Author's Notes/Warnings: So basically, a few of the following events in this one-shot has, unfortunately, happened to me because I'm admittedly a douche and I play these terrible games with boys that always end up spitting in my face in the end. Don't expect a happy ending either, sorry. I think I'm also probably going to take a long break from fanfiction once again. Consider this my good-bye to writing for an extended period.
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Dim sunlight fritters through the windows of your empty house. For the first time in weeks it's cloudy and it's almost ironic how this is the one day you need all the sunlight you can get. You're perched on the first step of your porch that leads into the entrance of your house, the heels of your pretty yellow flats grinding anxiously into the ugly gray driveway. Flinching as a familiar Mercedes pulls into view, you bring yourself to lift your chin skywards and you grimace when the car door opens and slams shut.
A silhouette lingers over you and you immediately stand to your feet. Your legs are wobbly and he looks elsewhere. He knows why you're wearing jeans--to cover all those bruises and why your thighs are throbbing with pain. You want to look away ashamed but he already looks enough for the both of you. You shift uncomfortably, your hand aimlessly groping for the cardboard box aside of you filled with dozens of things he either gave or left you throughout your years of friendship. But you can't keep them anymore. Not with what you've done to him; to yourself.
This your final and selfish good-bye to Oliver Oken.
As dust begins to collect between your bodies you wonder when you transformed into such a monster. You want to blame it on the artificial bright lights of Hollywood that shined so intensely you could no longer see the stars from your world's own limitations but you can't. Ironically, you think its Hollywood that kept you grounded--at least from Jake Ryan.
Jake Ryan.
He's a bit like an anti-christ in your life. Maybe it's not that severe or extreme, but he always manages to destroy you whenever he decides to walk by and pay a visit.
This last time, though, you feel different when he breaks your heart. You're not wearing an enraged expression, not a stain of revenge is lingering on the tip of your lips or words, there's just complete, utter helplessness in your eyes that brim with the most pristine of tears.
So you go to Oliver in pieces.
And he accepts what's left of you. Because you'd smile for him right then and that's all he'd ever ask for. Even if right then wasn't a guarantee for tomorrow. Because he likes how you grin against his lips, and how you play with his hair, and how he can bring, what he thinks, happiness to your face.
Suddenly, in the midst of his consoling, he inhales enough courage and kisses you and then you two find yourselves going steady for the next three months.
It's just perfect.
But Oliver Oken is a boy and he isn't supposed to believe in fairytales, happily-ever-afters, and true love.
And maybe that's why he's abandoned with nothing in return.
Because, in the end, he's a bit cynical and doesn't flinch the slightest when he creeks open your room weeks after your third month anniversary to find you, with little remorse, twisted around Jake-fucking-Ryan. He stops and stares for a moment, his eyes drawn to the way your lips part to fit Jake's, the way your hips move so comfortably in Jake's hands, and the way you're so desperate and submissive when it comes to Jake. Jake. Jake. Jake.
You snap out of your thoughts before its too late and they completely consume you. Instead, you hand Oliver his things and he pales in response. You weren't joking or, at least, half-lying when you said this was it.
You two--you and Oliver, Oliver and you--are done.
He fishes through the objects with one hand and pulls out a bracelet and glances at you with an eyebrow raised. You tarry in your own manifested silence.
There was once a moment when you saw your whole world in that shining green emerald woven precisely in the middle of the silver chains. You could see a painted white doll house near the ocean with a picket fence around the large property with green, green lawns and a perfect view of the surrounding water and town. Then you could eventually see yourself at one point realizing that this isn't your dream life. It never was.
You don't love Oliver Oken. You never did. But, to his relief, you don't really love Jake Ryan either.
"You can keep this, Miley," he tells you in the strongest voice you've ever heard him muster. "I gave it to you before... before any of that happened."
It's true. He gave you that bracelet years before your lips ever met his. It had been a birthday present--for your fourteenth one--and you wore it for months straight until Lilly questioned you one day if you had only worn it for so long because you liked Oliver. Immediately disgusted by the idea you threw it one of your burrow's drawers and re-discovered it years later, on your seventeenth birthday, as you desperately searched for a condom while things began to heat up between you and Jake. That was two days ago.
You smile politely and shake your head and he quickly retracts his extended arm back. He's going to throw it away once he drives off, you know but you don't really care either.
It's getting darker and the clouds are becoming heavier. You wonder when it's going to start raining.
"I could've waited, you know," he mutters next.
Waited. You pause and think.
Waited, waited, waited. Waited for what? For you to realize how heartless you've become? How you promised your purity to Oliver but stained it with Jake? How you're allowing your life to spiral completely out of control?
He steps toward you.
"I waited my entire life, Miley, a few more months--years, even--wouldn't have hurt." His voice is soft and quiet. It reminds you of the pearl waves that reach the shorelines.
"I just don't want to do this anymore," you say back.
You think this will be a good, fresh start. Like how spring reemerges after the snow and bitterness fades away.
Jake is tired of you speaking about Oliver and broke off whatever type of relationship you two harbored yesterday and today you figured you should do the same with Oliver. It's time for you not to be selfish; to think of someone other than yourself. This may a strange way to do so, but it's the best idea you can think of. It's the only idea you can think of.
He nods stiffly and you watch as he securely packs away the box of his things in back of his car before he walks to the front side of it and climbs languidly in.
Guilt is scattered about your driveway and it lingers and glitters in the minimal sunlight slipping through the sky's gray cracks. You want to sit down and soak in the entire day's events but instead you stand, hunched slightly over as you trace your own shadow against the ground.
You're Miley Stewart, whose seventeen years old, with a brother that's off in college drinking and smoking his life away and a dad whose recently found some woman to confide in--four nights out of the week--in his room. You have two best friends, one that's Lilly who you're fairly sure doesn't like you anymore, and the other, Oliver, who you just pushed completely out of your life because you can't keep leading him on like this. You love to hate Jake Ryan, your consistent boyfriend and, in general, boy who comes into your life and breaks whatever you manage to fix in his absence and you're not Hannah Montana anymore. You're just Miley Stewart--whoever that is.
I could've waited, you know.
Oliver's words echo through your head once again before you reel around and head into your empty house.
You know he could've waited for you--for the old you, to come back.
You just don't know how long you could have.
It starts raining.
but love is not a victory march
it's a cold and it's a broken hallelujah.
Thank you for reading. I hope you somewhat enjoyed it, although, I think you have to understand the plot's circumstances to fully understand Miley's actions. Sometimes, if you really love someone, you have to let them go. Especially if you know you're hurting them in the long run. I just fell in love with two people at the same time; at the wrong time, who both fortunately--or unfortunately, however you want to look at it--loved me back and now I'm paying for the consequences. Reviews would be fantastic but not necessary. I hope to hear from you all again whenever I decide to return to fanfiction.