A/N: I revised Chapter 1 because I decided to take a different writing approach than I had originally intended, and it called for a longer and more complete first chapter. (The same reasoning is behind the story title change, too.) You can read the next chapter if you want a better explanation and a general plot outline.
Anyway, sit back, enjoy, and please review! :-)
Protagonist: Lilly Truscott
Summary: Lilly has been struggling with an eating disorder for years. Nobody knew of her inner turmoil. She had become the master of feigning smiles and deception. Nobody wanted to believe Lilly could possibly harbor such a threatening secret. But now she is balancing on the brink of recovery or death. How did she arrive at this point? And will she survive?
Disclaimer: I do not own Hannah Montana. (I do wish I was clever enough to come up with a wittier disclaimer, though.)
Wasted
Chapter 1
She Is Broken
I have a toxic relationship with mirrors. That love/hate relationship. My reverence and devotion is fervent, but I am terrified of their reflection, their reflection of the truth, the truth of my impossible largeness. They magnify my flaws; the flaws I try so desperately to fix.
Those conflicting feelings were what lead me to being surrounded by the shattered fragments of my vanity on a Saturday night. I silently stared at the reflective glass, unaffected by my breakdown. I briefly wondered if I would appear larger in those hundreds, thousands of pieces but immediately dismissed it because I already knew the answer: I would, a hundred times so. I always appeared larger. My quest to become smaller was seemingly useless, but I kept soldiering on, cradling infinite hopes that one day I would finally see a satisfactory reflection. That one day my complexion would be flawless. That one day my blond hair would be lustrous and voluminous. That one day my body would be tiny, beautiful, and perfect. Yes, I kept soldiering on to the day I become a lesser version of myself despite having traveled on that self-destructive path long and far enough to know the satisfaction I craved would never come to fruition.
I tried fighting the overwhelming hopelessness by scrutinizing my badly chapped knuckles. It was then I noticed blood slowly seeping from my hands. I looked down at my feet and saw they were bleeding too. "Strange," I commented. I could no longer feel pain. I could no longer feel happiness. I could no longer feel even contentment. I could no longer feel. Emotions were fleeting and never stayed long enough for me to fully register and recognize them.
My gaze drifted from my wounded body to a hideous, black plastic contraption. My eyes narrowed in disgust, aimed more at myself than the scale. Those flashing, digital numbers seared and imprinted themselves into my cornea.
Ninety-two. Pounds.
Neither the highest nor lowest number I had witnessed, but still wretchedly disappointing nonetheless.
"Forced heartbeat and broken mirrors. Flaws and faults are held so dear. My reflection makes me sick. The pain we feel is nothing new," I softly sang. Then, I slowly released a defeated sigh, closed my eyes, and wondered. I wondered how I became so vain, so selfish, so neurotic. I wondered how I became everything I once vowed never to become. I wondered how I became my own worst enemy. I opened my eyes, shifted my gaze back towards the rubble, and I wondered, "What is more broken? The mirror or...myself?"
Ignoring the dizziness it brought, I suddenly jerked my head towards the bathroom door upon hearing a rhythmic tapping against it. I clenched my fists in annoyance, wondering who could be the intruder. "Lilly, are you all right?"
I inwardly groaned. The offender was the last person I wanted to see at the moment, my best friend Miley. I wondered how much she had witnessed. Had she heard the shattering glass, the senseless screaming? The outpouring of my soul, the confessions of the repulsions I held for myself? Just as the thought came, Miley answered, "I heard something shatter and you screaming, Lilly. Are you okay?"
I remained silent. I suddenly felt gutted, as though the wind had been knocked out of me. Air was quickly vanishing as everything was catching up to me: the deceit, the secret torment, the obsessive exercising, fasting, purging, and counting. How could I possibly respond without admitting my failure, without showing weakness? Control was spinning beyond my grasp, mocking me. I was terrified. I was terrified my voice would betray me, so I remained silent.
"Lilly? Lilly, please answer me." Miley's voice was strained with concern and worry. Her knocking was becoming more forceful.
"Lilly, please open the door. Are you all right? Please, Lilly, answer me." There was a brief pause. The silence was deafening. "Lilly, open the door!" Fear had finally caught, engulfed her as she began pounding her fists against the door.
"Lilly! You're frightening me! Open...the...goddamn...door!" She was hysterical, fighting sobs between words, and clawing away at the grain. I felt unaffected, indifferent to her pleas. Everything about me was robotic. I was programmed to one mode, one that disallowed emotional energy spent on others.
I reached out to a jagged fragment of the mirror. My fingertips tingled. The smoothness, the coldness was comforting. I held it steady atop my wrist before I ultimately decided against it.
"Lilly, please, open the door! I'm begging you! You have to stop this. I'm so worried. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. Please..." Her voice was beginning to fade, my head was pounding, the bathroom was spinning, and the world was becoming faint. The world was disappearing. I was finally disappearing.
Before I allowed the darkness to swallow me, my last recollection was of a sharp twinge shooting through my chest, the bathroom door splintering, and Miley murmuring, "Oh my god."