all mine | ft. michael clifford

twenty-five;

The show was incredible, not that I was at all surprised. I'd expected it to be a spiritual experience and they delivered. I couldn't stop singing, couldn't stop dancing with Mel and Liv, couldn't stop smiling and ultimately couldn't stop staring at Michael.

And now I was sat beside him on a flight to Spain and he was ready to hear whatever it was that I had to say. He was tired, the show had drained majority of his energy. But I knew that if he went to sleep now, I wouldn't have the courage to tell him later. It was now or never. I needed him to know. I needed him to understand and it was his right to do so. He deserved to know what he was getting himself into with me before anything else happened.

"I'm not going to 'run'," he reminded me quietly.

Everyone was sleeping and I was glad because I didn't want anyone to overhear what I was about to say. I trusted Michael. I wanted to trust Michael. Every cell in my body quietened down when he was around. I felt peaceful. I felt like me.

And so he needed to know that he didn't actually know me. He knew a version of me and he deserved better than that.

I turned my body to face him and nodded like I believed him. I knew that he didn't want to run. But I was scared that once he knew I was a liar and was illegally travelling with them then maybe he wouldn't be so keen on sticking with me. Maybe this was good. Before I got too attached to him, he could shove me away.

I was already too attached, who was I kidding?

I took a deep breath and jumped.

"My name's not-" I stopped whispering, leaning towards him. "Mikey, my name's not Mali."

My hands were twisting themselves together in my lap, fingers shaking like a leaf in the wind. I couldn't tell if I was breathing or not. Was the pain in my chest coming from aching lungs or from a very scared heart? I didn't know.

But I was ready to deal with the mess I'd made, head on. I was ready.

He stared at me, confused. "What do you mean it's not your name?"

I wanted to recoil from the mistrust that was already creeping into his voice but kept my lips close to the side of his head so I could whisper.

"My name's not Mali Cross," I repeated quietly. "On my birth certificate it says, and for my whole life I've been called, Charlotte Slater."

I wanted him to speak, to say something to me. To tell me that it's not a big deal and that a name is just a name. Because that's all it was, wasn't it? Just a name.

But he didn't say anything, instead his eyes roamed my face as though he was looking at a completely new person. A stranger. My insides were turning into soup and I wanted to run away from him and pretend I'd never met him because right now he looked like he was about to do just that to me.

"Charlotte," he murmured.

My heart fluttered as he said it. He was saying my name. He was looking at me. Not Mali. He was seeing Charlotte, me. The two syllables sounded like heaven rolling off his tongue, sounded like chocolate in the form of a voice. That voice belonging to a person that I couldn't stand to lose now.

I just nodded because there was nothing more to say. I'd told him. I'd rectified my wrong. Right?

"I don't get it," he said quietly. There was no smile. His face was blank.

I was ready to cry. "What don't you get?"

His dull expression changed to one that disbelievingly said, 'are you kidding?'

My mouth was dry as sand.

"Why'd you tell everyone that your name is Mali Cross?" He asked, voice a stale whisper. "Why did you tell me that your name is Mali Cross?"

I focused on his lips, remembering how they felt against mine. My stomach coiled into a knot at the thought of never being able to experience that euphoria again. Was I losing him? Is that what this aching feeling was?

"I-I," my words would not form proper sentences. "I came to LA looking to start again – I wanted to know the real me-"

"By becoming a fake you?" He cut me off.

I shook my head instantly. "No, no, no, being Mali was the closest thing I've ever come to truly knowing who I am."

He didn't look convinced. Instead, his mouth was a straight line and his eyes were boring into my own accusingly. "Oh really? Then tell me, Mali – or Charlotte – who the hell are you? Who are you really? Because this is freaking me out and I'm looking at you now and not seeing anything I remember."

"What do you mean 'nothing you remember'?" Did I have a right to be pissed off? "I'm still the exact same person you've always known, everything you see in me – everything you saw in me – is still right here."

I could almost feel him resisting the urge to roll his eyes. "No, Mals, in front of me right now is someone who's so confused about herself that she lied to all of the people who'd been loyal and honest with her – lied to her friends."

The water prickling my eyes made me feel weak. I wouldn't cry in front of him. "This whole move was so that I could be whoever I wanted to be and do whatever I wanted to do."

"And you could've told us from the start that that's what you were doing," he told me, no hesitation. He was pissed off and I was regretting my decision to tell him any of this. I hadn't expected him to be so angry.

Bye European tour. Bye Mel and Liv and Cal and Ash. Bye Luke.

"You don't understand," I whispered, voice shaking almost as much as my hands. "I spent my whole life living plastic, not knowing what I wanted, what I liked, what I enjoyed. And LA," I sniffled. "LA changed all of that."

He stared at me for five seconds, eyes trained directly to mine. I thought he was going to hug me. I thought he might tell me that it's okay. I thought he might change his mind about how awful I was. But instead, he tore out my lungs.

"You're just like every other girl that comes to LA, Charlotte," he murmured, now turning his body so that he was facing the front of the quietly humming plane. "And it sucks because I really thought you were something else; thought you were honest, interesting – I thought you were real."

"I am," I whispered, a salty droplet slipping down my cheek and landing on my wrist. "I am real, I've always been real with you."

"I don't even know your fucking name – what else are you hiding?" He asked, annoyed. "Not to mention my band got you a passport, risking our asses so that you could come on this tour with us. If someone finds out that you're not the person on that stupid documentation then it's my band that's gonna be in shit. You get that?"

I nodded. I was risking everything they'd worked for. How could I be so selfish?

"I trusted you," he said quietly. "Guess I'm the real idiot after all."

My mind played back all those times he'd called me 'idiot' and I was ready to shrivel into the earth and disappear forever. He didn't speak again and I silently cried the whole way to Spain.

a/n: super short (half the size of my usuals) chapter bc i wanted this to be a chapter of its own - don't worry tho, i've almost  finished the next update so won't be long at all before that's up :) thank u for being so lovely xx