Unpredictable

End Up Here Chapter 6

End Up Here Chapter 6

I have never related the word 'fireworks' with kisses. Normally, based on personal experiences, I would use words like sweet, caring, sloppy even, but never fireworks. I couldn't imagine describing something that was an act meant to show affection with what was basically another word for an explosion. Maybe I read too many fairy tales, but I have always considered kissing as something that was supposed to be beautiful. Not something loud, wild, and dangerous. When it came to kissing, I have never associated it with the word fireworks.

Then again, when it came to kissing, I have never been associated with Michael Clifford.

And for some reason, that's all I could think about when I was kissing him. The explosions I could feel when our lips touched. Even with my eyes closed, loud color bursting with every second. Passion rushing up and down through my veins when he held me closer. Fireworks.

At first, I wasn't sure what I was expecting Michael to do. It wasn't like I planned on sucking face with him. When I pressed my lips to his, it started slow. When he responded, that's when I felt them. The fireworks. Somehow, I ended up on his lap with a leg on each side of his hips. I felt Michael's hands slide down from where he had cupped my face to my waist, frantically pulling me impossibly closer.

When we both realized we had this annoying tendency as human beings to require a constant supply of oxygen, we reluctantly pulled apart. My chest was rapidly rising and falling with every breath as I rested my forehead against his. Michael's mouth was open due to his deep breathing as well. His eyes bore into mine, searching for answers. I'm guessing I looked just as dazed and confused as he did.

"What was that?" he broke the silence, slightly out of breath.

"I , I don't know," I replied honestly. I raked my brain, looking for a reason why I suddenly felt like swapping spit with Michael when earlier that night, I had made it crystal clear that I wanted nothing to do with him. I came up with nothing. It just felt right. "I'm sorry, I just, I don't know," I mumbled, taking my eyes off him.

"Hey, look at me," Michael placed his finger under my chin and brought my gaze back up to meet his. "Trust me, Ellie, I'm not complaining, I just don't understand." His voice was low, as if he was telling a secret he had kept from the world all his life.

I couldn't find a way out, too lost in Michael's eyes. "I don't like Ashton," I suddenly blurted. Michael gave me a confused look, then realization came into his eyes when he remembered our conversation before I decided to kiss him. "Not like that, not like this."

A hopeful expression flashed across his face before asking, "You don't?"

I shook my head, confirming his question. A small smile broke out on my face causing him to return one to me. After what seemed like hours of us staring at each other, I spoiled the deafening silence between us. "I should go," I tried to make my voice sound confident, but failed, ending up sounding unsure of myself instead. Being this close to Michael made me vulnerable, and after our little game of tonsil hockey and my barely considered confession, I wasn't exactly capable of thinking straight, let alone participating in small talk.

I shifted with the intention to leave, but Michael's grip tightened, "Stay." He let go of my waist and rested his hands on my thighs. "Stay here, with me."

I moved my hands over his, planning on removing them. Instead, Michael caught my hands and held them, gently playing with my fingers. I focused on the feeling of the nubs of his nails and the rough pads of his fingers from playing guitar as they danced across my hands. His tattooed fingers became the center of my attention. "I'm not sure if that's a good idea," I trailed off.