Saving the Reject | Michael Clifford | Editing

t e n ;

Charli

"So tell me about this fear of yours."

We sat in Michael's room.  I was on the end of his bed, sitting comfortably, with one leg folded underneath me; Michael was on the other end, an acoustic guitar placed on his lap.  When silence took over the room, he would ease it with soft, simple melodies.  It mesmerized me.

"There's not much too it, I'm just afraid of singing," I explained, looking at his guitar instead of his face.

"Well," he said, crossing his arms over his guitar and resting his chin on them.  "Why?"

My breath caught, and though I hoped he didn't notice, I knew he did.  I was praying this topic would be avoided.  The leg I'd left dangling over the edge of the bed was brought up, the sock covered foot resting against his black comforter, allowing my knee as a resting place for my arms and head, which I took advantage of, mimicking Michael.  I closed my eyes tightly, avoid the look he'd send my way at my answer.  "I can't tell you."

He didn't say anything for a minute, but I heard shuffling as he moved his guitar from his lap.  Finally, he said, "And why is that?"

My eyelids peeled back, and immediately, my gaze was connected with his.  Why did we always seem to have some sort of connection?  "If I told you," I said quietly, closing my eyes once more to call upon my strength.  More than anything, I wanted him to drop the subject.  "If I told you, you'd never look at me the same."  It was true, I knew it was.  Even after my confession of being the-girl-with-cancer's-best-friend, he's looked at me with a newfound pity, and I hated it already.  We all have hardships, why must I be treated differently for mine?

"How do you expect me to help you get over a fear when I have no idea how it started?" he questioned.

"We'll find a way."

Michael stared at me for a second, and I stared back, curious as to why he sat frozen in a gaze like a photograph.  Suddenly, he sighed, and rubbed his face with his palms tiredly.  "This isn't fair, you got the easy part of the deal."

"Oh?  How many classes are you not doing well in?"

"Four," he answered.

"I have four subjects to teach you before finals," I explained.  "You have one fear to help me get over, and it's not like I won't help you."

"I understand that, but at least you know what you're doing.  I've never gotten someone over a fear before."

"I know," I said, breaking his gaze.  "I'm sorry - "

"Hey," he said, bringing my attention back up to him.  "I'm not backing out."

Not knowing what else to do, I smiled at him, thankful for his help.

"Now, what song was your brother thinking?"

Dawson and Emmy had been ecstatic when I told them I would do it, and when I had asked them what song they wanted me to do, they had pulled out an entire list.  They assured me that I only had to do one, but if I'd like too, I could preform more.  They knew, as we all do, that I'll only do one: the one they have circled at the very top; Can't Help Falling In Love.

"These are all really sappy," Michael commented as he read over the list.

"Well, it is a wedding, you know," I said with a laugh.

He looked up at me, a shy smile painted on his face. "Touché."

Our laughter ceased when his bedroom door flung open.  "Michael, I - " said a tall blonde, familiar girl.  Memories of my first sighting of Michael came back to my mind.  This must be Harper.  Her now angry blue eyes moved from Michael, to me.  Oh God, this looks bad.  "Wow, to think, I came here to give you a second chance."

I stood up, a smile on my face, though we all knew it was forced.  "You must be Harper!  I'm - "

"Shut up," she hissed.  "I didn't come here to meet my boyfriend's newest fuck buddy!"

My outstretched hand dropped along with my jaw.  Does this person have no boundaries?  It's not like she walked in on Michael and I making out.  We're talking, that's all.  "Look, it's not what it looks like.  Michael's just helping me out with something - "

"I don't give a fuck, you soulless bitch."

"Excuse me?"

You'd think that was me, wouldn't you?  You'd think I'd stand up for myself?  Well, you'd be mistaken.  As I cowered away from this stranger, Michael stood from his spot on his bed, stepping foreword, and defending me against his girlfriend - his own girlfriend.  Why?  I have no clue.  

"What the hell did you just say to her?" Michael continued, as I continued to shrink away.  Harper was suddenly speechless.  "What the hell did you just say to her?"

I felt absolutely terrible.  This was my fault, and I knew it.  I didn't mean to break up a couple.  "Michael, it's okay - "

"No, it's not fucking okay!" he yelled, looking at me for a second, before turning back to Harper.  "Who the hell gave you the right to barge in here. . ."

I didn't stay longer to listen.  I quickly exited his room - his house, and began my walk back home, hoping whatever tensions between Michael and Harper were worked out.  I felt like a child, with parents that constantly fought, and I had no one to blame but myself.

I was a good five minutes from my apartment, when a familiar car pulled up next to me.  "Why'd you leave?" Michael called from the driver's seat.  I glanced at him, before looking down at my feet.

"It wasn't my place to stay," I whispered.  I didn't hear a response.  All I heard was the engine of his car being cut, then a door opening, and closing again.  Only a moment later, Michael stood before me, our proximity closer than it has ever been before.  I hadn't moved, hadn't looked at him, until a hand was placed beneath my chin, gently guiding my eyes to look into his.  Why did I have to love green eyes so much?  "I'm sorry," I whispered to him.  "I never wanted intervene in your personal life."

He laughed softly, the sound matching a lullaby.  "Of course you were gonna intervene.  You practically forced yourself into my life."

My eyes closed tightly.  I guess I did.  I'm sorry for ruining it.  I went to move away from him, to walk away from him with every intension not to turn back.  He didn't need me messing up his life anymore.

"Hey," Michael whispered, his hands moving to either side of my face, holding me gently in place.  My gaze met his again.  A feeling of comfort washed over me.  "I'm not saying I didn't want you to."

I couldn't believe this was the same guy who had introduced himself by cussing me out.

His hands moved from my face to my shoulders, leading me to his car, saying, "Come on, I'll take you home."

"No, Michael, you don't have to.  I only have four blocks," I told him, stopping to look at him again.  I don't understand why he's being this nice to me.

"Then we'll take the long way."