A/N: Sorry it's been so long since I've updated this! I knew where I wanted to go with the story, but I wasn't sure how to lay out this particular chapter. And honestly, I'm not sure if I'm all that happy with it...but hopefully everyone will still like it.
You know your life truly sucks when you try to kill yourself and you can't even do that properly because you are revived.
And naturally, of all lives to have the honor of truly sucking, mine is among them.
I don't know how long I was out of it, but when I awoke, I was staring up at an unfamiliar ceiling and I was hooked up to an IV. My bed had plain, white blankets, and I was wearing a stupid, hideous gown. There was no mistaking it: I was in a hospital.
Glancing around, my room was extremely empty. There was my bed, of course, and the IV next to me, a tiny bathroom off to the side, and an uncomfortable-looking chair sitting in the far corner. That was it; no one was even in the room, waiting for me. Did no one care?!
I was just about to panic when the door to the room slid open and a nurse came striding in.
"Ms. Truscott! Ah, you are awake!" She smiled gently, "I'm just here to refill the IV before it begins to annoyingly beep at you." She was trying to be funny, I suppose. I wasn't in the mood.
"But I'll alert your family about your status," she assured me as she finished her task.
Before she left, she unplugged my IV for me so that I could use the restroom. Slowly, weakly, I walked to the restroom and lightly closed the door behind me. The mirror on the wall and over the sink was small and needed cleaned, but as I stared into it…I don't know. Everything seemed different, now that all my emotions, all my hatred, all my actions…they had all contributed to landing me in a hospital. And for what? I was more ugly now than I ever had been. I was beyond pale, and so fragile; there were dark circles under my colorless, sad eyes; even my hair did not appear healthy. I was such a mess!
I wasn't sure how to feel, which was even worse than my apathetic spell. When I had been apathetic, I simply didn't care--about anything, at all. But now? Now everything was confusing. I felt like a little kid, not knowing how to react to the situations around me. I did still hate myself, that couldn't just easily melt away like I wanted it to, but the hate wasn't on the level that it had been previous to the hospital. I didn't have enough strength to generate that much emotion, not anymore. I needed help; I needed to get better. Not for all the people that I thought I hated so intensely, but for me.
I think I was sobbing when I heard a door outside the restroom open and close—the main door, the one to my room. Curious, I slipped out of the restroom, and next I knew, I was standing beside my bed, shivering in that horrible gown, unsmiling, and across from someone I wasn't sure I was ready to face just yet. Here I had been, willing to recover, willing to return to how I used to be, and now she had to show up. Of course. Of course.
Shaking not only from the cold, I quickly hopped onto my bed, raising it into a sitting position.
"Lilly," She spoke, inching forward until she stood at the edge of the bed.
"Miley," I returned carefully.
She looked down at the railing on my bed, "I…don't really know what to say. I…can't say sorry because I know that's not enough and it doesn't fix anything."
"No," I agreed, still struggling to remain calm, "I guess it doesn't."
"I just…Lils…I don't understand." She looked up at me, her eyes tearful.
I sighed, staying silent for a moment. She was silent as well, and the atmosphere was entirely uncomfortable.
And I couldn't handle it anymore; I couldn't do it. I started crying harder than ever—I knew what I had to do. I couldn't yell at her anymore and roll my eyes at her and refuse to think her true name by calling her 'Miss Perfect.' No. I had to tell her the truth. I had to tell her what was wrong.
"You can't say you're sorry because…I am the one that needs to apologize," I cried, "I got caught up in all the fame that you have, and I've never been so jealous in my life. It's just, you're so perfect, Miley. Little Miss Perfect; that's who you were to me for so long. You were the enemy. You were my best friend and I hated you. I hated you. I'm not even sure who I am anymore, and I'm not sure about anything. I'm sorry. Really, I am."
She didn't come any closer. She just stared at me, almost in disbelief, though how she didn't see this coming, I couldn't comprehend. Didn't she feel my hatred all those times we passed in the hallway at school? Didn't she see that our friendship had been torn asunder? Or was she stupid and blind to all of her surroundings?! If she was, then I maybe I would never recover from my feelings towards her. Maybe I could not be healed.
Another unbreakable silence followed, perhaps even more awkward than the first. She looked deep in thought as she stood there, and then she said, "Oh." She turned to the door, "I get it. I hope you get better, Lilly. Really. I do."
The last part sounded like an imitation of my apology, but she hadn't stayed to see my facial expression. She was gone.
The sad thing is, I knew it was forever. I knew it was forever, and I wasn't even sure how to take it.