Storm 》Clifford A.U

012;

        "WHAT? HOW DO YOU know that?" He says, brown brows furrowing in confusion.

        "My friend Luke, the one who called you Clifford the big red dog." I say quickly, shoving my phone in his line of sight so that he can see the picture, too. "He sent me this and said that it was in Darya's room back home in Montpelier. There was a note on the back and Ivy wrote her something and signed it, said it was self portrait. And the girl in this picture looks exactly like her." I finish, pulling my phone away once Michael is finished looking at it.

       "Fuck. Darya has that in her dorm here, too. In this big bulletin board with a bunch of little things that are important to her. The one in your house must be a copy or something, but, I never thought that was Ivy. I've never even seen Ivy."

      "Well I have, and she's obviously not a fan of me since she ran away as soon as we made eye contact." I say, both annoyed with the not knowing, but happy because finally, we had gotten some kind of progress; more of a lead than we had ever had.

        "Do you want to see if we can find her tonight?" Michael offers, going to reach for his jean jacket; draped over the back of a chair.

      "No, not tonight. Most people are probably at the party we left or at one just like it, and, they're too drunk to be of any help. Maybe tomorrow we can go to her dorm and see if she's in there, maybe even look at Darya's board?"

        "Okay, but I doubt she'll be there." Michael shrugs, pressing his lips together and seeming to be lost in his thoughts. "You cool with taking the floor? Otherwise you could always sleep with me." A lazy smile spreads along his face and I roll my eyes, shaking my head.

       "I'm good on the floor, thanks." After my declaration, Michael heads into the bathroom, presumably to change, and I settle in on the floor between his bed and Calum's. He has a lot of extra pillows on his bed, so I grab one, plop it onto the ground, and rest my head on it; opening up the journal and holding it up over my head to read.

       Dear Diary,

      Ivy's around more often, but we still don't talk as much. Still, after the bunnysitting, I feel like she's more comfortable around me. I like that, because, it might be nice to have a friend besides him, especially a girl friend. I'm trying to start up conversations whenever she's in the room and she isn't ignoring me, so, hey, that's an improvement, right?

     I turn the page and start reading the next. Only a sentence in, and I'm glad that Michael isn't around at the moment, because reading this out loud would be mortifying for not only Darya, but me as well. I feel like for the first time, reading all of these was actually beginning to feel like an invasion of privacy.

      Dear Diary,

       I wore the skirt that drives him crazy today; it was exhilarating. I'm not used to doing things like this, but he likes it. He makes me feel alive and I'd do just about anything to be able to give him that feeling in return, even if it must be obtained in an unconventional way. I was going to Statistics when he took me by surprise. Luckily, no one was in the hallway. He pulled me into a storage unit and pressed me up against the door to keep it shut. My legs were wrapped around his waist and by the time he had finished, my stomach was in knots and I could barely breathe. We didn't do everything, didn't do it, but I still walked into Statistics with wild hair and throbbing thighs; euphoria ever present. He made me feel amazing, and I love every moment we spend together. Even if those moments were brief exchanges or lacking the sexual prowess he loves showing off. I hope that when I reread this, I can feel once again what I felt earlier. It was one of the best feelings of my life.

       My departure from the closet came far too soon, but perhaps it was for the better. We shouldn't rush things. He is taking into consideration the fact that I am inexperienced. That doesn't stop his hands from roaming e v e r y w h e r e. He said we would meet again. He said he wanted to leave his mark all over me. I cannot wait.

        I hope there aren't more entries quite as vivid as this one because frankly, I was uncomfortable with having this kind of look into my sister's mind.

      Rather than going on and missing out on any insight that Michael could provide, I check and make sure that every journal entry is still there, and am pleasantly surprised to see that none are missing. He had left them all there - for the time being - and I wouldn't be providing him with the opportunity to remove any anytime soon, or, any time at all, really.

     I put the journal underneath me so that in the event that one of the boys would try to take it, I would be able to wake up by the feeling alone, and stretch out on the somewhat cold, hardwood floor.

       "There's extra blankets in the top shelf of that tiny, despicable excuse for a closet over there. You can take them all and make yourself a bed on the floor, if you want." Calum mumbles with a highlighter cap in his mouth, tugging at his hair all the while. I thank him and retrieve the blankets, and by the time my makeshift bed is completed, Michael comes outside; shirtless with boxers slung against his hips.

        He turns off the lamp on his side of the room and slides underneath the covers, lying on his side to face me from my position on the floor.

      "Do you..do you wanna talk until you fall asleep like we did last night?" He says, voice barely above a whisper as the two of us try not to disturb the very studious Calum at our side. I nod and he exhales, thinking for a second. "Okay, have you lived here your entire life?"

      "Yeah, my parents came from Russia and settled in Montpelier for some reason, so, both Darya and I were born and raised there. What about you?"

       "I was born in New Jersey, but I hated it over there. Then I thought, why not go from one small town to another?" He rolls his eyes, seeming annoyed. "Nah, my dad wanted me to go here and they had a good wrestling program, so here I am."

       "Okay, and, how old are you?"

      "Nineteen." He says in short, green eyes blinking tiredly back at me

      "Eighteen." I respond, pulling the blankets closer around my body; the open window sending goose bumps up along my skin. I pull my bottom lip into my mouth, not wanting to speak my thoughts aloud. Eventually, though, I decide to. "What if we don't find her?"

     "We will, Alina. We'll find her." And because hope is all that I have, I choose to believe him.

      Quietly, we talk among ourselves; about all of the different colors Michael has dyed his hair, about how often I bleach mine, about how it was he who convinced Darya to dye her hair in the first place.

       When I freak out on him and ask how he had managed to do that (I had been trying for years, because for some reason I had this thing about wanting her hair to be blue, but our parents wouldn't approve and she never went for it. Never went for it until Michael got involved, it would seem) he ended up telling me how exactly it went, and that she was so excited, and had probably written about it in the journal somewhere.

        And in the middle of his gravelly, tired voice telling me about all of the convincing it had taken and the first color she did (blue), I mumble,"Your voice isn't the worst thing to fall asleep to." before sleep takes it's inevitable hold on me, and my eyelids flutter shut.

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sORRY IF YOU GUYS THINK THIS IS GOING TOO SLOW OR IF YOU'RE CONFUSED :(( IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS FEEL FREE TO ASK AND I WILL DO MY BEST TO ANSWER THEM WITHOUT GIVING THINGS AWAY! love you lots and lots and also i know this is short and mildly uneventful but yeah this is all necassary and i'm going to update again v soon xx