“What are you even talking about? If it wasn’t one of the greatest love stories of all time, how would it have survived all this time? How did it not just get swept under the rug?”
“Because so many people - people like you, I mean - believe it’s some dramatic true love story, when in reality they’re just two little rich kids who are used to getting every little thing they want. They think they want each other and then they throw a tantrum when they can’t have it,” Michael responded.
“It’s called love, Michael. If your head wasn’t so far up your own ass, then maybe you’d know something about it,” you snapped. Your english teacher didn’t even blink at your curse word, used to this everyday debate between you and the black-haired boy.
“They don’t even know each other!” he exclaimed, laughing.
“You don’t have to know somebody for it to be love at first sight.”
“That’s not a thing,” he declared. “It’s lust at first sight. They’re physically attracted to each other. This story that everybody gushes over and are all hashtag goals is something that Shakespeare likely made just for shits and giggle. Just to make fun of love and two kids who are so displeased with not getting what they want, they end up killing themselves.”
“Do you think positive about anything? Or does you just whine to your therapist about how puppies are the root of all evils and rainbows start from the fiery depths of hell?”
“Actually I rant about the naive girl in my english class who typically has no clue what she’s talking about,” he replied without a beat.
“That’s enough,” Mr. Drenps stepped in. “You both had very good points. I’ve never heard someone with your view, Mr. Clifford, but it’s interesting, to say the least.”
“Thank you,” he said, shooting a cocky look at you. You rolled your eyes, flicking him off behind your binder. The bell rang and you quickly gathered your things, only half listening to your teachers instructions on homework. You went straight to your locker, exchanging your books for the ones you needed for after lunch. “You really feel that way about Romeo and Juliet?”
You attempted to ignore his voice but the your locker shut when you turned away to shove books into your bag. “No, Michael. I was just making shit up as I went along because I enjoy talking to you so much,” you deadpanned.
His smirk was cocky as he leaned against the locker next to yours. “Oh, I’m fully aware of that,” he responded.
You scoffed. “You’re so irritating,” you announced, deciding that you’d just make an extra trip to your locker later. You began walking toward the courtyard, where you usually ate your lunch. You’d expected him to leave, given that his friends ate somewhere else, but you heard his boots follow you.
“How can you believe in love at first sight?” he asked, almost sounding genuinely interested. “I mean, it’s not… believable. You can’t possibly love someone just from looking at them. Look at them and decide you wanna spend the rest of your life with them. What if they turn out to be a horrible person?”
“I don’t think it’s love as much as a connection,” you answered, momentarily forgetting that Michael was impossible to talk to and failed to ever see your point. “You just feel this… connection with them. You click, I guess.” You waited. You waited for Michael to come back with some stupid remark about you being stupid or naive. But he didn’t. And when you glanced at him, he’d slowed his steps and he looked to be in thought. “What? Nothing to say?”
It seemed to snap him out of his trance and he scoffed. “That’s stupid,” he declared, but it sounded forced. “You can’t have a connection with someone you don’t even know.”
“Maybe you can’t,” you replied simply.
“It just means you wanna fuck them, that’s it. Not that you’re in love.”
You’d had it with his cynical remarks. He was always so fucking negative and fought with you on every word that left your mouth. “Do you ever stop?” you snapped, turning and looking right at him. His eyes widened just barely in shock. “You always have something negative to say and it’s so fucking irritating. Why do you have to drag everyone down with you? Do you ever just shut up?”
Michael Clifford annoyed every fiber of your being. He was rude, he was crass and he was vulgar but for some ungodly reason, you liked him. You still remembered the kid from year 9 who had the longest fringe in the world and was incredibly dorky. He was nice to you and he was always there to help you out.
This Michael Clifford was the complete opposite. But that didn’t stop the little part of you hoping the real him was buried underneath and that didn’t stop you from having sex with him while drunk once and fooling around with him while sober on many occasions.
Your feet were moving on their own accord, away from Michael. “Why don’t you make me?” he called out.
You stopped in your tracks, turning to look at him. “What are you talking about?” you asked.
“You want me to shut up, yeah? Then come over here and make me. Shut me up,” he suggested.
It confused you. He always seemed to be eager after fighting with you; usually ending your arguements with his lips against yours and his hand moving down your pants. You weren’t sure if he thought of it as foreplay or if he resorted to sex to keep you around but it confused you to no end. Why couldn’t you put a stop to it?
Nobody was around. The halls were clear, kids off eating their lunch. So you did. You marched toward him and he was ready, his hands grabbing your waist as soon as you were in arms reach and he crashed his lips against yours, turning you and pressing you against the wall. Tangling your fingers in his hair, you pulled roughly, eliciting a small groan from the back of his throat. He pulled away, breathing heavily. “The classroom behind you in empty,” he pointed out.
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