For the record, I made this about three weeks ago. Therefore, no mentions of the Miley and Liam's engagement. I hope you like it, though.

Looking Past Horizons

It's not a good thing for you to do, you know that. It's not good for you to put people in this position or make them feel this way. You're being selfish. You're making them feel trapped and concerned. God, you hate that word. Concerned. People need to just stop worrying about you. You have. Why can't they?

"Miley," Demi whispers from across the room.

You've been trying with all your might to push her away but she keeps calling and usually once a month she comes over for a wellness check. You know she cut you out of her life because you're triggering, but you needed her. God, you needed her so badly. She's the only one who's ever understood. And you know she wants to help you but at this point you don't want help. You want a friend to approve. You need the old Demi back, the one who would say she knows how it feels – to say it's okay to feel this way and go get drunk with you

Somewhere deep down you know it isn't okay. No one should feel this depressed, this hopeless, this worthless.

"Go home, Demi," you hiss.

You're laying on your bed and she's standing in your doorway but it isn't your best friend who's standing there anymore. It might look like her, it might sound like her, it might even feel like her, but mentally her and Demi Lovato are not the same person.

"Miley... You can't keep doing this to yourself."

"I'm not doing anything," you correct.

She walks further into your room and you want to scream at her to get out. You want to yell and tell her to just get the fuck out, but you can't. She keeps coming closer, trapping you and you lay down, shut the laptop, close your eyes.

"Just go home, Demi," you repeat a little softer.

"You taught me everything I know," she says painfully. "And I don't think you even tried to."

"I ruined your life, I wasn't a good friend, I get it," you put your hands on your forehead. "Now leave!"

"I remember, you know?" she sits beside you. "I can still remember how you feel. I miss it sometimes even. You're fooling everyone, starving, cutting, drugs... To not remember the last time you were actually sober, but everyone else thinking you don't touch the stuff... It gives you the ultimate high. I know. I know how impossible it seems that you can ever feel anything but this, but I assure you, you can. There is such a thing as happiness."

"Oh, God," you roll your eyes, finally looking at her and meeting her chesnut orbs for the first time since she got out of treatment a year ago. "What did they do to you?"

"I'm scared for you," she confesses. "I don't want to see you die, but that's what you're doing-"

"Stop being melodramatic-"

"You are killing yourself whether you want to face it or not!" she screams. Then, she takes a deep breath, hanging her head. "I don't know what to do anymore."

"I do," you say harshly. "Listen to me. Leave. Don't come back. I don't need you!"

"No," she says defiantly. "If I walk out this door everything I know is coming out."

"Demi, you're overreacting-"

"Everything, Miley," she repeats. "I'm telling someone. I don't know who, but I can't deal with this anymore, because I'm not strong enough to handle you."

She gets up, beginning to walk away. You glare at her, sitting up, spitting out words you don't mean. "You've turned weak."

"I haven't," she retorts. She's confident now. Why aren't you confident? "I know I haven't, because this time two years ago that comment would've broke me down."

Then, just like that, she leaves. She walks out and you open your laptop again, staring at the screen. Sometimes, you get this way. You can't stop thinking about how out of control your life is, how you used to be on top of the world. You went from A list to unknown and you're still trying to figure out exactly how that happened.

You wince as the door downstairs slams shut and find your self looking out the window as she stomps to her car. She gets in and glares, by chance looking at your window too. She shakes her head angrily and your eyes close automatically.

Calling her bluff was a mistake.

~Please Don't Go~

"Miley?" your sisters voice sounds through the house. "Miley! Answer me!"

"Up here," you yell back. It's two days later, but with no movies shooting and Liam gone away there's no real point in getting out of bed. So, in the past two days, you haven't moved an inch.

She barges into the room, standing with a hand on her hip. "What the hell is going on?"

"No-"

"And think carefully before you answer, because this time I want the truth," she orders, crossing her arms and standing right in front of you.

"It's my first day off in months, can't anyone just leave me alone?" you rant.

Brandi stands at the foot of your bed, not buying the excuses anymore. Fuck you, Demi Lovato, fuckity fuck you.

"Little birdy told me you've been in this bed for three days straight," she purses her lips. "Birdies said a lot of things, actually."

"Birdies," you emphasize, "are stupid. And unreliable."

"You smell like hardcore speed, you do know that, right?"

You roll your eyes, doing the same thing you did to Demi less than twelve hours ago. You lay back, close your eyes, and brush her off. "She made you paranoid."

"There is not a cop in America you could bribe to let you pass a drug test right now, and do you know how much you have to bribe people with? That's how high you are. You're a danger to your fans, you're a danger to your friends, coworkers, and family, and you're a danger to yourself."

"Brandi, there's no cameras around, we don't have to act like the Brady Bunch right now," you laugh. "Now, you go to your house, I'll forget this whole thing happened, and I won't make another scandal and embarrass the Cyrus name."

"How many times does everyone need to tell you that you're overreacting before you realize that you're over reacting?" She's annoyed, but frankly, you don't care anymore. You can't care, because when you do it fucking hurts. "I saw Noah the other day."

"Great," you stretch out, tilting your head as if you're actually interested. "Let's hear what great insight the ten year old gave."

"She says you haven't been to the house in months."

"And that can't possibly be because mom and dad hate me and I hate mom and dad, right?" you smirk. "Give it up, Brands. I'm fine and you know it."

You stand up, grabbing your keys off the counter and heading to your front door for the first time in days. Heading outside the four walls of your room in four days to be more precise.

"Where are you going?" Brandi suddenly starts to get worked up, rushing to the door to try to block it. The high version of you is stronger than she is, though and you move her without flinching. "Miley, you can't drive right now. You are not in the right state to be-"

"I've been in this state for years and you never noticed, I know my limitations!" you suddenly lose control and yell, plopping into your car. "When I get back I expect you to be gone."

"Miley-" you slam the door, cutting off her sentence. She starts coming towards the car, but you lock it so she can't get in. Then, you hastily pull out, driving away from your problems again. You pull into the building that's began to hold all of your best friends.

You walk in, sitting on a stool and smiling up at the bartender. Today it's Trevor. Yesterday it was Harold. Tomorrow it will probably be Matt. He smiles at you. "Miley! How are ya, kid?"

"Just get me a water," you wink, speaking in code again.

He sighs, laughing a little. "It's 10 AM, you realize that-"

"Trev. You know I hook you up," you grin. "Just do what I say, will you?"

Nodding, he reaches under the counter, pouring your drink. He hands the clear liquid to you and you gulp it down. Vodka, water, they're the same thing really. You slam the glass on the bar, waving him to continue. Then again, then again, then again, until finally he asks for your keys. You hand them over and he keeps going until finally he cuts you off.

"You've had enough, Miley."

"I'm not passed out yet, the party's just begun," you giggle, sprawling across the counter.

"Giving you more is against my best judgment. I can't," he shakes his head. "Now, I'll call Liam, okay?"

"Oh, you can't. He's out of town. He's in Georgia and probably making out with someone really hot but, that's okay because when I was in Georgia I slept with-"

"Who do you want me to call, Miley?" he speaks over you. Taking out your phone you fumble with the screen until you can finally enter the password the right way.

"I don't have any friends anymore," you inform him. "I mean, I used to, but they all left. I'd leave too."

"Miley," he says softly, bending down to reach your level. "Who do you want me to call?"

"Just call Demi! Yeah! She always knows what to do. She's mad at me right now, though. Do you think she'll still come?" you ramble drunkenly.

"Demi?" he repeats, scrolling down. "Is that who you want?"

"Yup. Good ol' Demi. She's the best, you know? She used to be like me but now she's better."

He holds the phone up to his ear and you watch him say the line he occasionally had to say to Liam. "Hi, this is Trevor from Riggy's Bar and I have your friend here. She's been drinking a little and legally I can't let her drive in this state-"

He stops talking, listening to her speak again.

"I know, I understand and I'm very sorry. She told me to call you... Is there anyone else I could contact, then?...Really? Okay, great! The address is..."

You zone out. You knew you could count on Demi. She's such a good friend and you wish you were more like her. Happier, smarter, balanced, kind...

"Miley?" you feel someone gently shaking your shoulder. "Mi? C'mon..." Then, her voice gets a little more annoyed. "I refuse to carry you out and came all the way here to get you so you better fucking wake up."

Your eyes flutter open and you see Demi standing there, a disappointed look in her eyes. "Demi!"

"Miley..." she sighs, not quite matching your exuberant tone.

"Trevor, this is Demi," you say, opening your purse and getting out what you know the tab would be plus a hundred for his cooperation. "Thanks, Trev. You have a nice day, okay?"

He smiles, but doesn't say anything else as Demi wraps your arm around her shoulder, helping you out to her car. As soon as all the doors are shut she glares, pounding the steering wheel. "Dammit, Miley!"

"You're mad," you note.

"I left in the middle of shooting to come save your ass, you bet I'm mad!" she screams. "I can't do this anymore! Did you not understand me when I said that? How did you even get them to pour you drinks – you are nineteen!"

"I'm practically an adult, you aren't my mother," you grumble, slouching like a true four year old would.

"Miley, I'm serious this time! I'm done! I'm bringing you home and I'll stay until you pass out, but when you wake up I'm calling someone," she says.

"Yeah? Like Brandi? That went well, by the way," you mock sarcastically.

She keeps her eyes on the road but hisses out words, "I'm calling people I know will help."

"You can't force me into treatment," you say blatantly.

"That's my problem," she agrees, nodding. "But at this point you're in worse shape than I was, and that's pretty hard to do."

You raise your eyebrows and sound so haughty. "I'm no cutter."

"No, you're addicted to meth, alcohol, and starving yourself and get a step closer to suicide everyday."

"That's not true."

"Yes it is," she says quietly. "Yes it is, because if it weren't you would remember how I have to come pick you up from that damned bar every time Liam is out of town. And you'd remember how I know to be at your house every Friday night at ten because all you do is drink Tequila until then and you need someone to keep you from going out to get more. You'd remember how I have to force you to eat something when you're drunk because you won't if you're sober. And you'd definitely remember how whenever I come I have to pick through your house drawer by drawer to find where the drugs are. And you'd remember how hard it is for me to do that, because I want them too! You would remember me, and you'd remember how much I care, and you'd remember that I do not just stop by once a month, I am here almost every day!"

Your heart stops. You won't remember this conversation either, but for the moment your heart stops.

She shakes her head. "I can't do this for you anymore. I'm not keeping this a secret."

"I'll get better, it's just-"

"In the past three months alone that's the trillionth time you've told me, and I get it. You can't, but you need to get that, because I'm not holding myself back for you," she scolds. "I love you to pieces, but I have to be selfish right now."

She pulls into your driveway and gets out, walking over to the passenger side and once again helping you stumble to the door. She goes to the garage and enters the code, proving any doubt you had about her coming here so often. She brings you upstairs, taking off the clothes you were wearing and changing you into something clean. The first clean clothes in four days to be precise. She would know, because she's the last one who changed you. She lays you down after, tucking you in despite how it's only four in the afternoon. You pass out in seconds.

Demi leans down, brushing hair out of your eyes and sitting next to you. It's rare to see her cry, but if you open your eyes that's what you would see. Tears streaming down her cheeks because of you.

"I won't be here when you wake up," she chokes, "but I really hope you get better."

She keeps stroking your hair for awhile before she picks up the phone and dials a number she hadn't in years.

"Nick?" she asks, hiding the fear from her voice. "I-We-She has a problem."

~Looking Past Horizons~

When you wake up the next morning there's a coffee placed on your bedside table and a Jonas Brother on your couch. You smile at the coffee, but when your eyes move further you plop back down on your pillow and cover your face.

"Fuck."

"Morning to you too," he chuckles, doing that little smile he does.

You groan, "I thought you were on tour."

"Mm, funny story, actually. I was." You can't see him get up, but you sense it. You feel him walking closer to your pounding body and already shut your eyes tight. Maybe if you keep them shut that tight long enough he'll just disappear. "Then I got a call. You have a worried best friend."

"Demi?" you scoff. "She's hardly a friend. I'm lucky if I see her once a month."

"You must drink an awful lot," he scolds, pulling down the covers. "We need to talk."

"Hm," you giggle. "Last time that didn't go so well."

"Drink your coffee," he hands it to you. You gulp it down, thinking of how much better liquor would taste.

"Am I allowed to go to the bathroom, or..."

He laughs, taking a step back. "You're allowed. Don't take too long, though."

You smile sarcastically, getting out of bed and shutting the door behind you. You quickly open the drawer and scowl when it's empty. Damn it, you must have used the rest of it the night before. You go down, opening the cabinet and frown. There is no way in hell you drank three bottles of tequila and two vodkas in a day.

"It's a little early to lose the soberness, don't you think?" you hear Nick's know-it-all voice from outside.

"I'm not!" you retort. The only thing you haven't lost in the past few years is your wit. "It's called going pee. I know you're a Jonas brother, so you may be above that, but-"

"Give it up!" he yells. "We both know why you're in there."

You flush the toilet, trying to pull off your lie and wash your hands. When you walk out, he's standing there with his arms crossed.

"Demi called. Says you need some help."

"I don't have a problem!" you scream at him. You're both standing in the same room for the first time in God knows how long and this is what you're doing – you're screaming at him to save your ass. Because you aren't ready to give this lifestyle up. "How can you believe a girl who I'm lucky to see once every few weeks?"

"She's here," he states. "I don't talk to her, but when she was sitting with me downstairs crying from ten at night to three in the morning, she made it perfectly clear, that she is here. She's not touring because she's afraid that if she leaves for ninety days you won't be here when she gets back."

"If that's what she told you-"

"You can't blame this on her, because right now she's all you've got," he stops you from walking away. "She's always here. She sees you, Miley. It's you who's always gone."

"God, she came by a couple of nights ago when I was having a bad day-"

"How did you get into those clothes?" he asks, interrupting you yet again. You look down and try to think about it, but the truth is you don't know. "Follow me."

He walks out of the room and at this point you're afraid what will happen if you don't follow him. He's been pretty pissed off at you before, but even for the two of you this is a whole new level. He leads you to the guest room, motioning to the bed.

"Demi and I searched through the house," he explains why you can't see the covers of the bed. It's covered with booze and drugs, your two best friends lately. "You're a lot of things, but fine is not one of them."

You're caught. Game over. You have to give up now. "I'm sorry."

"You're not," he defies.

You have to stop yourself from going into the room further and ripping bags of drugs open, breaking caps off alcohol. Somehow what started as an escape became a lifestyle. What started as a habit for you to grasp control became another source of lost control.

"Please," you find yourself whispering. "It's who I am, Nick."

Saying his name for the first time in years sends pain through your body – the worst kind, the kind you wish you could drink away.

"It's not."

"It is," you say, getting irritated quickly. You'd run in if you didn't know exactly what he'd do. Pin you to the wall, scream, hell, he'll call the cops if he really has to. Because that's who Nick Jonas is. He's always been the good guy.

"This is not who you are. You have time to change, Miley. You are young, but right now your story is heading towards international superstar that dies before she's twenty. And I don't want that for you. I care about you so much, and I know everything that happened was so long ago and I have no right to be here, but I don't want that to be your ending. I want your story to be international superstar gets married, has kids, has grandkids, grows old, becomes happy," he stresses.

You can see the desperation behind his eyes. You can hear the desperation.

"I-I... I..."

"There are two ways this can go right now," he concludes. "There are two suitcases downstairs. You can come with me, go to rehab, get better, and keep your two best friends by your side... Or, you can refuse, I'll leave, the cops will come, you'll get arrested, and you really will have nothing else left."

There's tears coming from your eyes. This is it. This is your ultimatum.

"I hope you choose the first one, for what it's worth," he shrugs.

You shake your head, wiping the water as it pours down. "Nick..."

"Choose," he says. "But if I walk out that door, no one is coming back. I will make sure that no one comes back, because Demi might think she can handle it, but I haven't seen her in a year and even I know she's being too selfless – too careless right now."

"You have someone else, right?" you test. "You fell in love with someone else?"

"We aren't talking about this right now." He looks away, running a hand through his hair. "You have Liam."

"But I love you," you protest.

He stands there for awhile before he wraps his arms around you, letting you stand against his chest. And, you can't help but start crying because you've missed this so much.

"Say it. Please. Say it, save me, be my Prince Charming again," you plead. "Please."

"Don't make me choose," he begs. "Don't make me choose between you or her, because you know that I'll always love you more. You know I'll pick you."

You look down, knowing yourself that it's true. He would pick you, then both of your hearts would end up broken again. Pulling out of the hug, you glance in the door at the alcohol again.

"I'm not as strong as you think I am," you point out defiantly.

His eyes show the pain he's going through just watching you like this.

"Does she know you're here?" you wonder aloud.

He shakes his head, looking down ashamed.

You look up with more curiosity and tilt your head to the side. "Do I still stand a chance?"

He's quiet for awhile, and at first you think you've pushed him too far and that he isn't going to answer, but then he looks up with the exact same composure he walked in with. "Not in this state."

Biting your lip you look down, accepting the bitter truth.

"I'll do it," you choke back a sob. "For you and Demi... because I owe you one. Both of you."

He let's out a deep breath of relief, engulfing you in his arms. For the first time in thousands of days, you felt at peace, at home, and safe.

"I love you," he says. And most nights, you have a hard time believing it. You have a hard time believing that anyone can love someone like you. But whenever the words come out of his mouth, you hear them. You believe them. Because he believes them. "Maybe not this version of you, but the girl behind the addict... I love you."

And in the end, that's why you're going to get better. Not because you care about Demi, or even yourself, but because there is one thing left – three, actually. You still have three things to hold on to, and if you lose that... Well, if you lose that then you've lost everything.

"I love you," he says again. "I can't see you go like this."

And you fall into his arms and stand there and life is as it was before everything happened. It's like you're fourteen years old again standing on the top of the world. You don't believe in drugs, nor do you believe in sex, or even alcohol. You want no part in all of it, you just want him. But, he's in the process of moving on and you can pretend that you still hold him, but the truth is, you physically, mentally, and emotionally can't until you recover. You have to recover.

"Can I just have one last drink?" you manage to croak out.

He holds you tighter and his body starts shaking. You're making him cry.

"You're gonna get better, Miley," he assures you, holding your thin, washed out body in his arms. "Please... You're gonna get better, right?"

You hug him back, but look at your bed with despair. You shouldn't feel like this. It's not right to be so dependent – you used to be the most independent girl the world had ever seen! But people change, and you're proof of that.

"Yeah," you say. With certainty, this time, not because he believes in you, rather because you know you have to. This has gone on for far too long. "I'm going to get better."