Title: Time
Summary: so this is what disappointment tastes like.
Rating: M
Disclaimer: Disney owns Hannah Montana
Her four months from Saturday never came.
Not that she ever really expected it would. Not that she'd ever believed that it would. He was Jake Ryan. It was because he was Jake Ryan, and all she was to him was one of many kisses. She had never really thought that the four months from Saturday was a promise. Not once had she ever looked into his shining eyes, his gorgeous smile, and handsome face, and truly believed anything that he had told her. Jake Ryan was too good looking for his own well being, and too egotistical for hers. He was a celebrity, and he had promised her a vague "four months from this Saturday" that she knew was just a suggestion.
He had said it was a promise. But Miley Stewart had learned long ago not to believe everything that a celebrity said.
00
When Christmas comes, he leaves a voicemail on her phone. A shiny, new, black Nokia that blinks and beeps irritatingly up at her as she's constantly reminded that her past has left her a message on her phone and it wants to be listened to.
She flips open her phone.
"Hey…uh. It's Jake. Jake Ryan? Uhm…listen. Merry Christmas, okay? Have a good New Year, too…Talk to you later."
She listens to it three times (only because she'd forgotten how good his voice had sounded in her ears) before she erases it from her phone, and her mind.
Miley Stewart isn't stupid. She knows "Later" won't come.
00
On her fifteenth birthday, she gets a card in the mail. It's in a plain, white envelope that has her address typed up on the front, and no visible return address. She frowns down at it, tearing and slicing it open without regret. She pulls out the card, which has a generic HAPPY BIRTHDAY! with balloons all over the front. She opens it.
Happy Birthday!
Xo Jake Ryan
She's amazed at how'd they'd fallen apart. She's amazed at how his card feels more like an autograph than a kind gesture; like it's something for her to display and let the world know that Jake Ryan knows when her birthday is.
Her heart breaks just a little.
Only a little.
00
They don't see each other again until she's seventeen and touring colleges with Oliver. She was visiting one of her cousins at UCLA (and was happy to be doing some kind of touring that had nothing to do directly with Hannah Montana), and was introduced to the horrible concept of combining RedBull and Absolut Vodka.
As she drinks, she vaguely remembers someone telling her that it could kill her. She remembers that she really doesn't care.
When he comes into the room, she's straddling Oliver's lap, her shirt unbuttoned and his hand up her bra, with her hands gliding through his hair, down his chest, and fumbling with his pants buttons. They're kissing passionately and messily and it's kind of awkward, but it never bothers her that it's Oliver whose tongue is shoved into her mouth and smoothing her tongue, because quite frankly she's just DRUNK and it actually feels good.
She hears her cousin, Beverly, whistle and say, "Miley Stewart! You little skank!" and it doesn't phase her at all. She pops the button on Oliver's jeans.
When she hears Jake choke out her name, Oliver's hand is already dipping into the waistband of her underwear, and all she can do is stare at Jake like the middle school girl she used to be. She whispers a quick, "Hold on, I'll be right back," to Oliver, who nods and lets her go. He smiles sadly.
She knows he thinks she won't come back. She kisses him soundly for it.
Stumbling over to Jake, she goes willingly when he drags her out of the room. She listens halfheartedly to his excuses as to why he doesn't keep in touch, and she's completely unaffected by the fact that her pants are unbuttoned, her blouse even more so, and her now size 36B breasts are completely visible to him even as she stands there in her bra.
"You said," she interrupts, "four months from that Saturday. Not three years and seven months too late." She can see the middle school Jake in his face as she says this, and it's all she can do not to smirk as she sees the sadness in his eyes. "Oliver's waiting."
She turns to go, and he grabs her and shoves her against the wall, and then he's kissing her for the second time ever and it's great because his tongue feels so good in her mouth. His hand strays upward to cup her breast, and the other lifts her leg up to his waist.
Surprisingly enough, when she feels his erection poking against her, she comes to her senses….(sort of).
She pushes him away, her leg dropping to the floor as he falls against the opposite wall. They stare at each other, breathing heavily, his dirty blonde hair falling into his wide eyes. She drinks the sight of him in. She breaks their eye contact, turning and reentering the safe confusion of Oliver's warm hands and lips and lap and embrace.
It's about time Jake got his very own four months and a Saturday.
So this is what disappointment tastes like.