DISCLAMIER: … Come now, must we do this? I do not own it. If I did… well it would be a little different.

Author's Note: This is an experiment. In all brutal honesty it would be better if you knew nothing of the Hannah Montana TV show, because the only thing I'm keeping similar are the names, everything else is up for grabs. I'm trying something new, if it doesn't work, oh well. It's a little messy at the moment, so, please, bear with me.

"One Art"friends, have no fear I will return. The story and I are currently having a disagreement, a minor tiff that will blow over (fingers crossed.)

Rated: M- language, adult content, drugs… and everything else that could be bad for young eyes.

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Paper Cuts- Inspired by the leaders of dark English discussions inroom 103, you know who you are…

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October 12, 2011- Journal Entry #20

"Don't ever tell anybody anything. If you do, you start missing everybody." -J.D. Salinger, The Catcher in the Rye.

Holden is my best friend. Why is that storybook characters understand me so much better then people in the real world? I think it's odd.

This entry is such a waste. I have nothing to write about. Maybe I should just start writing down quotes instead of my thoughts. Quotes usually sum things up a hell of a lot better then I ever could. I wonder if Mr. Gunter the evil one will like that.

Whatever.

Ciao.

….

Drip… drip… Shit!

The tub is wet. The water soaks my jeans. I lean my head back and sigh. The tub is my statuary, my home. I leave the lights off. School is a heavy burden that still stings, even now, two hours later. But the tub welcomes me, even with it's damp surface. I close my eyes.

I have a secret.

I want to be a whale.

Yes.

In the fifth grade we had to paint pictures of sea creatures I chose the whale and painted it purple. I want to be a giant purple whale floating in the water alone and peaceful, like now, here in my tub. My white fortress, so smooth and strong. I take a deep breath. I wait a moment before letting it go. The air leaves my lungs and my chest deflates. It feels good, breathing like that. Taking deep gulps of the air and letting it sit in your system, your body. I hold my breath again.

I wonder how long it would take. What if I just didn't breathe out? What if I kept holding this old air? Would it become like dust on the shelves of my lungs? I close my eyes and sink into the tube. Suicide is a fickle thing. I let the air slowly hiss from my parted lips. But suicide is not for me.

That doesn't mean it hasn't crossed my mind. It normally happens in moments like these- just sitting, just tired, just bored out of my skull. But suicide is so messy. I'm a wimp when it comes to physically pain. I could never really do it. My socks are completely soaked. I lean over with a grunt and slide my freezing feet out of them and toss the blue socks over the side of the tub. They make a quiet splat! on the tile floor.

"Honey?" Her voice seeps from under the closed door and a soft knock sounds along after.

I roll my eyes. "What?"

"Can I come in?" She asks. I stare at the white ceiling and consider it, holding my breath… holding my breath.

"Honey?"

"Yeah!" My voice is hard and I know it will earn me a sour frown from her. The white bathroom door opens and she glares at me.

"Lilly, why on earth do you insist on sitting in that tub? And pick your wet socks up off the floor." She turns to the mirror and fixes her lipstick.

I don't move.

She's wearing her black cocktail dress accompanied by the pretty pearls that dad got her for her birthday years ago. She fluffs her shoulder length blonde hair and frowns over the wrinkles forming around her mouth.

"You going out?"

She turns on her heel. "I've got that promotion party tonight, remember? Your dad and I should be back around eleven. Didn't we tell you?"

"Nope." I say with a sigh and picking at the loose thread on my jeans.

"Oh." Her lips come together. "Well… now you do."

Next she slips into the black high heeled shoes. Then, squirts the tiniest amount of Dianna Karen perfume onto her wrists. Lastly, turns around twice in the large floor length mirror to examine herself.

"Well…" She sounds bored. "We'll be off. Remember not to stay up too late, school tomorrow… if I don't see you in the morning then…" She leans down and kisses the top of my head. It's awkward. "Bye Lilly." The door closes.

What the hell happened to us?

I know. I wish I didn't. But it's all my fault, isn't it? Screw it. I get up and throw my socks in the dirty clothes basket and walk out of the bathroom. I collapse onto my parents red bed. My body sinks into the comforter; I keep my face pressed into the fabric. Vaguely, in the foggy pit called my mind I know I have homework to do.

English: Read some section of Moby-Dick.

Math: Page something or other numbers 5 to a billion (odd only.)

European History: France's Revolution, book report due tomorrow, I had a week to complete it, oops.

And then there's more… but remembering was always a flaw of mine. I roll over; laziness is an asset to my daily routine. Getting up sluggishly I walk to the garage; it has a very musky smell to it an interesting cross between cigarette smoke (that's mine) and gasoline, never a good combination.

There it is, my holy grail of happiness: The drums.

I take a seat on the stool of my beautiful red drum set. The drumsticks are tucked snuggly in a small pouch under the stool, I pull them out. Quickly, I say a pray to the rock gods of the past and then-

A long drum roll it rattles like a snake until I strike up a heavy beat. Perfect, perfect, I hit the base. The garage shakes under my power. Maybe I like being in control, having the upper hand. I put my head down as my hands steady the roaring drumsticks on the snare.

I like this.

This is my stable drug.

My favorite part of the ending day.

Almost there, the climax of my song comes like the climax of a good fuck. Almost…. Almost… there… there it is. I bring the tune back in, fading out on the cymbals. As I place the drumsticks down I feel the tears forming around my eyes, but I will not let them fall. No tears.

I sniff loudly and rub my nose into my sweater. What is happening to me?

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Author's Note: I've got bigger and better things planned for this. Lots of self loathing, anger turned inward, and many mature thoughts/actions/ideas… Leave your thoughts. (Oh, and yes this is a Lily/Miley story, your eyes have not deceived you. It just might take a while for her to really be in the story… if that makes any sense at all.) Confused yet? … By the way I'm nervous as hell to know what you think. Currently biting fingernails.