Disclaimer: I don't own Hannah Montana. Well, here's an alternate ending because SOME people weren't happy with the way the story ended before. Be warned: This chapter's dark, character death!
Oliver sat on the edge of his bed with his head bowed down. His long dark brown hair was hiding his face from view, most importantly his eyes. He was crying, tears flowed freely down his face and cascaded onto the ground. It had been a month since he'd broken up with Lilly and things had only gotten worse. He had become a loner at school. When Miley and Lilly came out about their relationship everyone had thought Oliver was some crazy homophobic and that he couldn't accept them but that wasn't right. He could care less that they were lesbian and bisexual but he did care that both of his best friends had screwed him over. Now everyone at school basically hated him because they believe him unaccepting and he was too uncaring to correct them and explain that Lilly was a cheating bastard and that Miley was a girlfriend stealing bitch.
If that wasn't bad enough, he was having problems at home too. His mom had left them. About two weeks ago he came home from school and found that she wasn't home. He didn't think much of it, figuring she was out shopping. However, he started to get worried when she wasn't home after three hours. He got suspicious and went to check her closet to see if her clothes were still there. Nothing. The closet was completely bare of her clothes, the only things hanging there where his father's. Next he had checked her drawers, again, nothing. He started panicking and ran to the phone to call his dad on his cell phone.
At first his dad didn't pick up but the second time he did. His dad answered with an annoyed "What?" Oliver explained to his father about his mom. "Are you sure she's not just out?" He had asked in the same annoyed tone. Oliver insisted that his mom was never gone for that long without calling or leaving a note. His dad had sighed in a 'this is a waste f my time' kind of way and told Oliver that he'd be home soon. Oliver waited at least half an hour before his dad showed.
"What took you so long Dad?" Oliver asked.
"I was busy," Was his dad's answer, "So what was this you were telling me about your mother being gone?" Oliver sighed and explained again. His father look unconvinced. "Have you tried calling her?" He asked. Oliver stared at him in disbelief. Did he think Oliver an idiot? Of course he had called, at least five times in the last four hours! His dad sighed. "Well, let me try calling her again." No matter how much they tried, they couldn't reach her. Now Oliver felt truly alone. His mom was the only person he had left and now she was gone. His dad didn't give a shit about him. He had never even wanted to have Oliver. He was always busy with his work, leaving early in the morning and getting home late in the night.
Oliver was alone day and night, in body, mind, and soul. Nobody was there for him anymore. He could die and no one would show at the funeral, if his dad wasn't too cheap for it. His dad was starting to be borderline abusive. He blamed Oliver for his wife's abandonment of them, claimed that Oliver was too much of a burden for her to handle so she up and left. Whenever his dad got a day off he spent it getting drunk and yelling at Oliver at the top of his lungs, almost daring to go as far as to hit him but Oliver was no small boy. He was a full grown man already, tall with a slight build and he wasn't stupid either. He knew that as soon as his father even laid a finger on him he could call the police or Child Services, even though Oliver hardly considered himself a child. His dad knew that too, that's why he always restrained himself. Also, he wasn't too confident that he could over take Oliver in a fight and he wasn't willing to risk it.
All in all, Oliver's life had become a living hell, only barely managing to get by. He was starting to become numb and he hated it. Nothing felt real anymore and sometimes he questioned why he was still alive. There was nothing left for him. No parents that cared, no friends to say comforting words, no relatives to talk to, not even a pet to confide in. So why was he still here? Only because he was afraid to die so soon but that was fading fast. So fast that he was almost ready to take his own life. Scratch that, he was ready to take his own life. All he needed was a way.
The phone rang. Oliver stared at it, wondering, should he pick it up? He shrugged and reached for it.
"Oliver, are you still home?"
"Yes, Dad, I am..."
"Shut up," His dad hissed from the other end, "I want you to make dinner tonight," As if he didn't every night, "and try not to burn anything," Not like he ever did, "and try not to be such a fucking annoyance when I get home!"
"When are you coming?"
"At 7 or 8, maybe. Whatever time, have dinner ready." And his dad hung up without another word.
"I hate you too Dad," Oliver said bitterly into the phone before slamming it back onto the receiver. Hmm...why should he stick around any longer? Who was there too miss him? No one. No one gave a fuck about him anymore. Maybe he was dead except for when his dad decided to yell at him. Oliver got up and looked at himself in the mirror. Overgrown dark brown hair that desperately needed to be cut and combed covered his dull, lifeless chocolate eyes. His skin was pale and there was a zombie look to him. He was dead on the inside, his body nothing but a shell struggling to still keep and existence anymore. Nothing was right, nothing was how it once was. All he wanted was for everything to be normal again. For him to feel happy once more. Happiness. When was the last time he had smiled? When did he laugh? What was happiness anymore? Happiness was just a myth now, no longer existing in Oliver's broken, damaged, and bleeding heart. Nothing was truly existing anymore. Just like him, everything around was fading away.
Oliver went to the basement. He made his way over to a small wooden truck in the corner hidden under a pile of moldy old blankets and coats. He shoved those aside and opened the trunk. Inside there was an assortment of weapons, mainly pistols. Each was fully loaded and ready to go. Oliver picked one up, a simple shiny black handgun. It seemed right for the job. He headed back up the stair to his room, gun in hand. What was left but to pull the trigger and leave this world forever? All he had left was three words to say and he wrote them down on the paper.
Burn in hell
His message to everyone and himself. He simply didn't care anymore. Oliver sat on the floor, back against the bed and put the gun to his head, right up against the temple. He took a deep breath, his last moments of life. Only one person he loved, his mother, and she wasn't here to save him. With no one to save him and no one to care, he pulled the trigger, releasing the bullet and ending his life in a violent and bloody bang. He fell to the side with only one thought.
What happened to me?A/N: Ok, here's an alternate ending. Definitely more dark and angst. Poor Oliver, there's nothing left to live for. :'(