DISclaimer:
You don't own me
I don't own you
But Disney owns Lizzie
I hope they don't sue
This is my first ever fanfic, for Lizzie McGuire or anything else. I'm not gonna say "so go easy on me," but just keep it in mind. On with the show.
*******************
"Lizzieeeeee! Hurry up! I have to go to the bathroom!"
"Use Mom and Dad's!"
"Dad was just in there for like a half hour and it smells! Come on!"
Can't a girl get a moment of peace and quiet around here? Of course, that was a ridiculous thought, because I'd had nothing but peace and quiet for the past nine or ten hours. I stared into the mirror at the dark circles under my eyes, tugging at the knots in my unwashed blond hair, not enough motivation to pick up the brush from the sink. My hand reached instead for the bottle of Aspirin perched on the back of the toilet.
I'd laid awake in bed all night, agonizing over the past sixteen years' moments of hurt and humiliation that pinched the insides of my brain. The scenes had played over and over like darkened versions of home videos; I'd scratched my arms, thinking of things I should have said. Ethan Craft rejecting my invitation to a dance. The look on Miranda's face when I told her she was a "stinkbag actress." The pain my mom must have felt when I acted so cold toward her on that school camping trip she chaperoned. Those moments of friction had long been disregarded and apologized for, but things like that don't just get squared away with the words "I'm sorry." They linger in the corners of my memory, scraping at my skin as I try to sleep, hovering in the air between me and the people I love.
I used to think I had pretty healthy ways of dealing with the painful times in my life, or at least healthier than most teenage girls. But these past few months everything bad had been horrible, everything neutral had been bad, and everything good had been neutral. Nothing happened to cause any of this; Miranda, Gordo, my family, everyone had stayed exactly the same. Everyone except me. I put on a smile, worn my bright clothes and chatted away like always, but I wondered if they'd noticed how my voice had lost its excited squeak, and how I didn't walk with the same hyper bounce. If they'd noticed they didn't care. And if they cared they didn't say so.
Ignoring Matt's relentless knocking, I counted out pills one at a time. I stopped at sixteen, one for each year I'd been alive. Gulping them down in three handfuls, I winced at the bitter taste. They went down surprisingly smoothly, though, considering that only three years ago it took me several tries to swallow one.
Calmly placing the bottle back on the toilet, I turned back to the mirror and picked at the pimple on my forehead. I wasn't trying to kill myself, but I figured if I ended up dying it wouldn't make much difference. It wasn't exactly for attention either, but I'd be lying if I said it never crossed my mind. I had no idea what sixteen Aspirin would do to me. I just wanted to change something, to feel something other than those dull, stinging pangs of regret.
I took a deep, shaky breath, blinked my crusty eyelashes and pasted my well- trained smile back on my drooping face. With renewed energy, I grabbed my brush from the sink and swung the door open. "It's all yours."
Matt didn't even look at me as he brushed by, rolling his eyes. "You girls and your bathroom time. Jeez."
This is my first ever fanfic, for Lizzie McGuire or anything else. I'm not gonna say "so go easy on me," but just keep it in mind. On with the show.
*******************
"Lizzieeeeee! Hurry up! I have to go to the bathroom!"
"Use Mom and Dad's!"
"Dad was just in there for like a half hour and it smells! Come on!"
Can't a girl get a moment of peace and quiet around here? Of course, that was a ridiculous thought, because I'd had nothing but peace and quiet for the past nine or ten hours. I stared into the mirror at the dark circles under my eyes, tugging at the knots in my unwashed blond hair, not enough motivation to pick up the brush from the sink. My hand reached instead for the bottle of Aspirin perched on the back of the toilet.
I'd laid awake in bed all night, agonizing over the past sixteen years' moments of hurt and humiliation that pinched the insides of my brain. The scenes had played over and over like darkened versions of home videos; I'd scratched my arms, thinking of things I should have said. Ethan Craft rejecting my invitation to a dance. The look on Miranda's face when I told her she was a "stinkbag actress." The pain my mom must have felt when I acted so cold toward her on that school camping trip she chaperoned. Those moments of friction had long been disregarded and apologized for, but things like that don't just get squared away with the words "I'm sorry." They linger in the corners of my memory, scraping at my skin as I try to sleep, hovering in the air between me and the people I love.
I used to think I had pretty healthy ways of dealing with the painful times in my life, or at least healthier than most teenage girls. But these past few months everything bad had been horrible, everything neutral had been bad, and everything good had been neutral. Nothing happened to cause any of this; Miranda, Gordo, my family, everyone had stayed exactly the same. Everyone except me. I put on a smile, worn my bright clothes and chatted away like always, but I wondered if they'd noticed how my voice had lost its excited squeak, and how I didn't walk with the same hyper bounce. If they'd noticed they didn't care. And if they cared they didn't say so.
Ignoring Matt's relentless knocking, I counted out pills one at a time. I stopped at sixteen, one for each year I'd been alive. Gulping them down in three handfuls, I winced at the bitter taste. They went down surprisingly smoothly, though, considering that only three years ago it took me several tries to swallow one.
Calmly placing the bottle back on the toilet, I turned back to the mirror and picked at the pimple on my forehead. I wasn't trying to kill myself, but I figured if I ended up dying it wouldn't make much difference. It wasn't exactly for attention either, but I'd be lying if I said it never crossed my mind. I had no idea what sixteen Aspirin would do to me. I just wanted to change something, to feel something other than those dull, stinging pangs of regret.
I took a deep, shaky breath, blinked my crusty eyelashes and pasted my well- trained smile back on my drooping face. With renewed energy, I grabbed my brush from the sink and swung the door open. "It's all yours."
Matt didn't even look at me as he brushed by, rolling his eyes. "You girls and your bathroom time. Jeez."
