all mine | ft. michael clifford

thirteen;

I want to say that I've never given much thought to the way I'd die, just like Bella Swann said in Twilight; because that's a pretty dramatic, deep thing to say. But the truth was, I thought about dying all the time. Not in a sad way but more-so out of curiosity. I wondered about how and when I'd draw my last breath and if it was sooner or later than I thought. Imagine if we all knew the exact day and time that we would pass. Would we live differently?

A few days later after that night at the pier, I thought I was going to die. I'd never been a super over-the-top kind of person but that morning, my whole life played through my mind like this was it, this was the end.

I'd woken up to some kind of strange noise. It sounded like someone was throwing their weight against my front door. A banging around kind of noise. A noise that sounded like someone was trying to get into my apartment.

I lay in bed for a few minutes, figuring that I was half-dreaming about it and that it'd stop as soon as I woke up properly. There was no need to panic and the sheets I was wrapped in were too comfortable to sacrifice when nothing was wrong.

But then my mind flooded with thoughts of Carlos. He was wandering the LA streets, possibly looking for me. What if he'd found me?

I sat upright in a matter of seconds, my heart beating so fast that I almost felt light-headed.

Breathe, Charlotte. There's nothing to worry about.

Getting out of bed was a shaky exercise and it took way longer than it should have to pull a big blue jumper over my cream coloured pajamas just because I was so freaking stressed. I'd never really been a religious person but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't prayed as I walked down the hallway.

I could see the front door. The banging had stopped and now I could watch as the locked door handle was rattled, as though someone was trying to turn and open it. White hot panic swam through me and I could feel all of the blood leave my face. I wasn't dreaming or imagining this. Someone was trying to break into my apartment.

Back at home, my dad would have been the one to go and check on everything while my mother and I waited together for the all clear. I'd been kind of stupid coming to this big place by myself; I'd been too quick-thinking and hadn't thought certain things through. This was one of those things: what would I do if I was physically in danger?

I opened a kitchen drawer slowly, reaching in and picking out a steak knife. It was small and serrated and probably wouldn't be any use at all if Carlos or one of his men were here for me. Still, it made me feel that little bit better as I held it out in front of me.

The handle suddenly stopped rattling and I could hear heavy footsteps move across the landing just outside my door.

Did they know I had a weapon and decide they didn't want to go up against me?

My lips twitched, begging to smile at the thought of that. Surely if it were someone sent by Carlos, or even Carlos himself, they'd know that I was a midget of a person and probably couldn't hurt someone if my entire life depended on it. Right then it kind of did.

Had they left to go get something to bust through the wood? Oh god, was this my only chance to get out and run the fuck away?

Loud knocking on my door had me jumping about three feet into the air. I swung my knife back out in front of me, ready to slice anyone that forced entry into my home. A newfound adrenaline worked its way through me and I got so psyched up that I almost missed the voice that called out to me.

"Mals? Are you home?"

Michael. Clifford. Michael motherfucking Clifford.

You've got to be kidding me. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. Was this some kind of super messed up joke?