Skater Girl Meets The World // Michael Clifford.

2.

I'm not a difficult person. I am really not. Actually, I feel I'm the last person to even be difficult. It's just... it's just Michael has been so busy ever since he came back. I thought we'd spend time together and he's just... not spending any time with me. He's been writing so much, and that too, for other artists as well. That wasn't my problem. He was back after 4 months, for fucks sake. Can't he spend some time with me? The other three boys were giving their girlfriends attention. Plenty of it. Ashton even took some time off for Betty. Whenever I mentioned this, Michael would get annoyed and say  "she's pregnant, obviously Ashton wants to spend time with her and support her," Like, it was my fault that I wanted his attention. Any normal girlfriend would want to spend time with her boyfriend when he comes back home after 4 months. He's been away more than that. Sometimes 10 months, and we ALWAYS spend time together. There's a reason why it's called break. I did not want to annoy him so I kept quiet, I knew he was in pressure too, and he wants to spend time with me just as much, too. So I had to suck it up, this was his job. I should respect it. 

 "Emizie," he calls out from the room, "come here, please,"

I smile at his voice, at least I could still see him and hug him and kiss him, I should be really thankful about that. 

"Yeah?" I say as I enter the room.

"Does this t-shirt look good?" he asked.

He was wearing a greenday t-shirt, it wasn't even a t-shirt seeing how he had cut the sleeves off.

"It looks great!" I say and hug him.

He hugs me back, "I'm so sorry that I'm so busy,"

"It's all good," I say, "as long as you love me like you do, it's all good,"

"I'll always love you like I do, probably even more, my love for you increases everyday," he says.

"I love you too," I smile, "Anyway, I'm gonna meet up with this agent at 4PM, so just carry the keys,"

"Oh yeah," he sits down on the couch, "how are things going with books?"

"Not really good," I reply, sitting on his lap and kissing his neck, because he looked so dammned hot sitting on the couch.... okay, yes.

"Why not?" he looks down at him, furrowing his eyebrows, "your writing is fucking amazing,"

"Well, they don't seem to think so," I sigh, "I don't know, they ask for money in advance, but their amount is usually too much. Then they say they will lower it and calculate and call me but they never do. And even if they do, they have dumb reasons to reject me,"

"Well?" he wonders for a second, "Why don't you pay them the advance?"

"I told you, it's too much," I reply.

"You can take my -"

"No," I deny, "I'm not taking your money,"

"Why not?" he looks offended, "I earn for you, too, you know? You can spend my money, we're a team,"

"Yeah, and I'm supposed to be a part of the team, and I never give enough of what I should be," I reply.

"You do," he argues, "You do pay the bills,"

"That's all I do!" I argue back, "Sometimes I don't even do that!"

"So what?" he says in a higher tone, "It's fucking okay. You can take my money. Return it to me when you're super rich with the sale of your books,"

"I can't take your money, Michael," I say, seriously, "I just.. can't take more money than I already have,"

"You haven't taken all that much money from me in the past," he is annoyed, "And anyway, I've taken money from you as well! Are you forgetting the times I took money from you? When our band wasn't all that famous!"

"Yeah... but, I still can't take money from you," I say.

He sighs, "Fine. Who's this agent? Can I at least talk to him?"

Suddenly I am offended. I know he doesn't mean it the way I took it, but I'm still so offended. I don't know what was wrong with me, I took offense from every small thing. Every little thing stung or hurt me for some reason.

"What do you mean?" I say as I got up from his lap, "You mean I can't do it without your help?"

"What?" he looks clueless, "I just wanna talk to the agent and tell him how fabulous your writing is -"

"Yeah?" I challenge, "By telling them you're Michael Clifford?"

"Listen, Emizie," he looks so calm, it's annoying me, "I'm not going to do that, I just want to talk to the agent and tell him that I've read your works and it's impressive,"

"No, you're doing me a favor," I say, "I don't want your favors! I want to do something on my own,"

"Fine," he raises both his hands in defeat, "Do it on your own, I just don't want you to be stressed,"

"I just want to be independent," I say, "I'm sorry for arguing,"

He smiles, "I know you want to be independent, and you are, actually. Just... don't be hard on yourself,"

"I will try, it's hard not to be hard on myself when nothing's really working out," 

"Aw," he walks up to me and kisses me, "It'll work out, okay? I know it will,"

"You do?"

"Yeah, I do. I believe you," he smiles and kisses me again.