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

45

Justin touches the side of my face beneath morning light that blares through the windows. Sleepy eyes stare back at me with slow blinks and don't dare to look away no matter the exhaustion.

We can sleep later. I don't know when, and I don't care, as long as it's not now.

The word love has been said more times than I can count since the very first time late last night. Once the censored word slips from our lips, it doesn't stop. There's no chance it could.

But still, no matter the beauty of what we expressed to each other, darkness hangs over our head. We knew that last night, and we know that now.

I can see it in Justin's eyes amidst the lovestruck gaze that he wants to talk about it but doesn't want to cast a stain on this memory.

Because it has to be done, I find the bravery to say something.

"We've only got six days left," I whisper.

"I know."

I pause for a moment, then swallow hard before asking, "Do you really think I should go?"

We both know he doesn't want me to go, but to him that doesn't mean I shouldn't go. He's selfless in that aspect, though I wish he'd leave it at the door.

Just for me. Just this once.

When he doesn't say anything, I remind him of my strong feelings on the subject in the event he somehow forgot.

"I really, really don't want to," I say.

Warm eyes hold mine when he says, "Tell me the reasons you don't want to go."

"Because I want to be with you," I reply like it's the most obvious thing.

To my dismay, he shakes his head. "No. I can't be the only reason. You have to give me more than that. Give yourself more than that."

While he's the main reason I want to drop out of my junior year before it even begins, there's a laundry list of other reasons that don't pertain to him at all. There are more reasons than I can conjure up in my head.

"I never wanted to go to Notre Dame. I wasn't smart enough for Ivy League. My parents chose this. I got in. That was the extent of it," I explain. "I don't have a passion for business and political science. They chose it. I don't care about that stuff."

"What do you care about?"

Though it makes me feel hollow, I still tell him, "I don't know yet. They never gave me the chance to find that out on my own."

His eyes fall sadly.

While his life has been less than fortunate in more aspects than I'll ever comprehend, Justin's always been able to do what he wanted to. He knows he likes boxing and mentoring and bike rides and baseball.

I was never given the option.

"That's what I want. I want to find out what I care about. And I can't do that if I'm forced into more of what makes me unhappy. Does that make sense?"

Fingers skate along my cheekbone, then down the side of my jaw. During raw moments like these, we don't allow each other to feel alone. All the attention in the world is given.

He nods, though something tells me he only understands at surface level. Just like how I only understand the social ridicule he withstands at surface level.

We've never lived each other's lives. And although we never will, we both want to understand every part of the other person's story.

"I don't know what I want with my life because I've never been able to choose. But with you, this is the first time I've ever been given the opportunity to choose something. Someone. Even though it's the first real choice I've ever made, I—"