You're not the same. You can see it in your eyes. I can see it on your face. You're hoping for a taste.
«Dead Walker Texas Ranger» Sleeping With Sirens
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Michael's POV
I knock on the door.
Ring the doorbell.
Knock.
Ring.
Repeat.
No answer.
I check my phone to see if I am too early or something, but it says it's one in the afternoon. We had agreed on noon so...
I decide to just send her a text.
From: Mikey
i'm outside. where are you?
I start kicking around a rock I find on her porch while I wait for her to respond. I am about to just call her when I hear someone moving from behind the door. When it opens, Andi is standing in the doorway in a black tank top, pajama shorts, two different socks, and a dark grey jumper three times her size hanging unzipped. Her hair is in a messy ball on top of her head and her face is just as disgruntled.
"What did I say about waking me up?!" she barks. I actually take a step back from the doorway.
"Uh, babe, it's one. Like... in the afternoon..." I mumble, a little scared of her response.
She scoffs and reaches to grab my phone from my back pocket. How she knew it would be there without even looking, I don't even think to ask. When the time lights up on the screen, she glares at it until moving her harsh gaze to me. I raise my hands in defense.
"Fine. Let's go," she grumbles and steps aside to let me through. "But don't expect me to get all dolled up for you."
"You really don't like being woken up, do you?" I chuckle.
"I don't like waking up--end of story," she mutters and starts leading me up the stairs.
"You have to wake up," I laugh. "Otherwise you're just dead."
She doesn't give me a response and just keeps walking straight ahead, never looking back at me. I give her back a curious stare but let it slide. We pass the the room we hung out in last time, stopping only once we reach the end of the hallway. The white door is plain except for a black letter A enclosed in an outlined circle. I've seen that symbol before, somewhere. It has some sort of meaning, but I don't remember what. Although it is pretty cool her mom would let her spray paint her door. My mom would flip.
She still doesn't say a word as she opens the door an shows me through. I look around her room, curiously walking around and studying the pictures and artwork littering the walls and shelves. The left wall is completely covered in posters. Most are of bands, most of which I recognize or have at least heard the name in passing. There are at least five of Sleeping With Sirens. Then there are some like Pierce the Veil, All Time Low, Bring Me The Horizon, Of Mice & Men, Daughtry, A Day To Remember, Mayday Parade, and Black Veil Brides. I guess I shouldn't be surprised that that's the kind of stuff she's into. I've even heard her listening to some of these while she paints.
The rest of the walls are painted an extremely dark purple. Her bed is pressed up against the left corner. There's no headboard--just a box spring under a mattress. Her sheets are black and her comforter lays unmade, in a ball. I can see a pattern peaking through. It seems to be some sort of black-lined design, but I can't tell what the image is of. Above the head of the bed, spray painted in white this time, is another letter A. This one is made up of two bold strips bordering another, creating a blank space between them.
"What's up with the A's? Just like marking your territory?" I tease. She walks over to the center of the room to stand beside me.
"Well the one on the door is the symbol for anarchy. This one is the logo for Anthem Made. It's this clothing line, brand, business, that kind of stuff type of thing. The lead singer of Sleeping With Sirens started it--Kellin Quinn."
"I've noticed you're a big fan of them," I laugh.
She shrugs. "Yeah. He comes from a broken home. That's kind of what caught my attention for them, specifically. I could relate to a lot of his lyrics. Then I just kept getting more and more into them. They are kind of the rejects for their genre group since their music is more melodic, but I like it. Plus, Kellin's voice is seriously one of a kind. My brother hates them--and all my music, really--but is convinced he's a girl. But besides, I like Anthem Made for more than just Kellin. The meaning behind the name is like... well we all have our own anthem that we carry with us. It's more than someone's favorite song. It's kind of what you identify with. And... we are all made up of some form of our own anthem."
"I like it," I softly speak. This girl never ceases to amaze me. It's like everything she does is never what it seems. I was thinking she just liked the A's because of her name or whatever. I should have known by now that it's always something more.
I move over to keep looking around the room. A black dresser stands against the wall right next to her bed. The ground in front of it is littered with various wires, including one of a black desk lamp and a laptop. The wall behind it displays a few posters, as well. Only these aren't of any bands... or people, for that matter. They seem to be large print-outs of different paintings that I don't recognize, but that's not surprising.
"What are these?" I ask.
"Well that one," she says and points to the one I was already looking at. "That's a painting by Claude Monet. It's called Sunrise."
"Is there a reason you like it enough to hang it on your wall?"
"I like anything Monet, really. If you stuck me in a room filled with paintings and didn't give me any information on any of them... I would walk straight to the Monets. Or Van Goghs. Or Renoirs. Any impressionists, really," she sighs. She lost me as soon as she mentioned Monet, but I continue to listen, anyways. It's kind of fun watching her talk about this stuff. She's seems so mesmerized as we stare at the picture I know she has surely spent hours studying, already. "As for Sunrise... Besides being breathtaking, when Monet created it, it was rejected over and over again. Everyone said he needed to go back and finish it. It is mostly shadows and rough outlines of the harbor, but he did that on purpose. Notice only one sailboat and a small row boat with a few men are really prevalent. The focus is really on the sunset; the colors highlighting the sky between the clouds and casting down onto the water below. He knew what he wanted in this piece, and didn't change because others didn't see that. And in the end... I mean it turned out gorgeous and iconic for impressionism."
"It's pretty," I coo. She scoffs but laughs.
"One day, I'll take you to an art museum and show you the difference between impressionism and your butt's permanent impression on the couch cushions," she chuckles.
"Uh... no... that's really okay," I laugh and continue exploring.
I turn around to face the opposite wall. On either sides of the door, there are rows of string lights with pictures hanging from them. I step closer and see that most of them are of Andi and R. There are some of her and Hayden. Some are with people I don't know and some I recognize from school. One seems to be her as a baby. She is standing in a pair of worn-leather boots ten times her size and a diaper. She is in front of a pasture of some sort. Her hair is cut in a bob, framing her chubby cheeks adorably. I look closer and sure enough, her eyes are the same gold brown. The light is shining down on her and added an extra sparkle around the pupil. They are as mesmerizing as always.
The next few pictures are of her and people who look like they would be her family. There is even a family portrait. It looks to be at least twenty people posing in someone's backyard. There's a picture of a younger version of her mom in a wedding dress. Actually, her mother doesn't look as old as she should be, given this picture and her children's ages. Good to have an idea of what Andi may look like when she's older. And well... not bad.
The man beside her looks quite a few years older than her. That may because of her deceptively young appearance, but I can't believe she would be the same age as the man with the beginnings of grey speckles peaking through his dark brown hair.
"She was thirty-five," Andi says, popping up from behind me and taking me by surprise. "He was forty-five. They were kind of friends for two years. Dated for three months. Found out my mom was pregnant with me. They were in love and figured they should try marriage. Had the wedding about two months later. Had their first fight on their honeymoon. I think it was from then on that they started just working just to be married. Not that they didn't have good times or love each other, but their marriage was more of a struggle than either of them really expected. Five or so years later, everything seemed to change almost instantly. Things fell apart all at once, then slowly until we were all at least a little miserable."
She continues staring at the picture with sad eyes and a smile. I think that pretty much sums up her life; always sad eyes and a smile.
"Who's this kid?" I ask, moving on to another picture. I recognize one as Hayden, but I have no idea who the blonde-haired boy beside him is.
"That's Jax," she says. "He's Hayden's best friend. A weird kid, but really fun. I'm sure you'll meet him soon enough. We can never seem to get rid of him for very long," she jokes.
"Do you ever bring them to the warehouse?" I ask.
"No. Hayd kinda knows about it, but he's never been there."
"Are you ever gonna take him?"
She thinks about it for a second. "I don't know... I guess maybe when he's older. It's not the most kid friendly place."
I chuckle. "Hide the booze and you'll be golden."
"Not to mention R's stash of condoms behind the fridge," she laughs.
"Hmm... Good to know." She slaps my chest. "Kidding!"
"Yeah, sure," she laughs. "You ready to get to work?"
"Ugh," I groan playfully. "I suppose."
"I don't know what you're complaining about. You have to sit there and do nothing."
"Still." I shrug.
"Whatever," she chuckles. "But let's go out in the back. There's horrible lighting in here."
"Yes, Mrs. Parker," I whine. She shoots me a scowl but continues to lead me through the door and down the stairs after picking up a pad and paper. We step out onto a wooden porch and walk down the small stairs. I expect her to stop before the tree line, but we continue through the little forest area. We walk a bit before coming to a stop by a tree with a swing hanging from a branch. There was a little wooden floor set where the branches meet in the middle that has blankets and pillows scattered about.
"Is this you little hideout?" I ask, looking around in awe. I could completely see her hiding away out here, escaping for a bit to breathe and relax.
"Yeah," she sighs, smiling. "My dad built it when I was little. I've always had a thing for swings. It's my happy place. Something about having your feet above ground and the feeling above. You're not on the earth anymore, and all its troubles can't touch you."
"It's nice," I say, not really looking at the surroundings anymore, but her instead. She's intriguing in every way.
"Yep. Okay." She claps her hands together. "Let's get to work."
"Okay." I follow her steps up to the little perch and sit criss-cross in front of her. "What do I do now?" I ask, feeling almost bubbly.
"Stare into my eyes."
Andi's POV
Mikey nods and leans forward so I can see his eyes. I click my pen and title a new page in my notebook Michael Clifford's Eyes and start taking notes of everything I find.
Eye color: Green
A pale green that fades to a sea green with flecks of dark green.
Eye shape: Hooded
Predominantly hooded rounded almond. Proportioned--possibly slightly close set.
Perceived Mood: Whole
Not so much as pure as whole and... not exactly vibrant, but zealous. His eyes are an enigma in and of themselves. Passionate but restrained. Pure but tainted. Youthful but experienced. Free but confined. I can't say they are one without seeing the other reminding me of its existence. Remains in accordance the preconception that green eyes hold a form of mystery and curiosity to them.
I stare deeper at the specks and imperfections in his eyes to try to get some answers. This is harder than I thought it would be. Maybe I should have chosen Luke. Blue eyes are supposed to be clearer; either ice or ocean. Luke's seem to change, though. Sometimes they are more saturated and bright but other times they are clouded and the color of the sky.
Hinton made this seem so much simpler. Darry and Dally were cold--they had icy eyes and icy hearts. Johnny was warm and opening--he had big wide brown eyes.
"Find anything interesting about my soul yet?" Michael chuckles.
"Shh! You are hindering my concentration!" I try not to laugh back.
The more and more I look into his eyes, however, the more and more frustrated I get. I huff and lean in closer, trying to find something hidden in his irises. The first new thing I notice are his pupils suddenly dilating. Well, pupil dilation is supposed to be some sort of fortune teller because they can give away a person's decision before it is revealed. Some of the causes could be sleepiness, moral judgment, arousal, light exposure, depression. The list goes on but the rest are mostly diseases that effect dilation. I don't think any diseases would cause Michael's pupils to dilate all of the sudden. The light hasn't changed in the last few seconds, so that's probably not it.
I shift even closer and place my hands on his thighs to hold myself over him. His breath hitches and his pupils dilate even further; his eyes now nearly all black. While interesting--and if I do more research on explanations, it could be helpful--it's not really what I'm looking for at the moment.
Michael tries to move his face to the side a bit. I quickly reach out and guide his face to stare back at me, once again.
"Don't move," I reprimand. This is extremely frustrating, and the fact that I can hardly see his irises anymore doesn't help. Not to mention his heavy breaths fanning my face distract my focus.
I hook my finger under his chin and press my thumb against it, guiding his face so that I can try and see different angles. His skin is warm against my cold touch. He lets out a shaky breath that blows across my face. I didn't even realize how cold it had gotten out here, and the heat now radiating off of his body is like fire against my own.
He almost looks like he's running a fever; clammy forehead, dilated pupils, uneven breathing, flushed face, increased heart rate.
I reach to run my fingers along his cheekbone, feeling the noticeable perspiration. His shoulders suddenly slump with his heavy breath and I'm almost convinced we need to get inside to take his temperature. I place my hand against his chest and feel his heart beating like a race horse. He can hardly even take in a full breath of air.
Okay, it's decided. We're going back inside and getting some medicine in him.
I move to pull away and help him up, but I can't. Michael has his hand firmly placed behind my neck, restraining me from moving. I don't have time to ask a question before his lips are crashing against mine.
I suck in a quick breath at the same time he releases a throaty groan in response. I sit there with wide eyes for a moment before I can relax enough to close my eyes. I still remain rigid as he fervently tries to kiss me with no response. Suddenly he pulls away slightly to breathe out a frustrated growl. The sound admittedly sends shivers up my spine and down my stomach.
"Kiss me," he groans before reattaching his lips to mine.
This time, I let my muscles relax and begin to move my lips against his. The slightest movement causes Michael to moan and he cups his other hand around my face.
We've kissed before, but that was a game and I was expecting it and had control over the situation. This? however, caught me completely by surprise.
Michael moves a hand down to grip my hip tight enough to bruise and send a wave of lightning through my body, and I decide--fuck it.
I allow the last of restraint out of my muscles and start moving fluidly with him.
As soon as he realizes what I'm doing, he sucks in a breath before grabbing under my thigh and pulling it over his waist. I adjust slightly so I can comfortably straddle him. He slides both of his hands up and down my legs, his lips never relenting.
He takes my bottom lip between his lips and bites down before harshly pulling back. The action alone almost makes my eyes roll back in my head.
I respond by fisting my fingers through his hair and tugging in time with my heavy breaths. He pinches under my thighs before quickly moving them up to squeeze my ass.
I moan, giving in and forcing my tongue between his lips. I sigh as I relish in the feel of his mouth on my tongue. My nails rake down the sides of his head and back of his neck. He releases a throaty groan and harshly swirls his tongue with mine. He scratches his nails from my shoulder blades down my back, and I roll my body against his touch. The first real source of friction between us causes him to gasp and pull away, panting.
"God," he groans. "From the minute I saw you smile, I knew your lips would be amazing."
"Then stop talking and let me prove it," I grunt and pull him against me, forcefully pressing my lips back to his.
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*jazz hands* super excited about this extra long chapter and so worth not getting my history homework done in class to get this written in a day XD shout out to Maddy_98 for sending me the answers and also little jack for having a fever and needing his mom to stay home today XD
xxx