I know you all probably hate to hear about my personal life two chapters in a row. D:
But, good news is, my new phone will be here tomorrow, and it was only fifty dollars.
Keeping in mind the actual value of the phone is a little over two hundred and fifty dollars.
:)
Oh, and btw...
loliver :DDDDDD
--
may i suggest you get the best
of your wish may i insist
that no contest for
little you or smaller i
a larger chance happened,
all them they lie
on the rise,
on the brink of our lives
--
You would never talk to a complete stranger about your personal life.
That is, unless they were blackmailing you or threatening to bash your brains out with a hunk of wood. You'd probably feel if not just a little safer complying with what they wanted.
'Your personal life' included anything from what time you got in the shower this morning, what shampoo you used, what color your towel was, to even whether or not you washed, rinsed, and repeated.
'Your personal life' would probably also include the fact that you had bashed your head against a steering wheel a week ago and had just this morning woken up from a brain trauma-induced coma.
Okay, so Lilly hadn't been talking to complete strangers about her personal life. But they were probably figuring it out on their own, from the way she looked and the fact she looked about as alert as a piece of roadkill.
The day after she woke up, as soon as her mother had brought some decent clothes for her to wear, she had changed, and they stuck her in a wheelchair and shoved her into an elevator to leave the hospital.
Now, Lilly Truscott hates elevators.
That just showed how out of it she was, because she didn't say one word or give her parents a pitiful, annoyed, or even slightly agitated look as they waited for it to get to the first floor.
And Christopher, oh sweet, loving, caring Christopher who had convinced mother to let him stay home from school to take care of his big sister.
Turns out that sweet, loving, caring Christopher just wanted to stop by the candy shop that was conveniently located en route to their house.
And their mother let him go in and spend twenty dollars buying green-colored liquid sugar to inject into his mouth.
At that point Lilly was looking out the window, not only trying not to vomit from the nausea, but feeling light-headed, out of it, and ready to crawl into her bed.
And people were staring at her through her car window as she waited in the parking lot.
She looked like a mess. They probably didn't care what comatose patients looked like in a hospital. If you had spray-painted your hair, or shoved your face into a watermelon, or jumped into a tar pit, when you left the hospital, chances are you wouldn't exactly be looking 'stunning'. At this point she knew it would be a pain to even attempt to get a brush through that thing on her head that she was disgusted to call her hair.
As soon as they got home, the first thing she did was stumble out of the car, with no help from either Christopher, greedily eating a tube of who-the-hell-knows-what, or her mother, who just gave her words of encouragement that in no way actually aided her ability to walk.
And as soon as she reached her room, after tripping up the stairs, she dive-bombed onto her bed, but soon regretted it as the nausea and dizziness returned. And to her dismay, according to the doctor, it wouldn't leave for a good long while - 'until her head was all fixed up'.
Lilly Truscott hated hospitals, elevators, her mother, her brother, non-matching socks, and Miley Stewart. She did then.
And she still does now.
"Oliver!" She exclaimed through her teeth, with that smile she usually gave to people before she beat them with something.
"Lillian!" He exclaimed in reply, giving her a hesitant look. "Did I do something?"
She folded her arms and the tense grin turned into an angry scowl. "That just tells me that you did do something."
"What?"
"The fact that you asked whether or not you did anything!"
"But I didn't do anything!"
"Exactly!"
"Did you hit your head again?"
Silence. Lilly wondered if she was the only one.
"No, Oliver, I did not."
"Really? You sure? Maybe you need to you know, go get your head checked again."
"Oliver, what the hell are you talking about?"
"Because, you know, sometimes, when you hit your head, you imagine that you're seeing and hearing things."
She glared at him and turned away.
"That hurt."
"Lillian, how do you know that I'm not just a figment of your imagination? A hallucination, if you will?"
She stopped folding the throw blanket, pausing, then turned around to look at him with a completely different expression on her face.
"Because," She said, almost in an upset tone of voice.
"Because why?" He asked curiously in that sing-song way of his.
She resumed folding the blanket and set it back on the couch.
"I just know you're real. It's this feeling," She explained slowly.
"What feeling?" Oliver pried with a grin.
"You know what, forget it," Lilly said, angry again. "If you want to believe you're a hallucination, fine by me. If you want to believe that you only exist because of me and still act so egotistic, go right ahead."
When he didn't respond, she glared up at him. "If you're so great and mighty, why don't you take care of that stupid problem of yours by yourself?" She turned back around.
Right then, a couple of things happened at once.
Oliver appeared directly behind her.
"I can't," He whispered into her ear.
Her breath caught in her throat.
And she decided there was no possible way that he was a figment of her imagination.
She struggled to speak, and when that didn't work out she turned around slowly and looked up at him. He was way too real. His eyes, and his dark hair. That 'purely business' face he had put on but failed to keep on.
She caught herself before she moved on to something other than his head, and mentally beat herself over her head with a frying pan.
She was fantasizing over a hallucination, as he put it. She tried to keep that in mind as she looked up at him, her eyes locked with his. Neither one so much as flinched.
All of a sudden she remembered why she was in this position in the first place. To help him. With whatever it was he needed help with.
She had to ask him. It was the only way to make any sort of progress.
"How did you die?" She whispered.
It took a second before she realized he had vanished, an almost angry look on his face.
It took another second before she figured out what was suddenly tearing a gaping hole in her heart.
Lilly Truscott was falling for Oliver Oken, the only guy who could really vanish from her life in the blink of an eye.
And she was not regretting it.
