Call Me A Liar [Book 1] (Justin Bieber Love Story / Fan Fiction)

1

If you were given the choice of security or uncertainty, which would you choose?

Obviously you'd choose security, but let me rephrase: if you were given the choice of a routine— certainty that every single day will go as planned for the rest of your mundane life or the chance to feel something so incredible, so unbelievable and soul-touching knowing that it's likely to come to an end?

To some, this might seem like an easy answer on paper. I'd assume that most would still choose security. The ability to live your life without risk, knowing nothing will ever go wrong, nothing could ever touch you or hurt you badly enough to change anything. Everything would always be the same, day in and day out. It sounds like the obvious choice, doesn't it?

Of course it does. So, can someone tell me why I chose the latter?

I've always been considered a pretty intelligent girl. I mean, I didn't really have a choice. My dad has his own practice for business law and my mom— well, she married a rich man. She's arguably smarter than he is. What I'm saying is that my parents are just as you'd imagine them to be: they're organized, disciplined, great at networking, and not to mention, they love to project all of their hopes and dreams onto my little brother and I.

I know, our lives sound like the beginning of every single shitty movie ever, but I will say that my parents are kind and they truly care about how Patrick and I turn out. But, maybe a little too much.

Patrick is fifteen— about to be done with his freshman year of high school at number four in his class. Patrick is gentle, he's warm, he's ambitious and funny, he sees the best in everybody and everything, and he thinks he's invincible. Typical teenage boy syndrome, but I genuinely mean it when I say I enjoy his company. He's not like the rest of my family. I like to joke around with him and say that our mom slept with one of Dad's much funnier, more genuine clients. I've learned not to make that joke around her anymore, because I'm always met with looks that could very well leave me dead.

In summary, Patrick is far from needing my parents' concern. I think he is just about everything they wanted their child to be, with the exception of his undying need to bend the rules every now and again. It's the teenage ambition.

I used to have that too when I was fifteen. Actually, I used to be a lot like him. I knew how easy life could be if I just did what I was told, tried hard in school, threw in a couple of extra curriculars and hung around the appropriate crowd of friends. Day in and day out, I pushed myself to be everything my parents wanted me to be but at the end of it all, I came up short. Two places too short, actually.

My mom and dad want their children to be well rounded. Again, you have to be studious, involved in your community, and you also have to be passionate about some kind of activity such as sports, the arts— you catch my drift. Anything that can get them notoriety.

Well, I put a little bit too much on my plate during my senior year of high school. On top of striving to be the best in my class, I wanted to prove to my parents that I could continue to focus on playing the violin for our school's orchestra, but also picking up piano lessons on the side. I remember begging my parents to let me add just one more thing to the list. They were against it, claiming they didn't want me to "burn myself out." I promised I wouldn't, but in their eyes I was wrong.

I graduated at number three in my class. Not valedictorian, not salutatorian, but number three. "Number three doesn't even get a title," is what my mother told me the second she found out, her hand so cold as she gripped my wrist. I remember feeling like I was stabbed in the back in that moment, and every single time she spoke to me going forward.

But I'm nineteen now (almost twenty), and that so-called failure is behind me ... sort of. Thankfully, my parents don't rub it in my face too much that I was their biggest disappointment in life. Instead, I'm met with subtle jabs every now and again to remind me of such failures.