Punk Rock // m.clifford

1.2// jump off a plane?

Michael's words hurt me. Needless to say, I kind of wished that this whole thing hadn't happened. That I would be able who I was and what I acted like. Of course, I asked people to help me remember, but it feels like they're talking about a far-away person- someone very vague. I don't want to be vague.

My parents came to visit, making sure that I was okay. They brought a scrapbook with old pictures of me. Pictures that I felt I had seen once upon a dream. Mom assured me that all of my relatives were praying for me, and Dad was concerned about my new look.

She insisted that we prayed together, but as always, someone has to intrude. As she called on all of the angels to listen to us, somone came strolling in.

If you haven't caught up already, that someone was Michael Clifford.

"You are talking to the wrong people," he had said, the smuggest of smiles on his seemingly imperfect face.

"Excuse me?" My mom said, a clear expression of surprise and disgust in her face as she saw Michael.

Michael stepped forward, getting closer to me, "If you want her to get better, you need to talk to doctors, not angels."

"Son," my father said, taking a stand from his spinning chair in front of me, "I suggest you leave."

"No, I need to speak to Annie," Michael stubbornly responded, probably thinking of ways that he could beat up my dad.

"Are you the one that did this to my daughter? Did you influence her?" My dad questioned, his face churned with pure abhorrence.

"Dad, no. This is something I chose," I attempted to rationalize the situation. But that wasn't going to happen.

"My Annerose would never do this," he retorted, now facing me.

"I think you should go," I mumbled to no one in particular, hoping either party would leave the room.

However, I was hoping that Michael would leave. But he didn't. So, my parents got the hint that they needed to go, so they did, as the promised to keep in touch.

Michael remained standing in the same exact spot for quite a little while. He looked around my room and allowed me to recover from whatever the hell had just happened. I enjoyed the silence, but I dreaded the tension. Why had Michael had come to see me? Did he have something to say?

"This isn't you."

He had spoken. Even though that they were not the three words I had hoped for, I was glad that at least now I knew what he came here to talk about.

I reciprocated, just as bluntly as he had done, "Shouldn't you be in another building?"

"Shouln't you be defending your parents after the shit I told them?" He replied with the same tone of voice, almost as if he was mocking me.

"I don't believe the same things they do," I shrugged, sitting on my ridiculously uncomfortable bed.

"Then, what do you believe?" Michael queued, sitting beside me and groaning as he felt my rock-like mattress.

"I believe in what I can see, what I can feel, and in what I can imagine," I expressed, hoping that Michael would comprehend where I was coming from.

"Is that from a book or a song?" He teased, smiling and nudging my shoulder.

"Neither, asshole." I nudged back, a small grin growing on my face.

"What do they believe?" He pointed over his shoulders, signaling to my parents.

"In God."

We were face to face, and just as we had done before, we moved closer and closer. Our faces were midway, almost like a duel to see who would break the ice first. I did. For some reason, I just couldn't take it any longer.

We kissed as if we were back in high school and there was nothing stopping us. Like if our biggest concern had to do with an exam we had to take soon. We kissed like we had years that weren't planned for us.

And I remembered.

I remembered what it was like to be with Michael. Very bittersweet at first. But nonetheless, it was amazing. I remembered how I used to be intimidated by him and what he stood for. I was afraid of what he could do and how easily he could break me.

I remembered how insanely vulnerable I used to be. Young, naïve, kind, helpful, and withholding pride. But I also recalled the people that were above me. Which was, in fact, basically everyone.

Regardless of what others say, I liked who I was and what I had become.

So maybe, I wouldn't tell them that I remembered just yet.

"Annie," his kisses came to a halt as he pulled away, his hands still kn my face, "why did you change? Was it to please me?"

"Not necessarily," I mumbled, looking diwn at my meddling hands.

"Can you please explain to me? I just wan-" Michael began to sahre his view, but stopped short, as if he was thinking about what to say next and how to finish expressing his thought, "I just want to understand you."

Now, there was something about that particular sentence. It showed interest, enchantment, and mystery. I could definitely tell that he wished to know who I was and what was going through my head. That was admirable.

"I saw how people treated me, like I was some sort of wounded animal. And I didn't like that. So I became like you," I prayed that he understood what I was trying to say.

He continued, "Why me?"

"You seem like you know where you're going, I have no clue," I revealed to him. It was almost like he was making me open up to him slowly, but surely. For some reason though, I didn't mind. "I don't even want to go to university."

"Then don't go," he shrugged, as if that was a casual thing for me.

Chuckling, I rolled my eyes, finally lifting my gaze to meet his, "It's not that easy."

"What do you want to do?" He inquired.

"Mm," frankly, there were many things that I wanted to do, and I knew that he was talking about my life. But to me, it's impossible to look that far ahead. So, I said the first thing that came to mind, "Jump off a plane."

"Y- You wanna-" Michael attempted to confirm what I had just said, but was interrupted by his own laughter, "you wanna throw yourself off a plane, really?"

"I've never been afraid of heights, so why not?" I defied.

"You could die."

"Do I look like the type of person that's afraid to die?" Everything dialed down and the mood dropped in the room.

He looked into my eyes for a while, skimming and scanning. It seemed like an eternity. But I knew that this is what he wanted. And at that moment, his happiness was more important than mine.

"You look like you're afraid of a lot of things right now. But I can't tell if death is one of them. Once all that dye comes off and the tattoo fades away, I'll be able to tell you." Michael moved a strand of my hair behind my ear.

"Why then? Why not now?"

"Cause then I'll see who you really are."