It takes two whole days for Stella and George to reach their decision about the concert. Two whole days consisting of Bailey's toxic silent treatment, three missed calls and five texts from Dylan, and a mere six hours of sleep.

It's been a long two days.

With everything falling to shit around me, I had fully expected them to say no. Stella's argument about Karen had been a solid one; I wouldn't have blamed them for it. So, I'm sure you can imagine my surprise on Friday morning, when she and George pulled me to one side after breakfast to give me the news.

Their answer was yes. We can go to the concert – subject to a few conditions, of course.

From what they were saying, it was Bailey and I who helped them reach their decision. By which I mean our rapidly depleting relationship has left them clutching at straws, scrambling for the only thing left they believe might actually salvage it. They, like me, can see the potential of this one night.

It's more than a concert; it's a chance for Bailey and me to bond over something other than our crappy childhood.

And, like Stella and George said to me this morning, if Karen has a problem with that then she can get fucked.

Okay, so maybe those weren't quite the words they used, I might be paraphrasing slightly there. But you get the idea.

If Karen has a problem with it, they're willing to fight in our corner. If going to this concert together will help mend the sudden crack formed between Bailey and me – the one splitting further each time she blatantly snubs me at the dinner table – then in their eyes it's worth the fight.

Unbeknownst to the girl, it was probably Bailey that brought about this conclusion.

I saw the way Stella's face fell last night when Bailey refused to so much as acknowledge my existence, let alone pass me the salt from across the table like I'd asked her to. I saw the look George gave us, a frown creasing his forehead and dissolving his usual cheer.

They were both devastated. They hate it when we fight.

Only, we're not fighting – not really. We're not even talking.

Bailey is practically treating me like a ghost: silent and invisible.

It's clear that she's still pissed about the Wilson's thing, and she refuses to acknowledge that she even did anything wrong. Meanwhile, I'm not prepared to apologise for doing the right thing, so we're stuck in this perpetual state of... nothing.

I try to talk to her; she won't even look at me.

I try talking to her again; she leaves the room.

I stop trying.

That's how it's been these past few days, tense and exhausting. Only, today, I refuse to give up. Today I have a reason to keep trying – because I can't take Bailey anywhere, let alone to a concert, if she keeps ignoring me.

The mending of that crack starts today.

With a deep breath, I steady my nerves as I knock on Bailey's door, a determined tap-tap-tap that sounds far more confident than I feel. The resulting snarl of, "get lost!" doesn't make that confidence grow any, but I push the door open regardless.

I find Bailey sitting on her bed, scrolling through her phone with that usual, angry scowl etched onto her face. At ten past eight in the evening, she's still dressed in her school uniform, her shirt untucked messily and tie loosened around her neck. The top button of her shirt is undone, revealing the skull-pendant necklace that Charlotte got her for Christmas peeking out from underneath.

"Bailey," I mumble, closing the door as I take a few hesitant steps into the room. "Can we talk?"

The only response I get is her scowl sinking lower, her eyes not leaving her phone as she reaches for her necklace with her free hand, running the chain back and forth across her lower lip.

She doesn't speak to me. She doesn't yell at me. She doesn't look at me.

It's exactly the response I'd been expecting.

"Bailey," I sigh. "Please?" I lower myself to the floor, sitting cross-legged in the middle of the room. "I'm not leaving until you talk to me."

A thick tension curls around us like smog, one that no number of open windows could ever air out. It's so tangible, I can feel my throat close up as I try not to choke on the fumes.

The click of Bailey's lock screen is deafening in the silence of her room. She places her phone on her bedside cabinet, swinging her legs off the bed with exaggerated annoyance. Then, with a pissy huff that hits harder than any punch, she stands and moves for the door.

But, this time, I won't let her leave.

Before she takes her third step, I place my hands down against the carpet and push myself back, sliding along the floor until my back is against the door.

"You're not leaving, either," I say stubbornly, bringing my knees up to my chest. "I'll wait here all night if I have to."

Now, that does get her to look at me – finally – for the first time in days. It's a blank look, a deadpan stare holding as much enthusiasm as a dead houseplant – dry and wilting – but it's a look all the same.

She glances from me to the door, as is debating how easy it would be to kick me out of the way in order to escape. Thankfully, for both our sakes, she decides against trying.

With another huff, she turns and drops back to the bed, rolling away from me to face the wall.

Hostile or not, I take it as a small victory.

"How was your exam?" I ask, voicing the first thing I can think of, anything that might get a conversation rolling.

Bailey had a biology exam this afternoon, her first GCSE exam of the year – her first GCSE exam ever – and I'd had to hear it from Stella. Bailey hadn't so much as blinked when I wished her good luck before school.

Right now, however, she acknowledges my words with a humourless snort. "Fuck off, Jade."

Hostile or not, I take that as a bigger victory – because that's the first thing she's said to me since Monday.

"I'm just asking," I reply, shrugging even though she can't see me.

"No, you're prying," she disagrees, her voice dripping venom with each word. "Like you always do."

I try not to let the venom poison me, I really do, but I feel the sting anyway. I feel it seeping into my bloodstream, tainting my veins and turning me toxic.

It takes great effort for me to hold my temper.

"Bailey," I sigh, trying to tone down my annoyance. "I'm not trying to pry. I'm just asking–"

"Shut up!" Bailey interrupts, her voice all but a hiss. "Just shut up, Jade."

"Oh, be real." I roll my eyes. This time, I can't help my annoyance as I say, "You and I both know you're not mad that I'm asking about your exam. We both know why you're really mad at me."

Bailey rolls over to face me, the glare she pierces me with holding enough chill to cause a snowstorm in the Sahara. It's a glare that clearly says, 'Shut the fuck up."

I know, right? Shocker.

"I'm not sorry," I say, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at her glare. "I'm not sorry for telling on you. I'm not sorry for not covering yet another of your lies."

"You're a bitch," Bailey mutters, her lips barely moving around the sound – as if the ice in her eyes has frozen the rest of her face now, too.

"Yeah. Maybe you're right," I admit, shrugging again – because bitch rhymes with snitch, at least. And, generally, the two go hand in hand. "But seriously, Bailey," I sigh, snorting a tired laugh. "You can't sit there and bitch at me for prying into your life. Not when your lies are literally taking over mine. All these secrets, Bailey... they're honestly ruining me."

It's probably the most honest thing I've said in weeks and I pause, hoping that she might understand.

But she doesn't. That becomes abundantly clear by her next words.

"Fucking typical," she mutters. "I can't believe I thought I could actually trust you. I can't believe I actually thought you might be on my side for once."

And for all the frost in her expression, the roads must be pretty damn icy, because those words hit me like a fucking snowplough.

"That's not fair," I say, because all I've done these past few weeks is try to be on her side. "That's really not fair."

"No!" she snaps. The bed creaks with the movement as she suddenly sits up to face me, her shoulders tense with anger.

She pauses, her eyes darting to the door behind my head briefly, as if suddenly remembering she needs to keep her voice down. Narrowing her eyes back at me, her voice lowers to a shouting whisper.

"You know what's not fucking fair? It's that, up until I literally had to blackmail you over your precious job, you haven't been on my side in years. Definitely not when it comes to Stella and George, which is just fucking insane when you think about it. I mean, you'd have Owen or Oscar's backs in a heartbeat. They wouldn't even need to ask."

I blink in surprise, taken aback by the sudden pain scattered amongst those words. She tries to hide it, of course. She tries to mask it behind her anger. But I still see it, seeping through the cracks of her rapidly failing dam.

"That's... not true," I say, frowning.

"Isn't it?" she asks, her voice flat. "Okay then, so tell me... how many times have you covered for Owen when he's skipped school? How many times have you helped Oscar with his homework, not saying anything to Stella when it's been weeks overdue? How many times have you done something like that for them?"

She pauses, breaking eye contact to glance down at the carpet, her jaw jumping as she grits her teeth. Then, looking back at me with nothing short of resentment, she asks, "And how many times have you done something like that for me?"

I contemplate her words, my brain whirling.

At first, my instinct is to deny any truth behind it – to chalk her rant down to nothing more than Bailey's dramatics, her talent for turning everything against me like I'm some total monster.

But then, the longer I think about it, the more I start to realise that she might actually have a point. There might be some truth to her words, after all.

I think of Owen, of all the times I've kept quiet about his Ferris Bueller tendencies – far too many to count. I think of his smoking habit, and the fact that it never even once crossed my mind to dob him in.

I'd like to say that, if it were Bailey instead, I would do the same for her. But I'm not so sure that wouldn't be another lie.

I treat Bailey different than the boys. I don't know why, or when it even started, but I do.

"Bailey..." I start, feeling the need to defend myself – although whether from my sister or this new, creeping sense of guilt, I'm not quite sure. "That's different, though. This thing with Alex is different."

"I'm not talking about Alex," she mutters, irritated. "I'm saying you would've sung like a canary even if it didn't involve Alex. But you wouldn't have if it had been Owen pretending to have that job. You wouldn't if it had been Oscar."

That's not true... is it?

But I'm honestly not so sure anymore.

"Forget Alex. Before Alex," she continues, her jaw set stubbornly. "How many times have you told me to just 'grow up', or 'get over it', or 'quit complaining'? How many times have you called me 'dramatic', or 'childish', or 'a brat'?"

"I..." I begin, unable to form the words.

Because the answer is: a lot. I have said those things to her a lot.

"Things used to be different," Bailey mutters bitterly. "You used to have my back, Jade. You used to treat me like an equal, not some bratty kid you're forced to live with."

She laughs. It's a twisted sound that is far from amused.

"I mean – hell – I once broke Katie's nose for fuck sake. And you actually said you were proud of me for it, even though you knew Stella and George would have my ass if they found out. If I did that now, you would run to them in a heartbeat. You'd probably even suggest they ship me off to some fucking reform school or some shit." She scoffs, her voice emotionless – empty – as she says, "Anything to get rid of me, right? So you don't have to deal with my shit anymore."

What?

"That's not... no," I try and speak, but my brain can't find the words.

"Whatever," she mutters. "Forget it. I don't even care."

But, quite clearly, she does – and she proves it by opening her mouth again.

"The minute you realised you had a way out, you stopped caring. The only thing you care about is moving on, going off to university and leaving this place behind. Don't even try to deny it."

"What? That's not true. I–"

"You stopped having my back the moment you decided to leave me behind... just like Charlotte."

Her words slice into me, cutting me like a knife when I see it in her eyes that she actually believes them. She really thinks that I – and Charlotte, for that matter – have abandoned her.

My own baby sister, the one I would literally risk anything and everything for, thinks I've abandoned her.

The realisation does more than just break my heart, it annihilates it.

"Bailey," I murmur. I'm caught between getting up to sit next to her on the bed, and remaining where I am to ensure she stays put long enough to hear me out. I choose to stay on the floor, willing her with everything I have to believe me when I say, "That's absolute bollocks."

"Is it?" she asks, her voice low as she tries to hide her hurt, her blank expression failing to conceal it entirely. "Because you have to admit, Jade. This thing with the Coleman's, all this secrecy – the secrets you claim to be ruining you – this is the closest we've been in years."

Her blank expression falls away completely, her eyes filling with tears as she brings her knees to her chest and hugs them. "And even then, you still can't stand me."

All I can do is sit and watch, horrified, as my baby sister slowly breaks apart in front of me – because of me. I'm not sure what I'd been expecting when I first came into this room to talk to her, but it definitely hadn't been this. I wasn't prepared for this in the slightest.

Bailey looks so vulnerable... broken. Bailey looks broken.

I don't even realise that my eyes are watering, too, until I feel a hot tear slip free and roll down my cheek.

"I know I'm hard on you..." I speak, my throat so choked I can barely manage a whisper. "I know I'm tougher on you than I am on the boys – but it's not because I don't care, Bailey. It's not because I don't have your back. It's because I do."

"When?" she asks, and her voice breaks on the word. She rubs her eyes with her hands quickly, roughly, as if annoyed at herself for getting upset. She blinks a few times to stop the dam from overflowing, taking a breath that seems to shake her to her very soul. "Seriously, Jade. When was the last time you had my back with Stella and George? When was the last time you were on my side, and I didn't have to blackmail you into it?"

And, without hesitating, or even needing to think, I tell her.

"Tuesday night."

She blinks, clearly confused by my oddly specific answer.

With a sigh, I wipe my eyes and say, "Wait here."

I stand up and walk to my room, rummaging around inside the top drawer of my desk until I find it – a red envelope, with the words 'For Bailey. X' scribbled on the front.

It might be a few days early still, but something tells me she needs this now, more than ever.

Bailey's confusion is still clear when I return, sitting down next to her and handing over the envelope. She stares down at it, then at me, and raises her eyebrow dubiously.

"A birthday card?" she asks, not sounding overly impressed.

"Just open it, would you?" I sigh, nudging her with my shoulder.

So, she does.

She spends a few moments studying the design on the front, rolling her eyes at the corny illustration of a cow, wide-eyed in a party hat, captioned: 'Don't be moooody. It's your birthday!'

Yeah... in hindsight, getting her a card calling her a moody cow is probably not my finest idea. But at the time when I bought it, I'd found it hilarious.

Obviously, that was before she called me out on being a bitch to her. So now I just feel like I'm the cow.

"Look inside," I tell her, nudging her again.

I watch her face closely as she pries the card open, finding the two tickets sitting tucked inside. It takes her a moment – several, in fact – to understand what she's seeing. Then, when she does, her eyes widen almost as much as that dumb cow's on the front of the card.

"Happy birthday, Bailey," I murmur.

"No way..." she mumbles, her disbelief evident. Then, louder, she practically squeals out, "No. Fucking. Way!"

She glances at me, her mouth open in shock.

"Are these real?"

The way her eyes fill with excitement, the sadness from moments before now nothing but a bad memory, makes the risk more worth it than Stella or George will ever know. This was the right decision.

"Yep. Two tickets to see Atomic Arsonists, right there," I confirm, smiling. "And I asked Stella and George on Tuesday night. They've already said I can take you. We're allowed to go."

"Holy shit. Holy shit," Bailey exclaims as she looks back down at the tickets, all but bouncing on the mattress in poorly contained excitement. "No way. No way, Jade! I can't believe you..." her voice trails off, her eyes turning back to me.

I can see the exact moment she makes the connection – that on Tuesday night, I was on her side – and her eyes flood with tears once more, this time accompanied by a quivering lip that she's quick to bite down on.

"I will always have your back. I will always be on your side," I assure her. 

And I will continue to assure her of that, as many times as needed until she believes it.

"I..."

This time, it's Bailey at a loss for words.

"Things need to change, Bailey," I sigh, glancing down at our feet, side by side against the carpet. When I look back at her, I see the trepidation starting to cloud in her eyes.

There's definite distrust lurking in those eyes, as if she's wondering what conditions I'm about to slap on her, in return for the tickets.

I hate that she thinks that. I hate it even more that she's right – again – because that's exactly what I was going to do, wasn't it? When Mike first offered me those tickets, my first instinct was to use them as a bribe: Atomic Arsonists in return for no more Alex.

I was going to pit her favourite band against her best friend. How messed up is that? It's no wonder she doesn't trust me.

"This thing we've got going on," I elaborate, pushing all thoughts of Alex and the Coleman's from my mind – because Bailey is right. This isn't about Alex, not this time. "This thing where we pretend to hate each other, where we fight and butt heads all the time... it isn't working for me, anymore. I'm sorry for being such a bitch. I'm sorry for making you think I don't care. I'm sorry that you think I'm leaving you behind. I would never leave you behind."

Then, when Bailey doesn't say anything, I continue. Only, now it's getting harder to speak, so hard that my words come out as painful gasps of air – like they're the only life-force I have left and I'm desperately trying to cling on.

"I miss you, Bailey. I miss my sister."

Before I know it, my tears are falling again – one, two... far too many to count.

And, this time, Bailey's tears are falling, too. Those six words are all it takes for the dam to finally break, little by little at first, but then all at once.

"I miss you, too," she cries, dropping her head against my shoulder as I pull her in for a hug.

Her words aren't hostile, at all. And I take them as the biggest win.

*********

Well, if there's ever a turning point for these two characters, I would say we've just crossed it. 

I'll be honest, my plans for this story did not include going into so much depth with Jade and Bailey (especially Bailey as a character) or Jade's foster family in general. I've gone on a semi-tangent with the story but I'm also kinda happy about it because it sort of works for the ending I've got planned. Although writing the relationship between these two sisters is low-key exhausting, haha!

The next chapter will be getting us back on track and I'm super excited for it! Until next time my lovelies, happy reading! X