailey's face – her indecision and unease as she bites hard on her bottom lip – I start to question the validity of his statement.

Just talk to me. Tell me what's wrong!

But, of course – in true Bailey fashion – she never does what I want her to. Instead, she plasters over the crack in her façade with a large dollop of hot-tempered PVA, restoring herself to the usual Bailey that we all know and hate within a matter of seconds.

When she does talk, her words are laced with venom.

"Oh, piss off, Jade," she spits out, shoving me back a step. "Snitch on me to Stella and I'll make your life hell. Just shut up and leave me the fuck alone!"

And now she's the one walking away from me, storming off in the direction of our house without another word.

Confused, upset, and more anxious than ever, I slowly follow after at her, desperately trying to comprehend her words.

It's like the answer is all there, laid right out in front of me... but it's broken into so many tiny, fragile pieces that I can't hold onto them all at once. One by one, they slip through my fingers and hit the ground, shattering smaller to become even harder to reassemble.

I need Bailey's help, an extra pair of hands to glue them all back together. But she won't help because she's Bailey.

And that leaves me no choice but to simply watch her walk away. Her retreating form suddenly appears smaller, somehow – small and, despite her angry stomps, extremely fragile.

About as small and fragile as a five-year-old girl, still crying over the loss of her favourite cuddly toy.

*********

(So, I figured it's time to give a bit of insight into the world of Bailey... because, despite being a royal pain in the ass, she does have her reasons.

I would love to hear any theories you have brewing, so don't be shy! Drop them in the comments.

Also, apologies for this chapter being a tad late. I got my days mixed up and thought it was Wednesday, smh. 

Thanks for reading! X)