Falling Fast
Disclaimer
I only own Hannah Montana in my dreams. However, I do own everything that you don't recognize. Tee hee.
Chapter #24A
It's Okay to Cry
"I'll meet you in your room in a minute; I just need to use the bathroom first. Can you find it on your own?" I nodded; it wasn't that hard to read a map. "Good, I'll meet you there." And she was off. Slowly, I meandered back into my room. Trying to make as much noise as possible, I landed firmly on the bed, bouncing my belongings off of it. For the first time in such a long time, I'd gotten what I'd wanted. I was alone. And I hated it.
FALLING FAST
"Miley?" The counselor asked. I looked up. She beckoned me into the room and I followed. She was younger than I thought she would be - a youthful blonde no older than twenty eight with bright, startling green eyes. She dressed smartly, but casual, wearing a simple purple button-up shirt with the first four buttons open to reveal a cream tank top. Her skirt was a matching color, with a playful flower patern up one side. Slung across the back of what was obviously her chair was a light brown cloth jacket, the kind that looks like a more stylish version of what a detective might wear. On top of this, handing from the corner of the chair's back, was a matching hat, the kind you see young, poor boys wearing in old-timey movies. Around the band was a thick cream ribbon, and centered in that a thin purple one.
"So" she said, settling in her chair. She gestured for me to sit on the couch, which was made of a denim material and was covered in latch-hook pillows with images of teddies, ribbons, and smiles. I sat. "Why don't I go over what your dad's told me ahead of time, and you can fill in the gaps from there." She glanced down at my chart. "You're definitely more interesting than my average patient." She looked up blushing, "please don't tell them I said that!" she added quickly. I nodded, staring at the wallpaper behind her and trying to memorize the pattern of bright stripes.
"Your mother died three years ago, is that correct?" I nodded. "Of cancer?" another nod. "Do you want to talk about that?" I shook my head, and knew immediately that that was a lie. It's what I wanted all along; to be able to talk about mom. But I didn't want to talk to her about mom. I wanted to talk to dad, to Jackson, to Lily, and to Heather. - to my family, not to some stranger with a degree.
"Okay then," she sighed, "It says here that you're Hannah Montana – can you explain?"
"I led a double life." I answered, keeping my voice at a monotone, although I was secretly outraged at dad for telling her. "The blonde hair is a wig; the clothes stay in a special closet and I make sure my elective list doesn't include chorus so that no one gets suspicious."
"what would you say if I told you that I don't believe you?" she asked.
"I'd say that that's pretty hypocritical. Why would I lie to you? Everything I say is confidential, isn't it? And talking, telling the truth, is all for my benefit, right? Why would I lie?" Still, I reached into my bag and pulled out the perfectly straightened blonde locks. Quickly, I tucked my hair, which I'd left "conveniently" in a low pony that would be covered by the blond, and placed the wig on. "I'm Hannah Montana." I stated plainly. She hid her astonishment well, which I secretly commended her for as I placed the wig back into my bag.
"Okay then." She muttered. "And your dad recently remarried?"
"Last September." I filled in. "My best friend's mom."
"Is that how you two met?"
"It's how they met." I clarified. "But I don't really want to talk about it. It doesn't matter."
"Sure it doesn't." she replied, but not angrily, like I expected. Just like she'd heard the phrase one too many times. "So you lost a baby?" Lost a baby. But she was never lost, never. She was right there, in me the entire time. I knew she was; what else would have caused my frequent trips to the restroom, both for puking and for a shrinking bladder. What else would have allowed me to eat any disgusting food combination I could concoct? Only a baby. A baby I never lost. Just one that died. Still, I nodded like a good girl. "That must have been devastating." I shrugged. "Is that why you began cutting?" I bit my lip.
"Part of it." I answered, trying to be cryptic.
"What were the other parts?" she asked, but I chose not to respond. We sat there in a silence I expected her to break any second – but she didn't. The room was quiet and I fixed my gaze on the digital clock on her desk. One minute. Two minutes. Five. Ten. Twenty. With five minutes left to our meeting, she opened her mouth again. "Miley, I'm here to help you." She said, as if I didn't already know. "But you can sit in silence at home. You need to tell me. I don't expect you to know exactly what caused what emotion and why, I just want to know what happened, so I can help you recover from whatever it was. I want to understand."
And just like that, I felt one slithery tear slide down my cheek, an act of betrayal. "It's just so painful." I whispered as the tears started faster and faster. "There's just so much . . . stuff. One thing after another. And remembering it . . . it hurts. A lot. She nodded solemnly.
"I know it can hurt." She agreed, "but it hurts more to keep it inside."
"How can you know?"
Author's Note
Short filler. Yay. Filler at the end of a story . . . irony?!
Yay life!