Author's note: As much as I want to do another Austin/Carter and an Austin/Emily AND an Austin/Payson, I had to write this for Kaylie Cruz. Divorce is a fucking bitch. She fills her holes with exercise. I filled mine with something else. Make It or Break It doesn't have writing so good it stirs me, but I found myself relating to that broken little girl so I wrote this for her and anyone else who knows what I'm taking about.

Six Months

She has holes.

She has holes so deep and dark.

Holes that sever her heart till it bleeds dry.

She has a mind that won't stop thinking.

A heart that needs to pump.

Muscles that need to contract.

A feral craving to just keep moving.

She needs to keep busy.

After all, she only has six months.

Six fucking months.

The days move by like ticks of a clock.

Slow, but fast all at the same time.

Soon the facades start to fall.

Her perfect mother wants out.

Her dedicated father is deteriorating.

No more smiling in front of an audience.

The truth burns like liquor to the throat.

Father thinks mommy's tainted.

Mother wants to run.

They grow farther apart so Kaylie exercises.

Step, step step.

She feels the movement of her muscles.

The thump of her heartbeat.

It's one of the few things that remind her she's still alive.

She needs this.

She needs to drop the weight and perfect that move.

Ten pounds.

Ten fucking pounds.

She needs to prove they didn't go through this for nothing.

They can say it isn't her fault.

More lies like the ones they've spoon-fed her all her life.

They can say it isn't gymnastics.

But Kaylie knows the truth.

She doesn't need to win to prove she's the best.

She doesn't need to win to undermine someone else.

She needs to win to show that her family didn't break for nothing.

Kaylie knows she isn't Lauren.

She can't plot and ploy.

Lauren Tanner is Fatal Attraction.

Kaylie Cruz is the Parent Trap.

Trying is failure waiting to happen.

Still, she has to try.

She has six months to work on it.

She wears the sadness in her eyes.

She pushes away dessert after dessert.

She cries at night, loud enough for them to hear.

"Mom, where are you going?"

"Dad, you'll be home for dinner, right?"

She tugs on their heartstrings and gets her way.

She feels it slipping and she hates it.

She starts tugging harder and harder.

"Do you even love dad anymore? Did you even love him to begin with?"

"Leave. If that's what you want, dad, just leave us again."

She's getting thinner and thinner.

She's getting paler and paler.

All she wants is them to see.

To see what they're doing to her.

What they're making her do to herself.

But, no.

Mom's too wrapped up in the guilt.

All she wants is a clean slate, a redo, a new life.

Dad's too wrapped up pretending everything is okay.

It's not. It's not and he knows it in what's left of his heart.

Nothing will ever be okay again.

Still, she keeps going.

Kaylie doesn't know how to stop.

She had six months.

Six months to rekindle love.

To renew their belief in that silly illusion along with her own.

(Too bad)

Six months to spend with them.

Genuinely happy, wholesome and together.

(Never happened)

She had six months and she blew them.

Most kids don't get six months.

Most kids watch daddy drive away without another word.

Most kids listen to mommy sob on the bathroom floor.

Night after fucking night.

Most kids don't get the luxury of seeing the divorce papers.

Just the divorce.

Kaylie Cruz was fucking lucky and she blew it.

She blew six months fucking up her body.

(Who's that girl in the mirror?)

She blew six months getting fucked up in the head.

(Therapy every Tuesday and Thursday)

She blew six months watching lost love in a sick puppet show.

(For which she held the strings)

She blew six months tangling strings and finally set the stage on fire.

Watch the tiara burn.

Burn, baby, burn.

Author's note: I believe there is a right way to deal with divorce, but it's fairly obvious what Kaylie is doing isn't it. Love her or hate her, I can relate. Kids love your parents and parents love your kids! Fuck, now I sound like a PSA or group therapy leader or some shit. Just review, okay?