By the time we make it back to our street, Bailey and I are over an hour late.
The sun is slowly setting up ahead, casting an orange-pink haze over the rooftops around us, hugging our quiet street with the last of its warmth in a final bid "goodnight".
Normally, I would find this soft haze oddly calming – warm, fuzzy, and effortlessly serene. Right now, however, as the sight of our front door grows inevitably closer with each new step, I don't feel calm.
I don't feel calm, at all.
Because I know that Stella and George are going to be pissed. In fact, I know that they're already pissed – and it has absolutely nothing to do with Bailey's fake job, the Coleman's, or the web of lies we've woven.
They don't even know about any of that yet.
No – they'll be pissed because we're late and, like a monumental dumbass, I completely forgot to let them know that we would be.
I never replied to Stella's message back at the café, the one asking how Bailey's shift was going. I chose not to reply because I didn't want the responsibility of having to either confirm or deny her question – at least, definitely not over a text.
This non-existent job that Bailey lied about is her mess to fix – not mine. And at the time it seemed that any response I gave, be it a lie or the truth, would be loaded with the potential to backfire on me.
Lying would have just dragged me further into Bailey's bomb of bullshit, and would've risked Paul and Ellie being caught in the explosion. But telling the truth would've caused problems in the form of questions – questions that would be better answered by the girl in question, not me.
And so, using ignorance as my final line of defence, I left Stella on read and decided to deal with the drama once I got home – with Bailey and in person – because it seemed like the best option at the time.
As I said, this lie is Bailey's mess to fix. I'm merely collateral damage, by this point.
But then I just had to go and forget to warn Stella that we'd be running late, as if the situation wasn't already bad enough.
With my phone on silent, it took me a lot longer than it should have to realise she'd been blowing it up with a bunch of, 'Where are you?'s. By the time I realised, the damage was already well past done – irreversible and unsalvageable.
And it's only going to get a whole lot worse the moment I step through that door, open my mouth, and let the truth out. Then, they'll really have something to be angry about.
Honestly, the apprehension alone is making me feel sick to my stomach. It's making my kneecaps turn to jelly and my lungs work twice as hard, squeezing painfully with every breath I manage to suck in.
They're going to hate me.
But, let's face it, I only have myself to blame for that.
It might be Bailey's mess, but I'm well aware that I'm too far into it with her to ever come out unscathed. I've told so many lies, covered for her so many times, that I can't even remember what the first fib was anymore.
They'll hate me because I'm late. They'll hate me because I lied. They'll hate me because I let all of this happen.
They'll hate me.
...But I don't want them to hate me.
The rest of the journey home has been spent in total silence, with Bailey storming on ahead as I trailed behind.
YOU ARE READING
Knife's Edge
Teen FictionWith a drug lord for a father and an addict for a mother, Jade Taylor has been dealt a pretty shabby hand in life. Her childhood was spent in a constant state of fear, her only solace being her two half-sisters, Charlotte and Bailey, who were forced...
