Michael Clifford Imagines

Druken Mistake

By: idiotic-hemmings
Drunken Mistake- Michael Clifford (m.c.)

The front door slammed shut, waking me from my uncomfortable slumber on the stiff sofa. A pair of feet heavily stumbled their way into the kitchen, signaling that he was finally home. I rubbed the sleep out of my eyes with the heel of my palms. The clock that sat on the entertainment set read 3:00 a.m.

"Mikey?" My voice sounded hoarse, sleepiness making its way into my speech. I rose from my previous position and made my way to his location. My eyes squinted, adjusting to the lit lights from the fridge. His tall posture bent over, rummaging through the fridge for something edible.

"Yeah, babe?" his speech was slurred.

My heart dropped, the assumptions that swam around in my thoughts being proved true. He had once again come home late in the night, and even worse, drunk. It left my imagination to run wild, trying to figure out situations that he had found his way into.

"Why are you home so late?" my voice sounded cold, but no one could possibly blame me. His recent actions left a lot of unknowns in our relationship.

"I was out with the guys after a long day of writing. You know this Y/N, why do you have to keep asking?" he sounded annoyed, exasperated even, almost making me seem like a pestering little kid.

"Really? Can you not find a better excuse? Because I know for a fact that none of the guys have been out with you for the past five days you've come home drunk," tears were threatening to fall. It hurt me that he couldn't find the decency in him to be truthful.

"Are you fucking serious right now Y/N? You check in on me?!" his voice raising with every word said.

"Do not turn this on me, Michael! Seriously? You're going to blame this on me? Michael, as your girlfriend, I'm worried! You've been coming home way past midnight almost every damn night since you got home from tour. What makes it even harder on me is that you're always drunk off your mind and smelling of perfume."

"I'm too tired to argue right now," he rebutted, pushing his way past me.

I grabbed for his arm and spun him around. "Michael, we have to talk about this now. Do not use that excuse because you don't seem tired to go to the fucking club every night."

"God damn it, Y/N! I fucking said that I was tired!" I shrunk back, the sound of his voice scaring me.

A surge of confidence found its way through my body, allowing me to respond. "And you think I'm not fucking tired, Mikey? I'm so emotionally exhausted. I understand that it's your damn job, but how do you think it makes me feel when I see millions of tweets of you with other girls? Girls that could easily take you from me?! I deal with you being away for months on end, only leaving me a few weeks a year, two months if we're lucky. Do you know how that could tire out a person? I'm tired too." sobs were now shaking my entire body. But he did nothing, he just stood there, staring.

"Don't just fucking stand there! Say something, please," my voice sounded weaker and weaker with every word that left my mouth. His posture straightened, my outburst seemed to sober him up. The exhaustion left my voice raw and my whole being vulnerable, a side of myself that the pop star had barely seen. The tidal wave of emotions left my face wet with tears, my nose runny, and my legs barely able to keep me up. I fell to my knees, sobbing even more at the boy's lack of expression. My arms curled around my knees, hugging them closer to my body.

His voice startled me, still slightly slurred from his earlier activities. "Get out."

"Excuse me?" disbelief was clear in my voice.

His face was unbelievably placid, "You heard me, I want you to get out. I can't deal with this right now. I think we both need a break from each other, and since I technically own this apartment, you need to leave."

I took a second to compose myself, wiping away my tears and fixing my disheveled hair. "Fine, I'll leave. Call or text me when you finally get your damn head out of your fucking ass. Fuck you, Michael Clifford." And with that, I grabbed my keys and walked out the door of ou- his apartment. I made my way to my car, sat in the driver's seat, turned the key into the ignition, and drove away from who I thought was the man of my dreams.