blackheart ➵ m. clifford

➵ prologue

➵ michael

If there was one moment I would beg to forget, it would be that moment when you can actually feel the pain in your chest from hearing or seeing something that breaks your heart. It didn't even have to apply to you, but you were so caught up in how miserable the other person was, that you could feel everything they were feeling. It was a terribly beautiful concept, and I wished I'd never have lived through it.

My legs swung underneath me, like a child on a too-tall chair, and a joint hung between my fingers, smoke billowing out between my lips and into the humid summertime air that made my skin crawl. The branch was high up, and I'd felt accomplished when I'd sat myself down, because I'd never climbed this high before and I could see everything from up here. And that was the beginning of my problems.

She was terrible to look at, her black dress flowing around her thighs and her heels hanging from her fingers, little mewls and whimpers falling from her painted-red lips like a kitten looking for milk. Hair so pale it was almost white toppled down her shoulders in messy curls, and atop her head rested a crooked crown of red flowers. What was a pretty princess like this doing in a terrible place like this, without a prince?

I almost spoke up, but I was so immersed in her that my jaw could only fall slack, my eyes flicking over the tracks that trailed down her cheeks, but her eyes were far past dry by now. She stepped softly and slowly down the trail, focusing solely on the ground, like it was the only thing in the world.

My Doc Martens quietly scuffed against the bark of the tree as I scurried down it, my joint between my lips and my hands clutching for any kind of grip. I just hoped that when I got down, she would still be there, and I could still watch her as she wandered through the trees. I whirled around when my feet touched the ground, and she was still there, her back turned to me, but she had come to a teetering stop, lifting herself onto the tips of her toes as she looked around.

With my body hidden by the thick trunk of the tree, I continued to watch her, taking little drags from my almost burnt-out joint and letting the smoke mingle with the air. She continued to look around, her lip quivering and her shoes hugged tightly to her chest. I didn't want to make her more scared than she already was, my feet moving forward and my fingertips running along the bark.

She spotted me just as I took the final drag of my joint, my eyes never leaving her as I dropped the end of the joint down into the mud, my eyebrows furrowing and my head cocking to the side as I analysed her. Daringly beautiful, with big, brown doe eyes that had once been lined with mascara, and a throat that was so perfect for love bites it almost had me keening to put my lips to it.

We stared at each other in silence, her body swiveling to follow my every move as I slowly walked in a half-circle around her, like a lion eyeing up it's prey. But she wasn't my prey, she was a pretty girl.

"Why are you staring at me like that?" She spoke, her eyebrows arching as she stepped back a little.

I cocked my head to the other side, pressing my lips together in a half-pout as I looked her over again, and then twisted my body to do the same thing again, looking at her at a whole new angle. She stepped back again, her lips parting.

"I'm just wondering," I started, taking the two steps forward that she had taken back, though my legs were longer than hers and I was much closer to her now than I had been before. It looked as though she wanted to step back again, but she didn't, folding her arms across her chest. But it was this action that made my eyes flick down to her chest, eyeing her now framed cleavage before I cursed under my breath and started muttering obscenities at the ground. "I'm just wondering what a pretty girl is doing in the woods all by herself." I finished, looking back up to her to see her frowning.

No, don't frown, you pretty little thing.

"Who are you to judge, you're here by yourself, too." She scoffed, and I smirked, shaking my head at her.

"But I'm not a pretty girl." I countered, shoving my fists into the pockets of my skinny jeans.

"I don't know if you're complimenting or insulting me." She huffed, looking me up and down as if she were wary of me. I would be scared of me, too.

"All I'm saying, is that if something were to happen to such a pretty person, the world would be a far less humble place to live in." I quirked an eyebrow at her, just to watch her response.

But all she did was laugh half-heartedly, gesturing towards me as she spoke. "What are you, like, the twenty-first century Shakespeare or something?"

"No, I'm just really stoned." I mumbled, looking down at my boots as I sighed. 

"It's nice to meet you, Just Really Stoned." She said softly, and my lips tugged up in a smile at her immature joke. 

"It's Michael, Michael Clifford." I closed one eye as I looked at her, pulling the sleeves of my jumper down over my hands.

"Jett, Jett Stanley." She laughed, like a little birdsong.

"Jett? Like, Joan Jett and the Blackhearts?" I cocked my head to the side, letting her name ring in my ears as she nodded. "So, are you going to tell me why you're in the woods alone, and why you're wearing a flower crown? Do I even want to know?"

"No, you don't." She stepped back from me, almost tripping on the undergrowth, but catching herself on the tree I had previously departed and turning to walk away. "You can walk me home, though." She called over her shoulder, and I followed after her, watching as her skirt blew around her milky thighs.

And as I walked, I watched, and decided that the crown was made just for her, because she was a princess, and I was just a peasant on his knees, begging for a second glance. 

-

thisisjustateasersortofthing, I'mgoingtobetakingacoupledays/weekstowritemorebeforeIpostanythingelse. butIhopeyouenjoythis, becauseIreallyadorethisidea, whichwasactuallyinspiredbysnapbackMichaelakaSatan