Never Been Fixed (Demi Lovato)

Stranger

ROBYN'S POV

 

Drip. Drip. Drip. Eurgh. Not again. "Demi!" I mumbled, my eyes still closed. "It wasn't funny the first time, it's not funny this time either. Isn't there any other way to wake me up besides pouring water on my face?" Demi didn't reply. Confused, I finally opened my eyes, to see not the cream colored walls of Demi's ceiling that I expected, but instead a grayish stormy sky, scattered with dark clouds and a smattering of raindrops lazily pattering down. What? Where was I? This definitely wasn't Demi's warm, cozy apartment. I tilted my head, which seemed to be lying on cold, hard concrete ground, to look around. To my left I saw a big grey building, and to my right was a similar one in blue. Apartments. Demi's apartment! Looking above me to confirm my theory, I spied the bright red stairs attached to the grey building and finally the memories came flooding back to me? I had jumped off the fire escape into Demi's apartment's alleyway and fell unconscious.

 

I laid in that spot for a few more minutes, digesting that information and trying to figure out what to do now, until I realized that I was mere feet from Demi's room and she could come back here and find me at any given moment. I jumped up to my feet in a panic and yelped, falling back over. I peered curiously at my left ankle. Yep. Definitely messed it up pretty good, I gotta say. It was purple and swollen, and the pain was awful. It was throbbing so much I could practically see it pulsing up and down. Oh well. Not much I could do about that except be thankful it wasn't my dominant ankle. Carefully, I got back up, being careful to put weight only on my right foot. Slowly, I limped forward, my teeth gritted and hands clenched. Pain shot up my leg, making my eyes tear up. This was not going to work.

 

I dragged myself to the nearest garbage can, which was only a few feet away, thanks to the fact that I was in an alleyway full of them. It must be garbage pickup day, because everyone had their full cans out. Swallowing my pride and plugging my nose, I opened the first can and peered in. An assortment of plastic food wrappers and various meal scrapings piled high in the can, and I closed it quickly, assuming it wouldn't be of much use to me. After about six or seven more cans, I finally found something along the lines of what I had been looking for. I grinned, satisfied with my find, and yanked the broken beach umbrella out of the garbage. Holding the handle in my left hand, I started to walk down the alleyway, testing out my new makeshift crutch. My ankle still hurt like a fucking bulldozer had run over it, but at least my pace was a slight fraction faster than my grandma now.

 

Hobbling down the alley, I weighed my options:

 

Number one: Chicken out and go back to Demi. Nu-uh. I had left for a reason; I wasn't going back. Anyways, she probably wouldn't take me back even if I wanted to. She must be furious right now.

 

Number two: Turn myself into the police or foster care people or whoever and let them decide what to do with me. This could be okay, except,for the fact that no one would ever want to adopt me and I'd probably end up spending the next five years unwanted and forgotten at some shitty orphanage. No way. I had read enough orphan stories to know to avoid orphanages at all cost. I knew I might be forced to go to one sometime before my eighteenth birthday, but I sure as hell wasn't going willingly.

 

Number Three: Forget about this whole awful two-day experience and go back to living on the streets and fending for myself along with all the other terribly pleasant and friendly hobos and tramps on East Vancouver's wonderfully inviting East Hastings Street (cue sarcasm). It was a horrible way to live,  as I had been lucky enough to find out the hard way last week, but unfortunately also my best option out of the three.