I'm Not Fine At All 》Michael Clifford

Chapter Six

Riley's POV:

I stepped out of the hotel room, Michael right behind me. We walked down the hall to the elevator, and he punched in the ground level button, but not before I had taken hold of his arm first, the same way as before. He laughed as be began to drop. "You do remember I haven't showered since Friday, right?" I nodded and squeezed my eyes shut. "Seriously, what is it with you and elevators?"

"I'm not used to the feeling of being lifted into the air and falling." I replied. He shook his head and I opened my eyes to see his red locks stick out every which way. He didn't have a hat on this time, and his hair was free to do what it wanted.

"You'd hate airplanes." He stated. We hit the ground level, and I was relieved to get off. I nodded in agreement.

"I'll never get on an airplane." I stated, which earned a light laugh as we stepped out into the cold. Snowflakes began to flurry down, and it was just beginning to collect on the ground. I still hadn't let go of Michael's arm from the elevator ride, so we were walking close enough that I could feel the warmth literally radiating off of him.

"So, how long with yall be here?" I asked Michael.

"In New York? About two more weeks." He answered, I nodded and continued walking in silence.

Twenty minutes, and about twelve fangirls later, we were walking up the stairs to my floor. We walked to my door, and stopped, him turning me to look at him. "Is he home?" I shrugged, not sure whether my dad was home or not.

"I'll go in and find out, and call you later." I replied with a faint smile. Something that I still wasn't used to, was his arms being around me as he pressed me against his chest. But, just like before, I relaxed and let myself hug the boy back. He still smelled like pizza and cologne, which was funny, but comforting.

After a few minutes, he pulled back, and I laughed at the snowflakes which were still clinging to his hair. I reached up and brushed them out, then he shook it everywhere, causing me to laugh even more. He just grinned, and brushed his hand through my hair, ridding it of the snow as well. When he was done, he paused for a second, hesitating a bit, then he leaned forward and quickly placed a light kiss on my cheek. Then he turned around and swiftly walked away, leaving me standing there a blushing mess.

>>>>>>

Turned out my dad wasn't home, so I took a rather peaceful shower, then sat down on my bed with my guitar while my hair dried. I played a few different songs, before trying out new chord patterns, and strum patterns, and scribbling down lyrics, which probably sounded awful, but who cared?

After I'd finally played until my fingers were sore, I called Michael.

"So how'd it go?" That was his answer. Not a 'hello' or 'hey, what's up'. He sounded worried.

"Well, considering the fact that he wasn't home, I'd say pretty well." I replied. "And hello to you too."

"Sorry... Hello!" He said, and I laughed at his silliness. "What took so long for you to call me?"

"Michael, I took a shower, I played a few songs and wrote a little, I was trying to let my hair dry, and I kind of forgot until now. I'm sorry." I said.

"It's fine. You never told me you wrote?" He sounded curious, and I laughed.

"I'm no good. I've never actually finished a song, to be honest." I said slightly embarrassed.

"I'm sure they're great." He told me, and I was glad he couldn't see my blush through the phone.

"Not really. Hey, I've gotta go get my hair done. I'll have to talk to you later, okay?"

"Oh, fine. I see you later, Ri." I giggled at the nickname he gave me.

"By Mikey." I replied, and we hung up.

The rest of the day was rather uneventful. I got my hair color changed, the way I wanted, sent a picture to Michael, who said he was gonna dye his hair brown and add blue tips just like mine. Then I came back to the apartment and played some more. It was only when my dad came home that things got bad.

I was on my bed playing, with my bedroom door closed, and didn't hear him come in. Only when he was barging through my door, did I realize that he was inside. I jumped up immediately, and he was coming towards me. He was screaming things, things that I couldn't understand. All I got out of it, was that he had a terrible hangover, and my playing was giving him a headache.

He stopped shouting for a second, as though he were thinking, and stared at me as I stood clinging to my guitar. He had a look of fury and hatred. Then, before I could stop him, he lunged forward and snatched the instrument out of my hands and raised it in the air. I gasped and screamed, holding one hand to my mouth, and the other one out as he gripped it by the neck and slammed it against the wall close to the floor. I watched the beautiful wooden instrument splinter and crash into a thousand peices, as though it were all happening in slow motion. I looked to my dad as he threw the neck on the floor and stormed out of the room. I heard him leave the apartment, and his stomping downstairs could be heard from the other side of New York City.

I crumpled to the floor and brushed my hand over the broken wood surface of my destroyed guitar, then curled up and sobbed until I couldn't breathe. He had destroyed my life with one hard swing, and I couldn't have done anything to stop it. It had taken me five years to save up for that guitar, having to pay for groceries, and clothes, and the apartment too, because dad wouldn't pay for jack. It would take even longer now to save up and buy another one, just for him to destroy it too.

My life was practically over.

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Author's Note >

Ummm.... yeah.... please don't hate me. I promise it'll get better! Well, it might get better... no one knows... muahahahahaha!
Lol happy reading! ♡♡
Ri ~
P.S.
My name is not Riley, either, my real name is Riyanna. Just thought I'd clear that up. :)