The Camera (Justin Bieber Competition)

Okay, I am not a fan, but because Fan Fiction is such a popular category on Movellas I decided to give it a go to see if I could write a successful Fan Fiction piece for the competition, As Long As You Love Me. Enjoy, and please comment on what you think as I am new to this. Thank you!

Molly is a teenage writer who hates nothing more than her own life. Her parents are pushy, her agent is pushy, and the pushiest person of all is the film producer who wants to turn her book into a blockbuster movie. It should seem like a dream, but when Max Champagne wants none other than Justin Bieber to star alongside Molly as the main characters, she can't imagine anything worse.


12. Taking a Photo.

The camera clicked. I shielded my eyes against the angry flare. "What the hell are you doing?"

It was late. Outside the Hollywood nightlife was just getting into full swing, but we had an early start tomorrow, and I needed my beauty sleep. Justin and I were lying in our two separate beds; close but still too far apart for me, with our huge plasma screen T.V humming quietly in the background. It was sort of ironic how we were so exhausted after the day's events but at the same time so wide awake with the newfound discovery of the love we had for each other.

It was still a surprise to me that it wasn't unrequited.

Justin turned his camera around to inspect the photo he had just taken of me, and nodded. "Not bad."

I pulled the silk eiderdown over my head and repeated myself. "I said, what the hell are you doing? I look terrible."

"Taking a photo," Justin answered matter-of-factly, and then added, "No, you look beautiful."

I blushed, and pulled back the eiderdown. "Why?"

"Why are you beautiful?"

"No," I stopped him hastily, saving any more embarrassment, "I meant why are you taking a picture of me?"

He seemed to think for a moment, and then beamed a winning smile that could fool anyone. Including me. "Because I want to," he said, "I want to remember this time with you forever."

I threw a pillow at his head. "Come off it."

Justin laughed and came over to sit on the edge of my bed. He rumpled my hair  playfully. "I love you."

It shocked me for a moment to see how easily he threw those words around like they meant nothing. Then I remembered who he was, and what he did, and realised that he said 'I love you,' to thousands of girls all over the world without thinking. His face turned sour when I didn't return the same statement.

"What's wrong with you?" He asked bitterly, "Had too much wine? You need to go to sleep?"

"No," I admitted, taking his hand lightheartedly, friendlily. "I think that you have though."

He leaned closer to me, and kissed my lips, letting his breath escape his mouth slightly so I could get a sniff at it. All I could smell was peppermint. "Why do you say that?"

I sighed. "I don't think you're in love with me, Justin," I murmured.

For a moment I thought he was angry. And that's when he smiled, so hugely that it could have been fake. "I do love you, babe."

Making up my mind, I pushed Justin back and slid out of the bed, standing up straight, letting him see my imperfections. I let him view my pathetic pyjamas from Marks and Spencer, the baptism necklace I received as a baby still around my neck, my hair in a loose messy bun at the top of my head. I let him take a long, hard look; letting him see how ugly I was, how bad my skin was, the split ends that dominated my weakly dyed hair.

But still he pulled me into his lap, and still he hugged me to him tightly, lovingly. I allowed myself one look into his scorching eyes. And then the camera clicked again. When he turned it around this time to let me see, I couldn't believe the perfection that the camera had grasped.

It was a perfect snapshot of me lying in Justin's arms on the four poster bed, both of us staring into each other's eyes wordlessly. I ignored the pathetic child of a girl on the left, and instead looked at the shining angel on the right, holding me like he meant it.

When, three seconds later, his lips crashed to mine a second time, I couldn't bring myself to object when the camera clicked in front of me. A more sensible part of my mind reminded myself that what was happening was strange, weird, that an eighteen year old boy who took pictures of his fifteen year old co-star 24/7 wasn't a normal occurrence. 

However the love-struck, giddy, drunk with devotion part of me kissed him back, and didn't care what kind of photo the camera took. 



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