A/n: Sorry for the long wait. Lots of stuff going on, but I've got this story up and running again! So thanks for the reviews, and keep them coming. Remember the characters are supposed to be OOC, so don't flame me for that! It's hard to write this kind of plot line and keep them all in character. So yea, I hope you like it!
Oh, yea, and this chapter is in MILEY'S POV. It's basically just introducing what's going on with her while Jake is dying.
The sky is full of stars.
I always knew there were stars. But before one was named after me, I just thought of them as beautiful lights in the sky. Even after I was named after one, they were still just something beautiful...something romantic. I never remembered just how many there were when there were no lights to obstruct my view. When I first got to the island, and noticed how clear the stars were, I tried to find myself in the stars. But there were billions, maybe trillions and maybe even more, stars in the sky and my star was just one. I'd always be one in a billion/trillion/whatever. And it wasn't always a good thing.
I take a sip of wine.
I'm laying out in the sand. It's warm and the waves are crashing up, touching my toes. The water's cold and tickles me with every caress. My older brother, Jackson, is laying beside me. He's quiet, and looking at the stars too. I glance up at him, and wonder what he's thinking. Is he thinking about how big the universe is also? About how many people there are, and how insignificant we can be? Or is he thinking about how those stars got there?
"Jackson?" I whisper. The word falls out of my mouth like a tumbling waterfall.
He looks over at me, eyebrows raised in questioning. He takes another drag of his cigarette and I inwardly cringe. I hate him smoking; it's repulsive. He's not addicted really...just smokes one ever now and then (at least, that's what he says). Still, though, I wish he wouldn't.
I open my mouth to ask him a question. I want to know what he's thinking. I want to know how he's feeling. I want to know a lot of things. I settle with: "What are you going to do now?"
Another drag. The cigarette is gone now, he pulls out another and lights it before answering.
"I don't know. Corrie Ann...she...I don't know." He takes a long drag. I can feel the emotions swirling all around us light static electricity. It's painful. I don't want to think...I don't want to feel...I don't want to live. I want to go to sleep and become numb. I want to sleep and forget my name, my pain, my everything. I want to forget why I want to forget.
I gulp down the rest of my wine. It burns going down, but leaves a nice, warm feeling all through my body. My mind is slightly hazy with the buzz. I fill my second glass of white wine.
"I guess I could send her to live with her grandmother," Jackson whispers, as if the idea was so horrible he was ashamed of thinking it. Which, it was. Corrie Ann's grandmother was a evil woman.
Another sip, another puff.
"You can't do that," I say, and we both know it. He plays with his lighter. He lights it, then extinguishes it. On, off, on, off, on, off. I watch it, as if it holds all our future on a thin wire.
"Well what can I do? Loreyn needs me here. Corrie Ann can't stay here, though. She can't watch her mother..." Jackson trails off, taking an extremely long drag that leaves him coughing.
I gulp down some more wine.
My sister-in-law is dying.
From breast cancer to be more descriptive. Jackson, her, and their daughter Corrie Ann flew down here to the Caribbeans to give Loreyn some peace and quiet for her final time. However, things were getting worse, and Jackson and I were frequently reminded of having to watch our own mother die from breast cancer all those years ago...
Neither of us wanted that for Corrie. But we didn't know what to do. Dad was off in Nashville, spending some much deserved time to himself. The only family Loreyn had was her mother who as I stated, is evil.
I shut my eyes. I can feel the way it felt to watch my mother slowly die...the pain of not being able to stop sub-consciously put a time sticker on her death. Every time I saw her, she was worse. And I'd always think "Oh, God, this is it. She couldn't possibly have more then a few months..." and when she finally did die, I forever felt guilty for thinking all those time estimations. As if somehow I had wished her to die...
"I'll take her with me," I blurt out. Jackson looks at me in surprise, and all I can do it drain my wine glass again. Fill it up, I tell myself shakily, just fill it back up. It'll get better soon. As long as I fill the glass up. I do it shakily. I need those hazy, thoughtless lines the liquor permits. I need to feel calm; to escape. I need the wine, almost as much as I need happiness. But the wine serves as liquid happiness substitute, and will work for now.
Corrie Ann doesn't really like me. Well, she just doesn't know me at all. I'm basically a stranger to the six year old. When she was born, I was on tour. Dad and I had to wait forever until we could finally met her (a month to be exact). I spent a year around her, then Jackson and Loreyn moved to Seattle, where Loreyn's from. They were only there for about two months when Loreyn was diagnosed with breast cancer. She fought it for three years. Through all those years, Hannah Montana was busier than ever and my work provided the blissful ignorance I needed to feel okay. Then, Loreyn was through with it. She refused any more treatment, and nothing we said could change her mind. I loved Loreyn, and I cried and cried for a month non-stop it seemed after she said that.
Her last wish was to go to the Caribbeans. So I loaned Jackson a lot of money, and he moved them out there for the remainder of Loreyn's life.
So needless to say, Corrie didn't really know me. I was just her famous, rich aunt that sent her presents all the time in the mail. I'd told my secret about two years ago, and I was told she bragged about me to her friends a lot, (My aunt is Hannah Montana and I can get her to sue you if you don't give me that!) but other then that I was just aunt Miley who bought her cool clothes and the occasional iPod and laptop. We'd never had a real conversation before, and here I was offering to let her move back to LA with me!
I took another sip of wine. And boy did I need it.
"What?" Jackson blurts out, as if it's more ridiculous than her going to leave with Evil Grandma Raine.
Another sip.
"Well," I set the glass back down on the smoothed out part of the sand and folded my hands underneath my head, "you don't want her here to witness what we had to...and she has no where to go...and I'm her rich aunt who buys her cool stuff. It just kind of fits..."
He gazes at me and sizes me up, seeing if I can handle this. I try to keep myself calm. Another sip, then another, then another. Another glass is poured. Another sip, another, another, another, another...
"No, you've had enough." Jackson takes away my bottle of wine. I protest. It's a bottle of Clos du Bios Calcaire Vineyard Chardonnay. Not the best, not the worst. It does what it needs to do, takes the sharp edge off the bad stuff. It doesn't taste too bad either. It's rich with that oakey flavor that most white wines have, but also has a citrus and apricot taste to it. It also has like a wildflower hint to it when you let the taste sizzle in your mouth for a few seconds.
Jackson thinks I'm an alcoholic, I think he's an addictive smoker. He says he only smokes one cigarette ever once on a while,I say I only have a glass of wine every once and a while with dinner. I'm not an alcoholic. I swear I'm not.
For one, I won't drink any kind of liquor. I'm into expensive white wines and that's it. Beer is repulsive, whiskey is too strong and smelly, gin is bitter, vodka hits you hard after only one sip, rum is just nasty, ever since I heard something about worms at the bottom of tequila bottles I won't touch it, and red wine is really strong also. All the other types of liquor I've never taken a sip of. I'll only swallow the sip of an alcoholic drink if I like it. Which means white wine is all that's ever hit this stomach. I'll drink the occasional wine cooler, but fine white wines are what I love.
Second, I don't drink all the time.I don't go to sleep with a bottle by my bed, I don't hyperventilate if I don't have any thing to drink when I wake up Sunday. I just drink a few glasses every now and then when things get to be too bad to handle. That's all, I swear. Too bad swears are thrown around loosely lately.
"I don't know if she should." Jackson says, eying my empty wine glass. I groan in annoyance,
"I'mnot an alcoholic, Jackson! Okay? I'm not!"
He has no other option, and he knows it. He nods once, firmly.
"Okay, I'll tell her now."
He stands up and brushes the sand off his pants. As he walks away, I realize he's forgotten my bottle. I grab it and pour another glass.
I'm going to need it.