#michael clifford preferencem

Forgotten Memories
2. How Ironic

Michael fucking Clifford my fucking door. What the fuck? Am I hallucinating? Have scientists from the future created him as a hologram to play tricks on me? Is Ashton Kutcher good to jump out and say that I’ve been punk’d? Is he even really outside my door?

Why don’t you open the damn door and find out you imbecile?

I listen to myself and slowly grasp the doorknob again, turning it, then pulling it open slowly. The first thing I see is bright red hair, again.

“I’m sorry, but are you Andrea Ross?” He asks again, and as I get over the shock of him saying my name, I notice that he’s clutching a familiar piece of paper in his hands.

“Um.. Yes..” I finally speak, and it comes out like a question.

His eyes widen, “You are?”

“Well according to my birth certificate…” I trail off, my terrible sense of humor coming in at the worst time possible.

“What?” His eyebrows knit together, causing his eyebrow piercing to wiggle.

I shake my head, mentally face palming, “never mind, you loon like you’ve been hit by a train, do you want to come in?”

I’m inviting Michael Clifford into my house. Must. Contain. Inner. Fangirl.

“Please.” He breaths, walking in towards me.

He smells of sweat, and dirt, and I’m still amazed by it. He stares at me, and I snap out of my thoughts.

“Do you want some water, food, a shower?” I offer.

He nods, “Yes!”

I don’t know which he’s saying yes to, so I just assume all of the above. I hurry up the stairs signaling him to follow me, and he does. I grab the largest glass we have and fill it up with water, and he drinks it as if he hasn’t drank water before.

I open our fridge and pull out left overs from everything we’ve had to eat all week. He goes straight for the pizza moaning as he gets it in his mouth, not caring that it’s cold.

Here I am, the inner me having a complete (freak out) because Michael fucking Clifford is sitting at my counter moaning a he eats my cold leftover pizza. On the outside I’m freaked out, but calm and not fangirling, which takes a ton of self control.

I keep looking at the paper he’s still holding with a death grip. It looks so familiar, but I just can’t remember what it is. I try to casually read what it says, but I have no luck.

I clear my throat, “Not to um, be rude here or anything, but why are you here? I’m still waiting for Ashton Kutcher to jump out of here somewhere, because let’s face it, this is crazy, your favorite band member doesn’t just come showing up at your doorstep out of the blue, that’s just crazy. Did someone hire you to come here? Are you from the future?”

He stares at me, looking extract confused, while he finished chewing his pizza.

“I um… I don’t know.” His cheeks turn light pink.

I ignore that I just made Michael Clifford blush, “What do you mean, you don’t know?”

He scratches the back of his neck, “I um, I can’t remember anything.”

The look on my face must be pretty amusing because he laughs lightly, before getting serious again, “I know it sounds crazy, but it’s the truth. I woke up a few days ago from this guy poking me, asking if I was okay. My head was in so much pain, and I couldn’t remember anything, at all. All I had was this,” he waves the paper, “and a bunch of money in my pocket.”

I process what he just said. From what it sounds like, he has amnesia, how fucking ironic.

“Can I see that?” I point to the paper.

He looks at it once more before handing it to me, as if it’s the most precious thing in the whole world.

I instantly recognize what it is. A few months before the accident, I wrote 5sos a letter, and sent it, hoping that they’d come to my city and perform so I could see them live. That was three years ago, and Michael still has it?

“Why do you still have this? I wrote it three years ago.” I look up at Michael.

He frowns, “I don’t know, I just woke up with it in, my um,” he pats his pocket, and looks as if he’s deep in thought.

“Pocket?”

“Yes!” He looks so happy, then sad.

“Why did you come here though? Why didn’t you go find someone that could help you?”

“I thought that maybe you could. I thought that because of this letter, I knew you, but just couldn’t remember. I thought that when I finally got here, I’d remember everything, but I didn’t.”

It suddenly hits me, that Michael Clifford has amnesia, and he hasn’t seen a doctor.

“We need to get you to a doctor.” I rush around trying to find my shoes.

“Wait! No!” He exclaims looking panicked.

I stop immediately, “You seriously need to see a doctor if you can’t remember anything.”

He chews on his lower lip, looking at his hands, “I um, have this fear of um,” he blinks a few times then snaps, “hospitals, that’s the word. See I’m remembering! Within a few days I’ll remember everything and be just fine!”

I stare at him intently, “Then what now?”

He takes another drink of water, then looks up at me, “I don’t know.” He shrugs.

I rub my temples, trying to think of something.

“Okay, well I’m sure you need to take a shower, right?”

He nods.

“If you’re done eating, you can do that now. I’m sure I can find some clean clothes that would fit you.” I swallow.

This is actually happening. Michael Clifford is going to shower in my house, and wear my brothers old clothes.

“Okay.” He stands up, gesturing for me to lead the way. I make my way downstairs to Adam’s old room. Mom’s turned it into a workout room for everyone, but I rarely come in here. I open the closet, grabbing one of Adams old t shirts, some sweats, and I blush when I find some boxers. I quickly put them in between the pants and shirt, and grab a pair of socks before turning around, and handing them to him.

“The bathroom is the first door on the left, there are extra towels in the closet. Just incase you don’t remember, shampoo and conditioner are for your hair, and body wash is, well, pretty self explanatory, you know to wash your body.” I shrug, playing with my fingers as I ramble on.

“Alright. First door on the left right?” He questions.

I just nod, and watch him as he disappears out the door. The first thing I do when I hear the shower turn on, is do my surprised/happy dance thing, Brandon calls it me having a seizure. When I catch my reflection in the mirror, my actions instantly still.

My eyes are still red from crying, but they’re not bloodshot. I’ve still got bags under my eyes, making me look like a zombie with glasses. My hair is poking out of my bun, and my wardrobe is anything but classy.

I hurry to my room, and brush out my hair, tying it up. I put some concealer on the blue and purple spots under my eyes, which a rare action. But hey, Michael Clifford is currently naked in my bathroom, I’m gonna put some make up on.

My room is a disaster, so I tidy it as much as I can. I throw all my dirty clothes into the hamper, making sure that my underwear is completely out of site. I make my bed slightly, and kick everything else into my closet.

I still hear the water running, so I pull out my Macbook, one pro of having a super rich step father that’s trying to get on your good side, and look up Amnesia.

Of course, the top result is 5 Seconds of Summer’s song.

Oh, the irony.

I skip the Wikepedia link that shows up, and click on the third one.

“Amnesia refers to the loss of memories, such as facts, information and experiences. Though having no sense of who you are is a common plot device in movies and television, real-life amnesia generally doesn’t cause a loss of self-identity.”

I keep read about the different types and causes of amnesia, and I look read about the one that sounds most like what Michael has.

“Transient global amnesia is a sudden, temporary episode of memory loss that can’t be attributed to a more common neurological condition, such as epilepsy or stroke.

During an episode of transient global amnesia, your recall of recent events simply vanishes, so you can’t remember where you are or how you got there. In addition, you may not remember anything about what’s happening in the here and now.

Consequently, you may keep repeating the same questions because you don’t remember the answers you’ve just been given. You may also draw a blank when asked to remember things that happened a day, a month or even a year ago.

With transient global amnesia, you do remember who you are, and recognize the people you know well. But that doesn’t make your memory loss less disturbing.”

I scroll through, reading every word. A tap sounds on my bedroom door, causing me to jump.

"Jesus, you take quick showers.” I mutter.

“Sorry, I wasn’t sure if this was your room.” He clears his throat.

Once I look up, my eyes widen. His hair is wet, and down, looking more natural. He’s wearing one of Adams old band t shirts, which looks like one that he already owns. He even makes sweatpants look good, which amazes me.

I notice the pile of dirty clothes in his hands. I quickly bookmark the website I’m on and close my laptop.

“I’ll throw those in the wash for you.” I hurry over to him, grabbing the clothes out of his grip.

Our hands brush, and goosebumps form on my arms.

I just touched Michael Clifford, and now I’m washing his clothes.

Once again, the inside of me and the outside are two completely different people.

“Thanks.” He comments as he follows me to the laundry room.

Once everything’s running, I look at the clock.

“We only have two hours until Brandon gets home, what are we going to do?” I start to pace back and forth.

“Who’s Brandon?” He says the name as if it’s some disease.

“My annoying as hell step brother. If he sees you here, who knows what he’ll do. He’ll definitely tell Phillip, saying that I kidnapped you or something crazy, plus he hates your band, so that doesn’t make it any better.” I continue to nervous ramble to myself, until he interrupts me.

“Wait who’s Phillip, and what do you mean by ‘your band’?” The confusion on his face hurts me.

“First of all Phillip is my step dad, and secondly, you don’t remember the band?” My heart breaks when he shakes his head.

I wonder if they’re freaking out at much as me right now.

“Come here.” I walk out of the laundry room, and back to my room.

I pull out everything that I own that has their face or logo on it. Posters, albums, EP’s, shirts, bracelets, everything. I sit down cross legged on my bed, signalling for Michael to do the same. He slumps down right next to me. I can feel his body heat radiating onto me, I can smell my vanilla body wash and my apple shampoo that he used.

I’m surprised by the amount of self control that I have.

“You’re the lead guitarist in 5 Seconds of Summer, you don’t remember that?” I point to him in the picture of the band on their self titled album.

He shakes his head, staring intently at the picture.

I sit up more, looking right at him, “Do you even remember your name?”

“Michael Clifford.” He answers immediately.

“Really? Oh my god, that’s amazing! Do you know your birthday?” I stand up, staring to gain hope.

He shakes his head, “No. I only know that my name is Michael, because of the paper. There were three other names, but none of them felt right”

I frown, “Oh, um okay. Do you remember anything else? Anything?” I’m desperate for him to say yes.

He picks up the most recent poster I have of them, where his hair in the picture is the actual color on his head. Michael stares at it for a while, then sighs and shakes his head, “Nothing.”

Michael then lets out a yawn, and I nearly smack myself.

“Oh my god you must be exhausted. Do you remember when you woke up, or where you woke up?”

He squints his eyes, looking deep in thought, “Um it was three days ago, I think, and the place was, New…. New.”

"York?”

He nods, “Yeah, New York, with the tall buildings, and so many people.” He grimaces.

“How did you get here?” Considering I live very far from New York.

“Um buses, trains, taxi’s, you know.” He shrugs.

I look at him amazed, “All to get here?”

He nods, “It was the only thing I could think of to do.”

I let out a breath, and shake my head, “Wow. Okay, well you look exhausted, so go a head and go to sleep. While I sit here and try not to watch you.” I mumble the last part to myself, thrusting myself out of my bed.

“Wait, what are you going to do?” His eyebrows furrow together.

I blush, then clear my throat, “I’m going to figure out what the hell we’re going to do.”

-

Authors Note:

Chapter 2! Yay! So, tell me what you think, by giving it some notes!

I’m excited to write this fanfic, it’s going to be more of a comedy than my other fanfics, because Andy is hilarious.

Speaking of Andy, I chose Emily Rudd, to play her, and there is a picture of her on the side/top. I Imagine her with shorter curly hair, but imagine her however you want :)

Also! this is just so I don’t get charged for plagiarism or whatever, the website I used to talk about amnesia is

http://www.mayoclinic.org/diseases-conditions/amnesia/basics/symptoms/con-20033182

p.s I’m still figuring out how I want each chapter set up, so bear with me.

Ummm idk what else to say.. so!

Have a great day/night/life.

Hannah