So, this is my fourth (I think :P) Camp Rock fic. Another oneshot, but please just stick with it. This was inspired by Say Ok by Vanessa Hudgens. It's not a particularly good song, and I'm not really crazy about Vanessa's voice (really, I think she should just stick to acting), but it has a good storyline (songline? ^^ ). This story is quite long, just to warn you, but read all of it. I really did put a lot of effort into it – 4/5 hours to be approximate.
Say Ok
Colours fade. Leaves fall. Life turns to grey. The world moves on, even if my heart doesn't. I watch from behind the frosted glass as the final, crystallised leaf flutters to the silver ground, resting amongst the skeletons of the others. I turn, my chestnut hair swinging gently with the movement. I brush it out of my hazel eyes, shaking my head to clear my thoughts, steadying myself as he steps out from the shadows. He hasn't changed. His cold brown eyes still stare; still calculate from behind his disguise of messy black hair splayed about his face, partly obscuring his eyes. We say nothing. I breathe in and out, my chest rising and falling evenly. His gaze is unblinking, unwavering, fixed upon my face in a frown that slightly disturbs me.
"You came"
His low, husky undertone shatters the silence. I nod, finding my lips unable to form the words. My heart thumps painfully in my chest. He opens his mouth to speak, then shuts it again. There is nothing more to say. More steps towards me and suddenly I am in his embrace, feeling his arms circle round me in a protective shield. My mind races. This is wrong. I can't be doing this, it shouldn't be happening. I struggle against his enveloping presence, pushing away his welcoming arms and stepping back. He doesn't seem surprised. Instead, a sad smile appears on his face as he slides down onto the cream leather sofa, motioning with a wave of his hand for me to join him. My eyes flicker nervously to his and I join him, shuffling into a corner, bringing my knees up to my chin in a familiar huddle. He smiles at my position. I haven't changed over the five years since I last saw him. My newfound fame has had next-to-no impact on my general habits. The silence grows, uncomfortable, awkward. He reaches for the television remote, turning on the 56-inch plasma screen on the wall, flicking through the channels. I take the chance to study his appearance, memorising his familiar face. Unlike me, he's almost unrecognisable from the Shane Gray I knew years ago. His messy hair is dyed jet black, the tips a bright, metallic-looking gold. The strands are arranged in a loose side-fringe, now brushed out of the way of his grey eyes – one of the only things unchanged about him. He has a hoop on his right ear, gold. At just 24, he already has lines etched into his skin, lines that numerous operations have attempted to fix. He laughs suddenly, stopping on a channel.
"It's you"
I look up at the screen. A music video is playing, an old single. The tune blasts out of multiple guitars, the meaningless lyrics washing over me, soothing, comforting. The me on screen is happy, smiling, her eyes full of innocence. I give a rueful smile. The picture changes – the next channel. Me again, this time the melody dark and sinister, my brown hair curled wildly and my slim figure clothed in a more revealing outfit. I hear a chuckle from him and glance over.
"A bit of a change, then?"
I shrug nonchalantly.
"The label finally decided to let me develop my own style."
He looks at me with an odd expression.
"So this is what you choose for your own style? I never little Mitchie Torres had a wild side. Alright for some, I suppose"
He never knew I had a wild side – he never knew me at all, who was he kidding? I shrug again.
"Surprised?"
He laughs again.
"Not really" he admits. I decide to make things a bit more interesting, keeping my tone carefully light and airy.
"It lost me all the little kids, but I gained a whole new audience."
He scowls, glancing back up at the TV screen where I am still dancing.
"Yeah, I bet. Would it have had anything to do with your newfound lack of clothing, perhaps?"
I smile sweetly at him, goading him further. I have completely forgotten exactly how much fun it is winding him up. He has just the right buttons to push.
"So, how's Connect 3 going?"
He laughs bitterly.
"It isn't."
"Oh"
The quiet that ensues is awkward. I shift in my position. He shakes his head sharply.
"No, it doesn't matter. Wasn't your fault"
His voice is gruff. I smile gratefully at him. He gets up.
"I'll go grab us something to eat"
"Sure"
I watch him as he disappears through a door. It has been five long years since I last saw him. Five years ago, back when Connect 3 was still a global phenomenon, back when I was still insignificant Mitchie. Back in the good old days, before I learnt what it meant to have your heart broken.
He walks in through the door, a guitar slung over his back. His face is set in a smile. I glance up at him worriedly. There is something off about his grin, something forced, something faked, something wrong. My heart immediately begins to race, pounding frantically in my chest. Something's not right. He sits down on the sofa next to me, still saying nothing.
"Shane, get it over with, please. Just say it, whatever it is"
Foolish words. I should never have asked him. The next sentence will shatter my heart. He looks up at me, his unnerving smile never wavering, only succeeding in pushing me further into panic.
"Mitchie, I can't see you anymore"
My brain enters a frenzied state, firing questions one after the other.
"What? Why? Who told you that? What, Shane, I – "
"Mitchie, listen to me"
His voice is hard, unforgiving, impatient. His smile fades.
"No one told me it. I'm ending it myself."
He doesn't show a hint of regret in his eyes, a frown growing on his stern face. My head whirls. This is a side of Shane I have never encountered before, and I don't like it. I wonder how hard it must have been for him to keep up such a facade – the thought makes me laugh, the one sharp sound tearing hysterically. Hypocrite. Look who's different now, huh. How could he have kept this for so long – or did he? Before he met me, he was a head case. I tell myself sharply that it's my own fault for involving myself with him – how stupid could I have been to believe that he would change just like that? So it was just me he fooled, then. Just little gullible Mitchie. Just the one person who would be stupid enough to fall for his lies. Just me.
"But why, Shane?"
My words are heavily laid with double meaning. I wonder if he will pick it up. He seems to notice the change in my tone and glances at me with cold eyes. He doesn't care. My voice is steady, my eyes tearless. I don't understand, can't comprehend the scale of his betrayal. My confusion seems to be the one thing blocking my mind, blocking out the tears and the pain. He sighs in annoyance. How he can be so crude shocks me.
"There's been more and more pressure than ever on us for tours, merchandising, album deals...I just need time to focus on everything. I can't handle all of it as well as you. I don't want to get tied down here, with a commitment that I won't be able to keep"
His inspiring speech is false. He could handle it if he chose. If he could be bothered, he would find the time. But when the going gets tough, Shane Gray quits. His excuses are meaningless. Anything he says means nothing. There is only the cold, hard truth. He's leaving me. I blink back tears angrily, abruptly furious with him for doing this to me, for deceiving me for so long.
"So is that all I am to you? An inconvenience? An extra pressure? An unwanted burden? I guess it's just another commitment that you can't be bothered with" I spit at him, the words flying across the room at him like poison daggers. He winces.
"Mitch"
Using my pet name will get him nowhere.
"The others are complaining. Saying that I spend more time with you than I do working on my music."
He shrugs.
"Maybe I do. But I need to be writing more songs, getting things down on paper, focusing on material for our next album. And right now, I just can't balance it with you around. I'm sorry"
Sorry? Of course he's not sorry. Of course he could balance it. Of course he could do anything, if he could be bothered to get off his ass and do it for himself.
"So that's it, huh? You would choose your music over me. Music, over a living, breathing, feeling person?"
He says nothing, letting his head fall into his hands, the implications of his silence saying everything I need to hear. The tears well in my eyes, threatening dangerously to spill. I try to wipe them away. I can't break down here, can't lose control now, not with him watching.
"I should have known better" I spit, turning and sprinting out, slamming the door behind me, so he won't see the tears that burn their path down my cheeks as I draw my knees up to my chin, dropping my head to my chest. After all that time, after everything we've been through, it's finally over. He's gone.
I am brought back to reality with a slam as Shane walks back in, the door swinging behind him. He smiles at me, producing a still-smoking pizza from behind his back with a flourish, setting it down on the arm of the sofa in front of me. I raise my eyebrows.
"You learnt to cook?"
He laughs. Maybe he really has changed.
"If only. I find it generally easier to just get Pizza Express to do the work for me"
Pulling apart the stringy slices is a task that takes most of five minutes. Eventually prevail, prising the last slice off the cardboard, sitting back and surveying our work with a faint smile on both of our faces. I reach to grab a slice of our hard-earned pizza, pausing, my hand hovering as I carefully select the largest slice. He gives a chuckle, leaning over me to grab a slice, knocking the box off the arm in the process, where it falls to the floor with an ominous 'splat'. It is silent for a minute.
"Oops"
His voice breaks the still and we both burst into helpless laughter. He gets to his feet, picking up the squashed box, peeling the pizza off the now tomato-stained floor. I follow him, plucking a yellow dishcloth from a rack on the kitchen draining board and spinning it on my finger, before trailing back to the scene of the crime. I am just about to bring the cloth to the floor when he grabs my wrist, a disapproving frown on his face.
"Don't. The maids will do that"
I brush off his clutch easily, setting my jaw in a stubborn line.
"No, I want to"
He steps back, giving in, but regarding me with a frown from where he leans against the doorframe.
"Why? Why bother?"
I shrug nonchalantly, methodically wiping the stains off the floor one by one.
"Because it's the kind of thing I did before I was famous. I did chores, I was a normal kid. And just because I suddenly managed to hit big, I didn't want to give up on my normal life. I guess you could say that it helps keep me grounded. I don't to be one of those jerks you see parading around with million-dollar designer jackets, the jackets you've seen in the market selling for twenty cents apiece"
He lets a rueful smile slip onto his face.
"Jerks like me, you mean?"
I say nothing and he is abruptly grabbing my arm, pulling me up to face him, causing me to stagger as I trip over my own feet. His face is a mere five inches from mine, so close that I can count every eyelash framing his hazel eyes, eyes that burn into mine with an intensity that startles me. He has somehow managed to keep hold of my hand in the process and he clutches it in an iron grip, even as I try to pull away.
"Mitchie, I've changed, honestly"
I shake my head furiously. I can't let him do this to me, can't let him draw me in again.
"Mitchie, please. You must see it, must realise. I was a huge jerk when I was famous, but I'm different now"
The earnestness in his voice is deceiving. I can already see how easy it would be for me to fall back into his trap again, fall back into his open arms. I can already see everything we could be, I can already see how happy I would be. I can already see everything. It's just the getting there that's the trouble. I pull away from him, standing with my back turned. I don't want to see his expression. I don't want to see his face as I blame him for all the pain I've had to put up with, pain caused by him. I wrap my arms around my body, holding tight, trying to keep myself from falling apart.
"Shane, I can't go back. Please, just stop it."
My voice is a whisper, barely audible, but I'm sure he hears it.
"Why, Mitch?"
That name brings back memories, memories that help me remember why I have to leave him now before it gets to be too late.
"Do you really want to know?"
"Please."
I give a sad sigh.
"Sit down."
I walk over to the sofa, joining him as he sits down opposite me, his face troubled.
"It goes back five years ago. When you left me, when you deceived me. My life was falling apart, ripping at the seams. Not that you seemed to care. I fell into depression phases, often for months at end, managing to pull myself back together for a few days, weeks, maybe even months, but always ending up falling back into that same dark hole. Then people started to worry. My mother was the one who finally convinced me that going back into singing would be good for me. So she set me up with an audition for an agent. I got accepted, and well...the rest is history."
He seems enthralled in my tale, and when I don't speak for a minute he blinks, jumping back into life. He shrugs.
"So?"
I give an incredulous laugh, getting to my feet.
"So? So? So I won't just go back to you blindly! You left me alone, uncaring, unwelcoming, left me to just get over the fact that the boy I thought I loved obviously didn't love me back. I tried to kill myself, Shane. More than once."
His face turns white and he goes quiet. I give a small laugh.
"Yeah. That makes you listen, huh?"
I pause, study his expressionless face.
"So I can't go back, Shane. I can't go back. I won't be that stupid again."
I shake my head as I say it, reassuring myself, convincing myself that this is the right thing to do, even if it's not what I really want to do. Of course, all I really want to do is to run back to his side, to his receiving arms, so willingly and happily. But sometimes what we want isn't what's best for us. And I had to be strong. He seems to come back to his senses after a second, blinking and brushing his hair out of his eyes. Up he gets from the sofa, raising one hand to his forehead as he tries to sort his thoughts. He gives a sigh.
"Mitch, I'm sorry for everything that happened, really, I am. But I'm willing to change now. I'm older, I'm less foolhardy. I realise what I did wrong, Mitchie, and I'm sorry for it. Can't you forgive me just this once?"
His pleading voice, his trusting eyes, his warm smile, everything is just too much. I can't stay here much longer, lest I forget the reason I didn't even want to come in the first place. He's ruining everything, him and his deceiving words. He's making everything more difficult than it has to be. Why can't he see that this is something I have to do? Why can't he see that I can't change the past, can't bring back what he lost? I stand, my body trembling. Five paces and I am at the wall, my back turned. He frowns, walking over to me where I shudder, my fists clenched. His hand reaches out, grasps my bony shoulder, and shakes it as he tries to get me to turn. I brush his hold off with a grimace.
"Shane, leave me alone"
"Mitchie, I don't understand why you're being like this! Why do you always have to be so difficult?"
He sounds angry, but I refuse to turn to see his face.
"Difficult? I'm being difficult? Well, that's rich! This is coming from the guy who won't let me walk out his house because I won't agree to one little demand! Why do you always have to be so difficult, Shane? Why can't you just accept that I don't want to see you anymore, and get over it?!"
We make an odd sight; both shrieking at each other, my face turned, him shooting daggers at my back.
"Because I can't, ok? I can't get over you!"
His words root me to the spot and he goes quiet. For a minute, everything is still.
"You're not the only one who had...trouble when we split"
His voice is barely more than a whisper, a glaring contrast to our raised exclamations just a few seconds earlier.
"You know I didn't tell you goodbye willingly."
I raise an eyebrow, although I know he won't see. From what I remember, he told me that he was perfectly fine with letting me go.
"That's not what you told me" I retort with a hint of petulance.
He gives a heavy sigh.
"Maybe it's not, but I didn't, as much as you may think otherwise. For your information, I was under strict instructions from our label managers to tell you to go. So don't blame it all on me. I never wanted to see you go."
His gaze is sincere, his eyes melting into mine. I still can't quite believe what he says.
"From the second you walked out, things went downhill. I couldn't come up with anything new; we were stuck with covers of poppy trash or re-releasing our old stuff again and again. I tried, many times, starting songs but always throwing them away before I got anywhere. In a way, you could say that when you disappeared, so did my inspiration"
He gives a wry smile. I'm trying to see the truth in his words. After all the years of believing he really didn't care about me, it's a hard task to try to place my trust in him again.
"Mitchie, really, I do care about you."
And now it seems as if he can read my mind as well, just to add to the list of problems. My sigh is filled with confusion as I finally turn to face him. I keep my gaze steady, calm.
"Shane, how can I possibly believe you?"
He shrugs.
"Maybe you just have to."
His words make it worse. How can I just believe in him again, after everything he's done?
"Please, just leave me be."
His answer is short and stubborn.
"No."
"Shane, please! Leave me alone! I don't want to go back! I can't go back, please, just let me go!"
My voice is desperate. Any second longer and I'll crack.
"Mitchie, I won't."
His gaze is fierce, determined.
"Please, Shane, please. I want to go home. I don't want to do this anymore"
Tears fill my eyes. He seems to start at the sight, saying nothing. I take a step towards the door, and finding no resistance, take another, then another, until my hand is hovering over the doorknob. I don't look back at his dejected form. I don't want to know. Or maybe I don't want to see. One twist of my wrist and it swings open, the street beyond lying quiet and peaceful. The wind blows an icy gust into the room. A step and I am outside. Another few and I am on the pavement, looking back into the hallway, unable to resist, to wait for a second longer. The leaves skitter along the pavement, tumbling and twisting in the wind. I look away for a second and then he is there on the doorstep, his mouth forming soundless words. His eyes are closed in what looks like pain; his shoulders slumped as he leans against the brick wall. I glance up, my stomach twisting in what feels like guilt. His whisper carries to me on the wind, breaking my heart into two.
"Mitchie, please. Don't go. Please."
A single tear slides down his cheek, falling onto the stone.
"Please."
I turn away.
"Mitchie, I love you."
I shake my head, once, twice, and slowly at first.
"No, no, no, no, Shane, don't do this to me."
He steps forwards, again and again until he is standing next to me, and I can count the glistening tears on his black lashes.
"Mitchie, please. I love you."
"No, Shane! No! Why do you have to make this so difficult?! Why can't you just let me go?!"
My voice explodes out of me as I rip through an octave.
"Why can't you just let me leave?!"
His response is pitiful, and I immediately feel bad for yelling at him.
"I love you. What's so hard about that?"
"Shane, please, stop it! I can't love you, ok?! Just get that into your head! I can't love you anymore! I just can't!"
"Why, Mitchie? You're still the same person you were four years ago!"
His tone changes abruptly, and now, again, we're both shouting.
"I'm not, Shane, I'm not! I'm not innocent little 'Mitch' anymore! You moved on, eventually I did too! And I changed, just the same as you! I'm not the same girl you fell in love with, Shane, I'm not the person you want."
Both of us have tears running down our cheeks.
"I'm not the right person for you, Shane. I'm not her. You need someone else. Someone happy. Just – I don't know, just forget about me. I'm not good enough for you anymore"
His eyes widen and abruptly his lips are on mine, his hands in my hair, his body pressed against mine. I respond instinctively, my mind already retracing the familiar memories that I locked away for so long. His long fingers wipe away my tears; his soft lips hold mine in a welcome embrace, his soft sigh answering all my unspoken doubts. He pulls back, his eyes bright, breathing heavily. With a quiet laugh, he brushes my hair away from my face.
"Mitchie, you've always been 'that girl' for me. You're the one I need, no one but you. Believe me when I say you're so much more than good enough. I love you, whoever you become. You're still the Mitchie I love, even if you change. So can you really trust me this time, when I say that I love you, and will love you, for every single day of my life?"
I give him a gentle smile.
"Yes."
Whoa, this took me soo long to write. ^^ When I should have been updating Reflections. Oops. Anyway, I didn't want to make this a full-length story so I decided on a really really long oneshot. :p Hope you guys stuck with it. And for anyone who likes Camp Rock fic, me and my best friend are collaborating and writing a Camp Rock fic under the name DJ-Danger-Sock-Ninja (I think I got that right :p The name does actually hold a very simple significance - go check out our profile. The story should be posted up soon- it's a multichapter so go check it out) ^^ And remember, please R+R!
But I don't wanna be into you
If you're not looking for true love
No I don't wanna start seeing you
If I can't be your only one
Say Ok – Vanessa Hudgens