Chapter 70 continued...

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...I groan and toss to my other side, my dream flickering in and out of focus. My mind is still heavy with the drug of sleep yet the once noiseless sounds of my surroundings are beginning to slip their way through the cracks and crevices of my disoriented subconscious. The sound of murmuring in the hall…the click of a door opening…closing…shallow, quiet breathing…footsteps that grow in echo until they seem as if they’re in the room with me…before passing through to another door…Now my sight. There’s a faint yellow slither of light that penetrates the all-consuming blackness of my rest. I struggle for only a futile second to ignore it, to tuck it away somewhere in the dark and return to my uneasy slumber, before finally deciding that the task is virtually impossible. I’m awake now and there’s no way I could get back to sleep if I wanted to; the first time was merely by sheer force of will.

Opening my eyes, it takes a moment, but my gaze eventually adjusts to the shadowed figures hiding away in my room, the moon only vaguely visible through the gauzy curtains of our bay bedroom doors. Blinking profusely, I sit up with leisure and rub my fists in my eyes in an effort to clear away the little bits of dust that’s settled in the corners there. I look towards the foot of the bed and notice the cracked door at the far end of our suite room, yellow light forming a glowing wedge shape on the carpet and eggshell walls. The sound of running water can be heard coming through the split.

He’s back!

The thought is accompanied by a shock of excitement and a desperate yearning I’ve only ever known when separated from Michael. The comforter is thrown back instantly and I’m getting to my feet. Slipping on a nearby silk robe so that it drapes over the BAD Michael Jackson Tour t-shirt I couldn’t resist buying a month ago, I don’t even bother pulling on my night-shoes as I all but jog across the spacious bedroom towards the bathroom. I’m itching to see his face, to hold him and kiss him. I don’t even care if he doesn’t apologize for standing me up. I forgive him; I’m just glad he came back. For a while I wasn’t sure if he would. Isn’t that crazy? All these weeks of reclaiming our love and devotion for one another, all this time spent reaffirming what we’d both convinced ourselves wasn’t real, and I’d allowed myself to doubt him. Of course he came back to me. Of course he did…

Pushing the cracked door open slowly, I slide my shoulder through and poke my head around.

The Jacuzzi tub is empty but the shower cabin is where the noise of rushing water echoes from, the etched glass windows fogged from condensation. His loafers rest neatly beside the wall to the right of the steaming enclosure and I find the sight of them somehow soothing, a little piece of normal in what has otherwise been an atypical day on our honeymoon. Closing the bathroom door behind me, I bite my lip to hold back my eager grin and begin to inch my way towards the shower. My fingers twitch anxiously as they reach out to seize hold of the elegant golden handle. I can just make out his blurred outline through the vapor and etched glass. Impatiently, I slide the door back.

I gasp.

Michael doesn’t even acknowledge the abrupt end to his solitude, minus the nearly imperceptible slump of his already drooping shoulders, as though in weary exhalation. Having ignored the accommodating built-in seat, my husband sits fully-clothed on the shower floor, his feet the only skin reasonably bare, his toes resting in a puddle of water. He’s wearing a white t-shirt that clings to his thin chest, his flesh clearly visible beneath the drenched fabric. The denim of his jeans have been soaked to the darkest blue, the material seeming to weigh heavily on his legs which are pulled up limply to house his elbows. His hair is free and wet, loose strands falling in his face in the most unkempt manner, black tangles knotting and twisting down his neck and shoulders, dripping freely onto his glistening skin. The showerhead pours on, my husband either unaware or uncompelled to stop the self-created rainstorm.

His eyes are what catch my attention though. They’re what keep me rooted to my spot as I look on at this abnormal scene. It’s the way they stare straight ahead of him as if seeing nothing yet unmasking everything. It’s the dead yet fixated look he’s giving the marble tiled wall ahead. The focused yet entirely distracted gaze he directs to the air in front of him. It’s alien and uncomfortably familiar in a way that I’m not sure I understand but that I’m certain I don’t like.

My shoulders slump and my excitement level dwindles. This is not the reunion I had in mind. This is not the way this day was supposed to happen. But then again, things don’t usually happen as they ought to with Michael. Haven’t I learned that lesson a thousand times by now?

Tugging my robe closed out of sheer modest habit, the long Michael Jackson t-shirt being the only other bit of clothing I don, I step into the generous-sized marble shower cabin, my bare feet splashing as I do, and lean over my husband. I reach up to shut off the shower, using his shoulder as means to balance myself. He doesn’t seem to notice. I pull away and move to another set of little knobs next to the bigger water-related ones and twist them so that the little vents on the ground and in the tile higher up roar softly, the heat of the sauna beginning to kick in.

Exhaling softly and sucking my lip, I cradle my pregnant stomach and take my place at the wall across from him, holding onto the edge of the bench and easing myself onto the floor. His lifeless gaze flits around a moment before finally settling on me. He makes no grand gesture of acknowledgment; only bats an eyelash. I don’t say a word either; I’ll leave that to him. I lift my knees before remembering that I’m naked beneath my shirt before further remembering that I’m married and therefore have no need for personal decency. I pull my knees up and wrap my arms around them then tilt my head so that the side of my temple rests comfortably against the warming marble tile, the water slowly evaporating into a fine mist.

We do nothing at first. Not for a while. Merely stare. Waiting…watching…listening for anything that might give us both a hint as to what the other is thinking. It doesn’t come and eventually I’m forced to pose the first question. I’m surprised at how even my voice is when I do.

“Is it always gonna be like this?” I ask quietly. “Us disagreeing about something, you shutting me out, running away then me finding you in a broken mess, forgiving you, followed by a repeat of the cycle all over again? Is this it?”

He doesn’t answer me at first, instead blinking his unfocused eyes as he struggles to piece his thoughts together. He looks as if he’s having mild trouble with that, as though his brain is sluggishly working towards regular deliberation and not quite making it. As he thinks, I take time to observe his face closely and wonder at the splashes of water still dripping from his hair onto his forehead as well as the dampness from the shower that coats his visage. I speculate if any of those drops sliding towards his chin are tears and if so, how many? Has he been crying this whole time?

“I don’t know.”

I blink. Squinting my eyes, I murmur, “You don’t know what?”

“The cycle…” He whispers and his voice is hoarse and subdued, as if he hasn’t used it in a while and is re-familiarizing himself with the technique. “I don’t know…about the cycle.”

I sigh and turn my forehead into the marble tile, my eyelids sliding shut as waves of frustration and exhaustion strike me simultaneously. My hand comes up to cover my eyes as I try to figure out how I’m supposed to answer that. And suddenly, I’m tired and ready to be back in bed, half-wishing I never bothered getting up in the first place. “So…what?” I ask wearily. “What am I supposed to do with an answer like that, Michael?”

There’s a silence, where in it, I feel my husband’s penetrating eyes, piercing even in this state, burning into me. He doesn’t answer my question, instead leaving it to dangle aimlessly above us like a worm on a hook, its fate sealed. I groan heavily and drop my hand, my eyes shooting upwards as I attempt to blink away the burning in them. I’m so tired. I don’t want to do this right now. I don’t want to be let down tonight. Why did I let myself get up? I should’ve let him stay here. Let him have this moment. I can’t keep trying to fix him all the time; I’m tired.

“I don’t know what you want from me, Michael.” My hands go up before falling listlessly back into my lap, a helpless gesture of confusion. “If all our life is going to be is an endless circle where I’m always chasing after you and you never stop running…then why I should I keep running behind when it’s clear you won’t ever let me catch up to you? Why should I should I stay here with you?”

This seems to catch his attention. His unfocused eyes settle distractedly back on me, his expression finally beginning to break through the haze and reveal little flecks of human feeling. He blinks and I see uncertainty. His brows scrunch and I see he’s lost and maybe even a bit afraid. It’s a vulnerable mix of emotions and I almost regret what I said. “What…?”

I narrow my eyes at him, hating that he’s the one abandoning me to all of this confusion and I’m the one feeling guilt for trying to find the best way to deal. I shouldn’t have to apologize for checking out other options. He should never have made me look to them.

“I don’t know either, Michael. You know, I’m scared too.” I growl at him, blinking back tears. I will not let him win this. Not this time. “I’m scared I’m going to wake up one morning, look to my left and find a man sleeping next to me that I don’t even recognize anymore—someone I’ve grown to resent, even. Because he never quit running and I never stopped chasing him and now I’m tired and there’s still no finish line in sight, so I’m stuck running, running, running until I drop. I don’t want that, Michael—I’m scared of that. So why should I stay? Give me one reason why I shouldn’t leave this right now before it’s too late?”

It’s a bluff. I know it. He might even know it but it’s all I have left. The only weapon left in my arsenal against him; the Threat. The idea that I might not stick around, the fear that he’ll have no one there to take his bullshit and hug him when he’s done throwing his tantrums…it’s an empty threat. A weapon I know to be powerless and bullet-free beneath the deadly coating but one that I still cling to in the hopes that it might be able to wake him up. Get him to stop wallowing in his pain and acknowledge me for what I am. Not a person who loves him in spite of his flaws, but his wife who adores him because of their existence.

It’s already too late.

“Because you swore—”

I scoff loudly and the sound is not without cracking. I shake my head, covering my face. That isn’t good enough. God, that isn’t good enough at all—

“And because I love you…” I look up and find him staring at me with wet bewilderment, as if unaware of why things are happening the way they are around him, and I see that I was right. Those are tears mingling with the shower water. He looks so lost and completely helpless as he mutters his reasons for my staying, “…Because I’d die without you…Because I’m lonely…and exhausted…And because…because I need help, Asha. I just need help.”

He buries his face in his large hands and I watch as a grown man breaks down like a child, weeping into his palms as I’ve never seen him cry before. The sound is oddly familiar though, as if I’ve heard it distantly. The first time I stayed at Neverland maybe…after he broke up with me…like I heard it then. Did he weep like this that night too? Did he cry like the dying when he forced himself to let me go? I don’t remember nor do I know if it was real or not. But I do know I hate seeing him like this, hate watching him hurt so bad. It’s like a dagger in my chest being twisted with each shakily released breath on his part.

But it doesn’t change the fact that he left me today…that he chose to return in this state. Clearly intoxicated by the very things I pleaded with him to give up. I recognize the distracted unfocused look in his eyes. The sluggish way his words come out. He should have stayed away until the high wore off completely. Should have at least respected me that much.

Exhaling tiredly, I reach back and pull myself up using the now dry bench behind me, my other hand holding my stomach. “You have help, Michael.” I say, shaking my head. “You have it; you just don’t utilize it.” Now on my feet, I fix him with a straight stare and say, “You need to get yourself together, Mike. Or you’re gonna have to do it alone.”

As I pass on my way to the sliding door of the shower cabin, Michael’s hand reaches out to circle my wrist. I pause, my free hand on the handle, and turn to look down at him. He stares up at me through strands of damp dark hair, beyond fathomless eyes so infinite it’s easy to believe you might not find your way out of them. But I’ve gotten lost to their darkness many times and I’ve learned you can’t always put your faith in the things you find there.

“Michael—”

“Am I like him, Asha?” And the vulnerability in that single question stops my exasperated comment cold. His eyes are wide and innocently searching, looking for reassurance from the adult perspective. His eyes well up and fall over. “Do you see him when you look at me, Ash? Do you see him too?”
My brows knit in puzzlement. “Who am I supposed to see?”

“Joseph. Do you see him?”

My heart drops. This is what’s bothering him? That he’s like his father? But why—why this, why now? And then it hits me. The lost, frightened expression at the dinner table; the meltdown in the bathroom; the sudden desire to run away and find some small happiness in our union. That night as his father belittled and broke him down for the thousandth time; that time was different. That time he saw the pain, not through the eyes of the belittled son, but through the eyes of a new father, a future father of two. He saw himself sitting in Joseph’s position at the head of the table, probably saw Skyler in the seat he then occupied looking at him with the same wounded eyes that Michael had then aimed towards his father. The vision must’ve mortified him.

But why would he think that could be possible? Why would he think he could become that man to our children?

Allowing him to tug me over, I straddle his huddled body and kneel down on top of him so that my bottom rests on his pelvis, my back against his knees. He takes my hands and places them on his shoulders, his moving down to hold my waist. He sighs and brings me forward so that his face can bury in the space between my neck and shoulder, my chin on his head. I run my fingers gently through his hair and every once in a while bend to kiss the crown of damp black curls. He hugs me tightly, his breath on my skin as he inhales my fragrance and blows it back on me, seeking comfort in my closeness.

After a while, once I think he’s calmed considerably, I say, “You’re nothing like him, baby. Joseph. You’re nothing like him.”

He’s quiet for a second before mumbling, his voice muffled against my shirt, “That’s not true. You don’t know, Asha. You’ve never been around him before—not really. You don’t know his personality the way I do…and I’m like him. I have so many of his traits—you don’t even understand how many.”

“Like what?” I mumble, combing my fingers through his scalp.

“Like his perfectionism. I get that from him, you know. As much as I hate him for how he’s done it; he’s half the reason I’m so successful. He hates not being as close to perfection artistically as possible. He hates when you don’t put everything you’ve got into what you’re doing. I hate that too.”

“So you have his diligence. Nothing wrong with that.”

“I have his temper too.” He whispers. He tightens his arms around me. “Not a lot of people know that but I do. I get angry when things don’t go the way I want them to…I get frustrated easily and I get angry. I don’t like to be told no; that comes from him too. I don’t like when people don’t do what I tell them to—especially when it comes to my music. When I’m working on my music and people don’t pay attention to the things I tell them to do, it pisses me off and I get really aggressive about it. People that have worked with me know that. It’s not always a good thing, hating to be argued with. Sometime you need someone to push back; you’re not supposed to hate it when people have a backbone.”

“So you’re passionate. That’s not terrible.” I tuck a few locks behind his ear. Kiss the cartilage.

“And the way he treats women.” Michael exhales softly and shakes his head in my shirt. “I always cursed how he treated my mother, even his other women. He was so disrespectful, so cold. I did that too. I got mad at a few women for hurting me and I took it out on many of them. I played with them and hurt them for the fun of it because it made me feel better about what happened to me. I used them out of selfishness. Exactly like my father.”

“But, Michael, that wasn’t your fault!” I argue, incredulous. “He’s the one who made you so afraid—”

“Yeah, but he didn’t make me do what I did. That was me; my idea. I chose that.” His voice breaks some despite the firm resolve there. “There are tens of girls hurting out there, Asha, and they’re hurting because of me. I can’t hang that on someone else; every criminal is justified in his own mind. I did what I did because I was selfish and I wanted what I wanted and I aimed to get it. That’s it. And it’s the only reason Joseph ever did anything too.”

I don’t say anything because I can’t think of what to say. I guess, in a way, he’s right. What Joseph did was horrible, but Michael didn’t have to hurt those girls, no one forced him to treat them as cruelly as he did. But I still don’t hold it against him. Not the way he seems to hold it against himself.

“There are so many things about him, Asha, that, fight against it or not, are just naturally innate to me.” His voice is low and broken when next he speaks, a wounded whisper of truth in a lifetime of a thousand lies, “That’s why I did it the first time, Asha. Everyone has their stupid theories about me but I know why…I know why. It’s because I saw it—I saw him in me so vividly one day, girl; he was there, like he was speaking through my mouth and I realized how much I sounded like him. It was terrifying. I hated him so much, Ash. I despised the idea of being anything like him. And when I went to the mirror that day…God, I saw him. He was looking back at me. He was f*cking there, baby…I had to do it, you see? I had to…I couldn’t look like him, I couldn’t become him…I had to.”

He sobs quietly in my chest and I am stunned. He’s never talked about this to me before; always shut down the subject anytime I got ballsy enough to try and broach it. That was a bit of him I had long ago accepted as being sealed off, never to be touched or opened. But here he is, sharing his most vital and shameful secret with me. And the way he’s doing it. The pleading tone as he repeats over and over how he ‘had to’ as if desperately explaining his side in an effort to escape punishment. But I’m not here to punish him. Not here to judge him and demean his choices further. I see nothing wrong with the decisions he’s made. If it’s something he felt he needed to do, something that helped him to surpass a despair that had otherwise been consuming him…then I’m glad he did it. I’m glad he put his happiness first for once. Disregarded whatever backlash might’ve come from it in order to appease himself. He deserves to be happy however he gets it.

I hug him to me with more strength, pressing his face into the now tear-wet skin of my collar. I feel his fingers digging into my waist through the thin BAD t-shirt. “I don’t care why you did it, Michael. I don’t give a f*ck what made you choose that. It’s your life; you decide what’s best for you. No one else in the f*cking world has a right to say what’s appropriate and what’s not in regards to how you live. But I am going to tell you something about you and Joseph, alright. Are you listening?”

He nods silently, his hands clenching against my sides.

“Alright, here it is: for every one of Joseph Jackson’s traits you own, he lacks five of yours. Do you get that? So, you see, you being like him is not the issue here. It’s how much unlike you he is. You may have a temper, Michael, but unlike Joseph, you have a generosity and kindness about you that dwarfs it. And you may be selfish sometimes, baby; but unlike your father, the enormity of your selflessness on the regular makes that trait seem like a speck of dirt on a white canvas. And, so what, you’re a perfectionist? But unlike Joseph, you didn’t stomp on the people who love you to get where you are. Sure, you’re hard on your coworkers but you’re also respectful of their abilities as individuals and that’s why, as long as you live, you’ll never hear them say a negative word about you. And you wanna hear the most important thing?”

He nods again and I vaguely hear a sob escape his muffled mouth.

“You might be strict with our kids, but unlike Joseph, you have such an abundance of pure fatherly affection that I’ve watched you lavish on Skyler since the moment you met him—even before you knew he was yours—and I know there’s no way you could hurt them. Your love shines through so much, that no matter how stern you are, their first thought will always be that it must be because you want what’s best for them. They’ll never doubt that that’s why you yell or punish or lecture. Because you show so much love every other moment of their lives. Michael, you’re the best father ever. Our son already thinks you hung the moon and our little girl’s gonna think the same thing.”

He cries into my shirt and I stroke his hair. The sounds of his sobs and tears echo off the tiles, the acoustics of the shower throwing them back at us. It takes him a minute, but eventually, he quiets so abruptly that I briefly wonder if he faked it. He leans back quickly and fixes me with a look of incredulousness. “W-Wha…Did you say little girl?”

I grin. Kiss his nose and climb to my feet using the silver tower rack above us. His hands reluctantly release me. “Yep. Found out today—and you would’ve too had you stop feeling sorry for yourself long enough to realize how perfect you are.”

Reaching into the pocket of my robe, I pull out the little black-and-white photo the OB/GYN gave me this afternoon. I hand him the picture of our tiny curled up daughter, her body already forming inside of me. Michael takes it slowly and brings it down to his lap, his dark eyes glued to the picture as though the secret to life hides somewhere among the vivid white shapes. Silent tears escape his eyes all over again and I see him bite his lip hard. He doesn’t even blink.

“But, Michael,” Growing serious again, I grab his chin and force him to look up at me. Staring straight into those dark depths, I say gravely, “You’re gonna have to get yourself together. I mean it. This…what you did tonight…it’s unacceptable. You can’t keep doing this; not now. Not when we have a child and another on the way. You’re not like Joseph now, Michael, but you can be. You might not hurt them the exact way he hurt you, but if you keep this up, you’re going to ruin them by making them watch their father come undone right before their very eyes. They’ll wonder why you chose that over them and they’ll wonder why you don’t think they’re enough to make you happy. Aren’t they enough, Michael? …Aren’t I?”

He blinks at me, the tears still falling, and I see the pain in his gaze from the picture I just painted. But I won’t take it back. This is the reality of what he’s doing and I don’t accept this as our lifestyle.

Bending so that I’m at eye-level, my hand still cupping his chin, I whisper firmly, “I won’t allow that. I will leave you before that happens. Do you understand me?”

He nods. Then nods again.

I accept that answer for the time being. Kissing his cheek, I straighten up and turn to slide the etched glass door open. “Good. Well, goodnight, baby. I’m exhausted and need to get off my feet. Don’t be too long, okay?”

I turn just in time to see him nod and slide his eyes right back to the picture, his back resting comfortably against the tiled wall of the shower. I smile and make my way back to our bedroom.

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It’s much later when he slides into bed with me. I’ve discarded the robe and shirt and lie naked and comfortable under the luxury sheets of our suite. As I feel him slip in behind me, his arm draping across my stomach and his warm front melding softly into my back, I realize that he’s done the same. He tugs my arm so that I roll over and proceeds to pull me close until my nose is nuzzling his thin, heated chest, his arms wrapping around me protectively. One hand holds my back, tracing little circles along my spine, while the other cups the back of my head, his long fingers twisting in my russet ringlets. I sigh contentedly and close my eyes, reminded so much of that night at Neverland where I snuck into his room and let him hold me until I fell asleep, our naked bodies shielding one another from outside forces.

It’s like we never left.

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When I awake the next morning, it’s to find an empty space next to me. I rub my eyes and sit up only to feel my toes kick against something. Looking down, I find a gold tray sitting at the foot of the bed on the golden comforter, complete with the best breakfast France has to offer. Lying neatly beside the carafe of tea, though, is what really catches my eye. Tied together with a neat ribbon is a red rose, a pink rose, a yellow rose, an orange rose, and a white rose with a white card leaning up against them.

Gasping, I pull myself free of the sheets and crawl to the foot of the bed to retrieve the flowers and the card. I press the multi-colored petals to my nose and inhale deeply, a broad grin breaking out across my face. My husband is the best when it comes to being hopelessly romantic for a girl. I’m so lucky I landed him.
Looking down at the card, I recognize his messy scrawl instantly. I smile. It’s endearing the way he writes.

Dear Mrs. Jackson,

You asked me if you were enough and the answer is yes. I’m going to make this right, I promise. For you and for our family. Trust me. Wait for me.

With Eternal Love,

Your Cookie Monster

P.S. Sorry for being such a Jerk.

My smile fades a little. I look around the room but find no trace of my husband, even the sheets around me leave no indication of him having been there. He probably tucked me in this morning before he left. He does that sometimes when he gets up. I look to the corner and notice with some disappointment that his bags are gone, mine resting lonely and untouched against the eggshell walls. I glance back at the letter, reaching for a scone to nibble on as I reread it. I’m going to make this right, I promise…Trust me. Wait for me.

I do trust him and I’d wait for him forever.

Turning the card over, I see that he’s listed the meaning of each rose he’s left me in his messy handwriting. I grin and read them off, all the while sniffing the fragrance of each one. Red: Love everlasting. Pink: Joyfulness and appreciation. Yellow: Friendship and loyalty. Orange: Passion and excitement. White: Reverence and honor. And at the end of it, he wrote: Quite simply, Einstein, I love you.

Clutching the flowers to my chest, I sigh and fall back into the mattress. I can’t make myself move for a while, so content am I to daydream about the man I married and long for his presence beside me. I wouldn’t mind a little early-morning lovemaking session right about now. Sighing, I absently grab the remote and click on the television as I get out of bed, slipping my feet into the slippers there. Biting on a piece of toast, I reach for my robe and wrap it around myself.

I stop when I see the television screen.

There in a square box in the corner, a French woman talking excitedly on its left, is a gritty black-and-white photo of Michael and I kissing outside a hat store in Paris. I’m standing on my toes to reach his lips, one hand on his cheek while my other holds an ice-cream cone out, avoiding messing his shirt. My face is hidden beneath the brim of a white sunhat, my long russet curls tumbling like a mane down my back. Michael, in his signature fedora despite the uncharacteristic jeans and hoodless sweatshirt, leans down to smilingly connect his mouth to mine, his right hand clutching my hip, his other unseen. But for some reason, my husband chooses to wear his wedding ring on his right hand, so that both of our matching bands can be seen from this angle. I don’t have to be able to read perfect French to know the caption says something along the lines of, Michael Jackson’s Secret Getaway with Mystery New Bride? The picture is clearly the pop icon; there’s no denying that profile and build.

I sigh and fall back on the bed. “It has begun.” I mutter dramatically. And Michael’s gone and left me.

Looking down at the note in my hand, though, I can’t resist the little smile that creeps back on my face. I don’t care. I can handle this until he gets back. My husband has finally chosen us completely and he’s off making it right the best way he can. Nothing can kill the joy I feel this morning.

So, clicking off the television, I pick up a scone and hum my way to the bathroom, calling for Wayne to book me a flight home tomorrow. Today, I’m going to put the camera my husband gave me to good use one last time. Maybe there is something I can do to pass the time until he comes back. Something for me this time. Maybe I can rediscover myself again.

&     &     &

“You ready, son?”

Michael looks over at the older man peering at him from the driver’s seat, his familiar eyes encouraging and—is Michael mistaken?—proud. He is proud of him. Michael sighs. He hopes he doesn’t disappoint him this time. Bill has been with Michael for so long now that the young icon is ready to show the older man that his time has not been wasted. He made the right choice sticking with the child protégé with the troubled family life; Michael will show him.

If only he can get his hands to stop trembling first. The trembling started hours ago and the sickness in his stomach has followed. He has resisted taking pain medication to ease the uncomfortable sensation. Besides, Bill and his other guard, Red, took every vile he owned when he left this morning. It was hard not to be disgruntled about it. He knew, of course, that they had to do. But, God, he hates the trembling.

“You’re making the right decision, darling. This is for the best, of course, dear.”

Michael turns to face the woman many years his senior on his right.

Elizabeth Taylor takes his hand in hers and strokes his calloused palms and his dry knuckles. He finds the gesture very comforting and is glad she does it. Michael was extremely grateful when he called Ms. Taylor last night after his wife had fallen to sleep in his arms, and asked if she would care to meet him in London as soon as possible; he needed someone desperately and would appreciate the support. She arrived in a flight’s time even as Michael boarded a jet from Paris to convene with her. He hated leaving his wife on their honeymoon but felt the earlier the better. He was done wasting time, the pop star. His wife had made it clear to him that she and the children were meant to be priority in his life or nothing at all and Michael meant to make them just that. He cannot risk losing them even if it means taking a break from his new bride for a couple of months. He will make sure he is all she needs him to be. Nothing less.

“I’m proud of you, kid.” Bill says from up front, his usual gruff tone somehow softer, tender. “I don’t say that to many people, son, but you…you’re something to be proud of, kid. You’re strong.”

“Bill…” Michael’s voice trails off. He doesn’t know how to respond to that. He doesn’t feel very strong at all.

“He’s right, darling. You’ve matured a lot these last several months.” Smiling at him supportively, Elizabeth tucks a stray hair behind his ear and lifts his right hand to kiss the wedding band on it. “And no doubt it has everything to do with that new wife of yours—such a lovely thing too. I knew it from the moment I saw her at that dinner—I said, that’s her. That’s the dear that’s going to stop my angel’s heart and make him a happy man. And didn’t she do just that?”

“Yes. She did.”

“Well then, sweetheart. You get your butt out there and do the same for her. I’d say the young dear is worth it, wouldn’t you?”

Michael glances down at the photo he’s just retrieved from his pocket. It is a picture of Asha pregnant with Skyler. The one he stole from her apartment that day. To it, he’s paper-clipped the picture of his unborn daughter to the corner so that he has the three most important people in his life with him should he get weak.

“Yea, Liz…they’re worth it.”

Five minutes later, he stands before the most daunting challenge he has ever experienced in the form of a clean-shaven man in a blue polo and white pants. His name tag reads: Jim. Jim epitomizes the test that awaits him, the confronting of everything he’s refused to acknowledge in himself. The weakness come to surface. It is Michael’s biggest fear realized. Yet somehow, as he clutches the joint pictures in his pocket, he is unafraid. He simply feels…determined.

“Hello, Mr. Jackson and welcome to Road to Recovery Rehabilitation facility.” Jim’s British accent is a huge swing from the French inflections Michael’s been submerged in the last week-and-a-half. Michael decides he likes the change. He always did love to travel. “Are you ready to begin your new life, Mr. Jackson?”

Michael wonders at that for a moment. Is he ready to start fresh? To begin a life free from his demons and filled with the love from his new family—his happy family? Is he ready to feel again?

“Yes, Jim.” He answers. “I’m ready.”

END.

[Epilogue Soon...)

Chapter 27: Overdose

_______________________________________________________________

He breaks our kiss, dragging me away from the hazy portal of heat I was beginning to drift into, much to my disappointment. Slowly he lifts himself off of me and stands up. He reaches his hand down. I take it, allowing him to pull me to my feet. Keeping hold of my hand, he leads me to the edge of the stage where he hops off before reaching up to put his big hands on my waist to assist me down.

As he leads me silently out of the dark room, making sure to turn off the spotlight on the way, it hits me just what we’re on our way to go do.

And oh my God if it doesn’t make something burn between my legs! Which is weird…as I don’t recall ever experiencing a sensation like this one before. It’s like everything I’ve been feeling building inside of me these past few weeks—all of the anger towards him, the hurt, the love, the appreciation, the lust, the need…it’s like it all wound up into this tight little ball and sat right in between my pelvis. And it feels so…good. I suddenly have this unfamiliar urge to apply some kind of pressure down there or something.

Oh God, I’m turning into a ho.

As we walk along the lighted path back towards the mansion, I catch sight of his tall frame with the broad shoulders and small waist…and I decide that maybe being a ho for one night isn’t so bad.

“Don’t make too much noise; the staff’s asleep.” He whispers pushing open the back door that we exited from earlier.

I nod quietly and follow him to the staircase. We climb the many flights of wooden stairs in silence, not an awkward one or anything. Just a silence. I guess we’re both thinking about what’s about to happen. I can’t believe it myself. My heart hasn’t stopped racing since he told me he loved me.

He loves me.

My head is still reeling from those words spoken so softly in the just the right context to me. I don’t fully understand why those particular questions seemed to mean so much to him but obviously they did. His demeanor was completely serious in that moment, that familiar ​yearning for something draped like silk over his eyes just like that night in New York. That night he tested me for the very first time. When he pressed me against that wall and asked if I’d let him screw me.

Back then I would have swallowed a dozen rusty nails before I let him take advantage of my femininity like that. But my, how the tides have turned. Now I’m the one doing the pleading and the begging for him to do just that. I love him. I mean that too. Giving up your virginity is something a woman remembers her whole life be it a good memory or a bad one. It’s something she carries with her through all of Life’s twists and turns. It’s something she never forgets. A sacred treasure that she only gives to someone she thinks is worthy of it.

I’ve guarded my treasure with steel arms and an icy heart for nearly twenty-one years now. Not letting anyone get near it, partly out of fear but mostly because I hadn’t found anyone who I thought would treat it right. I thought I had every male pegged. Figured I knew them all inside out. And for the most part, I did. They’ve been proving all my jagged theories of them correct for years and I’d only shake my head and murmur a little, ‘I told you so’ under my breath, laughing quietly at all of the gullible women getting sucked into their trap.

But then there was Michael.

Sure, on the outside he resembled all of the other male stereotypes. He was obnoxious, he was rude, he was immature, and he used women like his own personal disposable play things. All the things I hated about his gender. But there was more to him then there was everyone else. I could see it in him every time.

When he’d make a discourteous comment to someone out of momentary irritation…I could see the remorse flash in his eyes a second later before he’d quickly conceal it with a mask of annoyance. When he spoke rudely to his tramps of the moment or when he had sex with them and put them out…I’d see the hurt inside of his eyes. I’d see the resentment when he did it—his justification for something his victims had no control over—but I’d also see what he couldn’t help but show when he thought no one was looking. I saw his pain. I saw how guilty and horrible he felt and how disgusted he felt for himself…

Then I’d watch him overshadow it all with a blanket of anger. Because that one emotion was easier to deal with than a hundred other ones. Ones that might force him to actually acknowledge that he might not be able to trust anyone in his life and that things might never change no matter how many times he tries.

I saw that fear. I saw all of it.

And it wasn’t even hidden deep inside. It was right there. All of it was right in clear view…if only someone would take the time to stop and try to see it. All they had to do was look.

But no one ever did.

That’s why I wanted to. I mentioned before my insane need to succeed where others have failed and to prove that I’m smart enough to outdo anyone when I want to. Michael was the ultimate challenge. No one had triumphed when it came to solving the mystery that was the King of Pop. So I wanted to. I needed to accomplish it.

So I looked. And I liked what I saw underneath. And I fell in love.

And I finally found someone worthy enough to take the burden of my treasure from me. Someone who I think will take care of it. Someone I want to show me how to tell him the ​things I feel in those times when words aren’t enough. I want him to teach that skill to me so maybe one day I can apply it when one of those moments arrives in the future.

“I love you, Michael.” I whisper quietly as we arrive on the third landing. I love how those words sound, all strung together in one perfect sentence. It makes sense.

He glances down at me as we come to a halt outside of his bedroom door. His hand comes up to lightly trail down my cheek and I close my eyes at the soft heaven of his fingertips. He leans forward and barely brushes his lips to mine, leaving a searing heat traveling from my stomach down…down…downward.

I shiver.

He moves to sweep his mouth gently along my ear, his breath tickling my lobe when he whispers, “I love you more, Asha.”

I sigh and bring my hands forward to rest on his chest, my forehead pressing against the fabric of his shirt. This feeling inside of me’s getting worse. He’s seems to be the only one who can fix it. “I want you now, Michael…” I sigh into his oxford.

At that, he moves away from me and turns to open the door before guiding me inside of his dark bedroom with a gentle hand on the bottom of my back. He doesn’t turn on the light. He just takes me to the stairs leading to his massive bed. As I take each step, him following a breath behind me, my stomach seems to be doing all sorts of flips I didn’t even know had been invented.

When we get on the landing, I swallow. Nervousness has finally arrived. It hasn’t dulled the flame that’s getting higher and higher inside of me with each passing second, but it has made my hands tremble slightly and my top lip seek out the comforting shelter of my mouth. I smell him as brushes past to stand in front of his dresser.

As he digs through the drawer to retrieve a few things, I fold my hands and kind of linger…awkwardly.

I mean how am I supposed to act? What demeanor is a girl supposed to have when she knows that in just a few moments, she’s about to be invaded by intimacy in the most mature way? When she knows that in a matter of minutes, she’ll have no more secrets because every intimate part of her will be displayed to a person she can only hope will like them and treat them respectfully?

I shift on my feet a little. I reach up and twirl a strand of my hair around my finger. I look at the floor. I look at the ceiling.

I swallow again.

All of a sudden the dark room has a fiery tint to it as Michael ignites three candles with the short click of a lighter. He leaves two on the dresser and then walks past me to place the other on top of one of his stocked bookcases. I like it. It gives the room a certain mysterious majesty to it that had never been before. Sets a romantic atmosphere…foreshadowing a night that’ll undoubtedly be filled with surprises.

He places the lighter down on the bookcase before slowly turning around to face me. His chocolate Bambi eyes glance down in a manner that’s almost shy before he takes a step forward. So that he’s standing in front of me about a foot away. Locking his bottom lip securely between his teeth, he keeps his eyes on mine unwaveringly as he reaches up to ​unbutton the oxford over his white t-shirt…his fingers slowly undoing each button with a care that’s almost enviable.

I swallow as I watch him. I take in every movement of his large hands, every flex of his fingers, every twitch of the prominent veins working in them. By the time he slides his arms out of the blue shirt and tosses it to the ground, I have become the ideal observer.

I move my eyes up to his and see that he’s watching me too. His eyes caress me softly…tenderly. So, with a nervous suck of my lip I place my slightly trembling hands on the hem of my bulky blue sweatshirt. I lift it over my head with an ease that almost surprises me considering I seem to be a shaky ball of nerves.

His turn again.

Still gazing at me, he places his hands on the bottom of the white tee that’s clinging to him in the sexiest way. Gradually, he pulls it over his head, succeeding in ruffling up some of the recently straightened mass of dark hair dangling around his shoulders. He drops it soundlessly to the floor, now standing bare-chested before me. I notice a few darker pieces of flesh that contrasts with the more majority of paler skin. I can’t help but think how beautiful it is. How he’s discarded most of the make-up he usually has concealing the minor imperfections…how raw and amazing it is to see.

Looking down at the rugged tank top that drapes loosely over my bra, I suck in my lip and reach down to pull it off. Once I free my head of the material, I look back at Michael as I drop it to the floor. He bites his lip again before moving those huge hands to fumble with the snap of his jeans. Pop goes the snap. Down goes the zipper. He pushes the black denim down his legs and moments later I’m greeted with those toned legs I love so much. God they’re beautiful.

As I scan his legs bottom to top, my sight gets caught up on the bulge in his boxer briefs. And my, what a bulge it is.

I feel my neck heat up and the fire make its way down my spine all the way to my toes. That funny feeling between my legs starts up again making me shift almost unnoticeably in my lame attempt to alleviate some of the odd throbbing.

I glance down at myself before slowly touching the button of my shorts. With the shy anxiety of a school girl approaching her longtime crush for the first time, I fumble shakily with the snap…then the zip. I place my fingers in the pockets and gradually tug them down the length of my long legs. When the jean hits the carpet below me, I step shyly out of them and kick it behind me, now clad in nothing but my bra and panties.

Michael licks his lip before looking down at the white Hanes boxer briefs encasing his male anatomy. With the same gradualism that we’ve been working with this whole time, he dips his thumbs down into the gray elastic…and then pulls them down.

My eyes widen as the white stretchy material gets tugged down his thighs before ultimately contenting itself circled at his feet. If my heart doesn’t pound out of my chest and my lungs don’t collapse from the lack of air they’ve forgotten to inhale at the sight then I’d consider myself one of the luckiest people alive.

It’s…large…and scary.

Suddenly my mind jumps back to the last time I’ve seen one of those. Every time I’m ​approached by one, it’s in complete and utter fear. From someone trying to attack me with one. I remember Tyler holding his right over me…those guys at that party Elsie, Lisa, and Ren had made me go to a few weeks ago, one of those guys was already reaching for his before I kneed him. And I remember feeling Daren’s pressing hard into my stomach while he ran his disgusting tongue all over my neck and my mouth.

So it’s not surprising when I find looking at his a scary prospect. I can’t help but remember the ways I’ve been encountered with them and I can’t help but look at his in the same light. Any of them. I wish I wasn’t such a coward. I think I actually feel a water buildup behind my eyes and I can’t hold back the shiver these formerly suppressed fears are causing me. God, what’s wrong with me? Begging for sex and I’m terrified of the man’s penis!?

Geez, I hate myself sometimes.

As though sensing my fear, Michael’s face shifts to one of concern and he takes a step closer to me. I step back involuntarily, like a child burned and weary of nearing the fire again. He only bites his lip before calmly reaching out to take hold of my wrist in a gentle grasp.

“It’s not going to hurt you, girl.” He whispers coming even closer so that I can now feel his body heat.

Lowering his eyes to my hand, he slowly—so as not to alarm me—takes my hand and places it over his enlarged member. Instantly I flinch and try to retract my fingers but he keeps hold of my wrists and looks up at me. He places his free hand on my cheek and very tenderly, strokes his fingers over my skin. He leans forward and touches his forehead to mine, lightly grazing my lips.

“It’s not a weapon of torture, girl, I promise.” He says comfortingly to me, a small smile on his face. He looks back down to where I have my fist balled up hovering over his length thanks to his grip on my wrist. “Feel for yourself.”

I follow his eyes and look down at it again. Hesitantly, I un-ball my fingers and let the tips graze lightly over the soft skin there. When nothing majorly disastrous happens, I open up my hand a little more and touch my palm to it. Then, curiously, I tilt my head to the side; my brows lowered, and wrap my hand gently around the whole thing. I notice he shivers a little and I glance up to see what the deal is. But he’s only looking down at my hand and biting his lip, a look of concentration on his face.

So, continuing my curious examination, I lift it up slightly and gaze at the round testicles for a moment. Then I reach out and run my finger along one interestedly…there goes that shiver again. Sucking my lip, I do it again. And again he shivers. Intrigued, I take both testicles in my hand, still holding his member aloft with my other one, and squeeze gently. This one gets me a groan. I grin. I kind of like this. It’s like a new sense of power in my hand. He’s right; it’s not so scary after all.

But it is fun.

Not really knowing what the hell I’m doing but enjoying the random reactions I get when I do something different, I tighten my grip on his penis and run my hand up and down, watching the skin at the tip move with me and finding it kind of amusing. He lets out this half-groan-half-sigh and I look up to see his eyes have fluttered closed and he’s killing his bottom lip with all the grinding his teeth are doing to it. I like this. So I place my other hand on the base and ​pump with both of them, just to see what would happen. Involuntarily, his hips start moving with my hand I can’t help but let out a little laugh at how cool this is. They don’t tell you this stuff in biology.

I make to go faster when all of a sudden I feel his hands come to down to cover mine, restricting my movements. Confused, I look up at him but he only shakes his head before pulling my hands away with a small smile.

I start to ask him what I did wrong when he leans forward and gives me a light kiss. “This is your night, Asha. Only yours.”

I start to ask him what he means by that but he’s already grabbing my hand, tugging me towards the bed. He helps me up on the king size mattress, and I scoot back toward the middle. Instantly those butterflies erupt again along with that burning sensation between my legs…now accompanied by this weird wet feeling. I’ve never been aroused before. Men use to kill my appetite just by looking at them. This is new territory for me. Very foreign and odd…in a good way…I think.

Slowly, Michael climbs on too, crawling over until he’s kneeling before my pulled up knees. Biting his lip, he looks at me with a mixture of that playfulness and intensity that only he can muster. It’s a nice mix. He places his hands on my knees before…slowly…sliding them…apart. Gasp.

He bends forward so that he can touch his lips to mine, still kneeling between my legs. He pecks my lips gently a few times before I feel that now familiar feeling of his wet tongue licking along my bottom lip. I open my mouth and greedily suck it in, dragging it into a battle of dominance. I’ve gotten used to this part. I like kissing him…it’s always exciting.

I can tell he’s more than up for the challenge as he wrestles my mouth back. Then swiftly, he pulls away from my mouth, leaning down to dot light kisses along my neck and collarbone…then my shoulders…the top of my chest. He kisses along my right shoulder again, this time bring a hand up to tug teasingly at the strap of my bra. Slowly, he leans away and looks at me with hazy dark eyes. God, he’s gorgeous.

He pulls me to sip up and I do as he silently instructs. He wraps his arms around me as he leans forward to kiss gently at the side of my face and down along my neck and shoulder, his lips caressing my skin with feathery light softness. I close my eyes as he moves to my other side and repeats the gesture. I feel his hands roaming up and down my back in tender strokes before they stop at my bra clasp. He gently drags my earlobe into his mouth just as I hear the soft click of my clasp unhooking.

He leans away and looks me in the eye as his hands caress my shoulders…down my arms…then back up to my shoulders. This time when they trail down my arms, he takes both bra straps with him, leaning in to take my lips prisoner to his once again. I shiver as the air hits my nipples sharply. I feel that nervousness again. I’m kind of glad he’s kissing me instead of looking down right now…I feel kind of embarrassed about him checking out my boobs. They’re not that great.

He moves away from lips, grazing my cheeks with his mouth and continuing his trail down my neck and shoulder. This time he moves to kiss the top of my chest before pulling away slightly to get a good look at my breasts.

​I feel my face heat up. I don’t know why, but I just feel like I’m disappointing him or something. I’ve seen some of the girls he’s slept with these past few weeks. They’re a lot more packed up there than I am.

But you’d never tell it, looking at him. I swear I see him smile and bite his lip before he goes in to kiss me ther—oooh! Wow…that’s nice. I feel his tongue come out and kind of flick repeatedly over my nipple and my head just kind of falls backwards and my eyes kind of fall shut. This…this is nice. Oh, God in heaven help me as he opens his mouth wide and practically takes my whole boob into his mouth. He kisses it and licks at it like a pro. When he moves to give my other breast the same perfect treatment that has me arching my back and tangling my hand in his air, I have to wonder how many girls he’s done this to. His experience is showing.

“Oh, Michael…” I hear his name escape my lips in a sigh as he tugs on my nipple ever so gently with the suction of his lips. This is amazing! Whoever invented this should get a cookie. Seriously.

Finally he pulls away (much to my disappointment—we could do that all night if I had my way) and starts kissing and softly licking his way down my ribcage. Oh man, this guy knows what he’s doing. The further down he gets the more that fire and wet sensation seems to heighten. When he reaches my stomach, he pauses and dips his tongue into the small opening of my navel. I let out a little moan and arch into his mouth. Whoa. I’ve never made a sound like that in my life! He’s got skills.

Then he continues down on his way. He gets to the hem of my underwear and kind of trails is finger along the band, making that throbbing in between my legs get even worse. What the hell? I wish I could do something about that, dammit.

He glances up at me and bites his lip, his Bambi eyes all innocent. “Can I?” He asks quietly.

I kind of shrug my shoulders, wishing he’d hurry up and do something already, maybe stop that annoying throbbing down there. “That was kind of the point, I guess you could say.”

He grins and shakes his head at me. “Stop being sarcastic, girl. I’m tryna make love here.”

“Right. My bad, Cookie Monster.”

“Thank you.”

He focuses his attention back on my plain blue bikini style panties. I kind of wish I would’ve taken Lisa’s advice and invested in a little style when it came to my underwear. I just never figured Michael Jackson would be laying me down for sex. Guess that’s why you gotta stay prepared for all occasions. He slowly pulls them down my legs, sitting up so that he could get them from around my feet. He tosses them on the ground and then his eyes are on me.

This time they’re roaming all over me, chocolate soaking up every nook and cranny of my body. So much for not feeling embarrassed any more. My hands kind of drape self-consciously over my exposed skin, not really succeeding in covering anything, though. He gently pulls them away, his hazy gaze never once breaking stride in their hungry exploration. He smiles, his white top teeth glowing a little in the candlelight.

“Just like I suspected.” He whispers with a sigh.

I frown, sucking my lip in before asking meekly, “What?”

He grabs my leg and places it on his shoulder, turning his head slightly to the side so he can ​kiss my ankle. “You’re perfect.”

My throat gets knotted up for a moment. Did he just say I was…perfect? I blink a few times so I don’t cry or anything stupid. But the jerk his words just caused my heart along with the simultaneous back flip my stomach just did is almost too much. Geez, am I really this lucky? Cause I’m having a hard time believing that.

He kisses my ankles and then slowly dots kisses along my calf…up to my thigh. I close my eyes as his tongue juts out to make circles around my inner thigh…so close to that throbbing. I have a feeling if he did something like this there, then it’d go away. He moves over to my other thigh and gives it the same treatment. Licking and kissing softly along the inside.

“Michael,” I sigh closing my eyes. There goes his name again. Darn. Now I see why I always heard his sluts saying his name over and over.

“Imma make you feel good, girl. Don’t worry.” He murmurs moving to kiss at the top of my pelvic bone now. Oh, that’s the last thing I’m worried about. He’s doing a great job already. I’ve never felt this many amazing sensations in my life. Let alone at one time!

Just as I close my eyes, content with the pleasing feelings he’s causing my inner thigh—my eyes snap open. I let out a loud groan as my head goes back against his soft pillows and my hands jump up to curl tight into his thick hair. Did I just…was his…was that his tongue I just felt lick me right there? Did he just—oh my God! There it is again! And again.

His tongue is flicking out, the hot wetness soothing my throbbing center as though it were made to remedy it. He opens his mouth a little more and basically starts making out with my vagina. Is this even legal!? Oh my gosh…it feels soooo good. Why didn’t I do this sooner? If I would have known it could feel like this, I would have let him do this ages ago!

Suddenly he starts licking at me faster and I can’t help but tighten my fingers in his hair and move my hips up to meet him. It’s as though I no longer have control over my body anymore. As though a whole different person just crawled into my skin and started working the functions without my consent. She’s the one throwing her head back and releasing all of these odd sounds that are foreign to me. She’s the one pushing his head closer to her. She’s the one who doesn’t want him to stop because surely the world will end if he does.

Then he groans against my heat, sending vibrations shooting inside of me along with his tongue…and that’s when it happens. I don’t know what it is but it happens. It’s like my whole body is setting off sparks and more sparks. It’s like an explosion that starts off in my center and then explodes and spreads throughout my whole being, filling me with the best pleasure I have ever known and sending my body into a small fit of spasms. I feel something leaking out of me into his mouth but I’m too high off of the sensation to really care or take notice of anything but this great feeling.

“Michael!” I yell out his name for no reason at all.

Then…I become still. It’s like all of my energy just evaporated. I lean back against the pillows, my chest heaving with my soft gasps.

Michael’s face swims into view again as he crawls up my body and hovers over me supported by the weight of his palms on either side of me, a big goofy smile gracing his features. “So how did it feel, girl?”

I blink a few times, still a little disoriented. “Wha…?”

​He grins. “Your first orgasm.”

“My first…” I blink a few times, my mind still struggling to catch up with time and space. I sigh and reach out to wrap my arms around him, pulling him down on top of me. “It was…perfect. Thank you.”

“No. Thank you, girl.” He murmurs softly against my neck, closing his lips delicately against the skin in a gentle kiss.

I close my eyes and let out a sigh. I turn my head in order to catch his mouth with mine. I do. And I kiss him. Softly. Then a little more demanding. Then a bit harder. And then harder until I’m burying my hands in his hair once again, and tugging him closer to my face. I taste something different on his tongue…something spicy and kind of sweet…wait a minute! That’s what was between my legs! Whoa. Don’t know whether to be disgusted by this or not. My mind says ew but everything else points to it being a turn on. I moan lightly into his mouth.

“Asha,” He groans, breaking away to place tender kisses along my jaw and neck. “Girl…I need…”

“What?” I sigh, closing my eyes as he licks along my collarbone. I love that.

“I need…” He pulls back a little in order to gaze at me. He bites his lip and pushes aside a strand of my hair. “You.”

I suck on my lip. I know what he means. I need him too. Just the thought of it makes my stomach tighten in both nervousness and anxious excitement. Just the thought of having him—the man who knows me better than anyone else, who I trust with all of my fears, who I’m not afraid to be fragile in front of, who I’ve come to love…having him inside of me completely…It makes me ache with longing. I need him. My drug. My fix. The one hit that’s going to cure me of all the left over pain and resentment still harbored somewhere inside of me. I want it.

“Michael,” I say quietly, pushing some of the scraggly dark hair from his face and showing him with my eyes what I want. How bad I need him. “I want you…inside.”

He bites his lip, his brown gaze jutting downwards briefly. I can see own nerves. I almost smile. I’m the one about to lose my virginity and he’s got butterflies? Man, how much do I love this guy? Finally, he sighs and leans in to kiss me softly, one hand stroking my cheek. He looks down at me with comforting eyes, “I’m going to take care of you, ok?”

I swallow. Nod my head. “I know.”

He bites his lip. Kisses my nose before moving so that he can toss some cover over us. My heart is pounding like crazy. My mind is racing with all kinds of thoughts. How much I want this. How much I need it. How it’s going to feel having him buried deep inside of me, connected in every way. I’m literally throbbing with anticipation now. Then suddenly, I feel his fingers on me. They’re stroking me softly, his thumb rubbing my sensitive area in small circles. He trails one finger around the whole hot area before dragging it to my hole. I bite my lip and release a little sound that might best be described as a shriek of surprise as he dips his finger inside of me.

“The wetter you are, the easier this’ll be.” He explains quietly, leaning forward to kiss my shoulder while his finger and thumb continue to work on me down there.

I close my eyes and release a soft moan as my lower body arches impulsively into his hand. It ​feels weird. Having his finger inside of me like that. Different. I’ve never even masturbated so this is like crazy. I like it though. Especially how his thumb is rubbing me in perfect circles. I can him feel moving his finger around inside of me, exploring me there. I gasp. He’s pushed another one in. I can’t stop the groan I hear coming from me as he pushes both of them in. I feel my hot warmth contracted around his digits tightly, unused to anything invading me like this. He continues to places soft, tender kisses along my neck and shoulders, meanwhile I can feel myself soaking all over his hand by now.

Abruptly, he removes his hand and I start to complain before I see him shifting a little bit, my legs spreading to accommodate his body between them. Oh my gosh. Ohmygoshohmygoshohmygosh. This is it. This is the moment I’ve been wanting on for days…The moment where he makes me his. Where I hand my treasure and my secrets over to him. My stomach balls up in nerves and my breathing stutters a little.

Anxious. Scared. Excited. Nervous.

He looks at me and bites his lip, his dark eyes locked on mine and revealing so many emotions. I’m back in that dizzying place looking into his eyes sometimes takes you. So many emotions—too many to count, all swimming around confined within the two shining brown orbs on his face. He leans forward and presses his forehead to mine, touching my lips softly with his.

“This is going to be a little uncomfortable at the beginning,” He whispers kissing me softly again. “It may hurt a little…but I swear it’ll get better. I’ll be gentle with you, I promise.”

I swallow. This is it.

Tightening my arms around his neck, I try to calm down as I wait for it. Michael leans forward and captures me in a kiss. At first I’m not really returning it because I’m so anxious about when he’s going to do it. But then the more he kisses me, the more I find myself slipping under his spell like I always do. I twirl my fingers in his hair as I focus on his tongue in my mouth and how much I like the taste of his kisses. He’s all I can taste right now. The only feeling in the world is his mouth sucking and nipping tenderly at mine. I kiss him harder, wanting to be closer to him.

Just as I’m forgetting about anything but the taste of his tongue…I feel it.

I stop kissing him and let out a little shriek as I bury my face in the crook of his neck, my body instantly tensing up. I felt him push just barely inside of me but for him, just barely is enough. His immense size is already stretching me more than I thought possible. My shoulders become a little rigid and I feel all of me tighten and stiffen terribly.

“Shh…” He says soothingly, kissing my shoulder. “Baby, I need you to relax…your muscles are too tight down here; I can’t move. I promise it’ll be better in a moment but first you have to loosen up…relax…”

Surprisingly, his calm soft voice manages to sooth me just a little. I want this. I want him inside of me. I can’t mess it up now. So with a swallow, I suck my top lip and close my eyes, concentrating on unwinding my nerves. I feel my body calm and my tightly contracted inner-walls release just a little bit, giving him enough room to at least go somewhere.

“Thank you,” He whispers, grazing his lips over the skin of my neck and making me close my eyes at the feeling. “I love you, Asha…know that.”

​“I do.” I manage to breathe.

“Good…”

And with that he eases himself into me a little deeper. I whimper, the pain that comes when the body must stretch for the first time to accommodate a larger organ ripping through me. He kisses my shoulder softly, whispering words of comfort as he guides his huge length further into me. I close my eyes as tears well up in them. This is more pain than I’ve probably ever experienced physically. It hurts like hell. God, when is he going to be all the way in!? Why is he so damn big? I whimper a little more as he continues easing in, still kissing my skin and apologizing quietly.

Finally he stops and I swear I can feel every nerve, every pulsating vein of his penis stretched fully inside of me. You couldn’t slip a piece of paper between my hot walls and his length. It’s like slipping a latex glove on your hand.

“I’m sorry, girl.” He whispers earnestly, kissing my nose and forehead with gentle pecks. Then he bites his lip and locks his dark gaze on mine, filled with so much concern and care as he strokes his thumb softly against my cheek. “Are you, okay?”

I try to focus on my uneven breathing before I can answer. My eyes are scrunched close in discomfort and my top lip is being suctioned into my mouth like it was summoned there. Everything about this is uncomfortable. The new sensation of being filled to the brim by something as hot and real as a man’s cock is definitely something that takes some getting used to.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” I breathe out a moment later, nodding my head, my eyes still tightly closed. “Just…just give me a second to get used to it.”

“Take all the time you need, girl.” He says quietly, pressing his forehead to mine. “All the time you need…”

I breathe in, filling my lungs with hot air, before releasing it. I do that for a couple of minutes until my lower body has adjusted somewhat to the feeling of this new invasion. Then I take a moment to actually think about the position I’m in. Just a few days ago I was punching him in the face because he stopped talking to me and now I’m lying in his bed beneath him joined to him closer than I’ve ever been. It feels…perfect. It makes perfect sense being here. It makes me smile a little.

“Okay,” I whisper, tightening my arms around his neck and burying my face in his collarbone again. “I…I’m ready.”

“Sure?” He asks concernedly. I only nod my head, breathing in a deep breath and letting it out. He kisses my neck. “Alright, then. I got you, girl.”

I feel him drag himself out of me almost completely, his tip still inside. My body instantly exhales at the relief his exit causes…and then he’s right back in, pushing himself deep inside. I wince. It still hurts. But I don’t say anything. I just want him to keep going. It’ll go away at some point, right? He repeats the gesture slowly and I hear him groan.

His eyes close and I hear him murmur something like, “God, you’re so tight…Never felt…anything…this good before…”

Even though I still feel some pain where we’re joined, I can’t help but feel a small surge of pride his words cause. Never felt anything this good before. Well, I wish I could say the same ​but unfortunately I can’t. This discomfort is still here. He pulls out of me again and this time goes in sooo slow. He gets in so deep that he’s almost pelvis to pelvis with me.

That’s when it changes.

I release a low moan as suddenly, most of the pain disappears and instead I’m struck by this surge of pleasure. I gasp when he pulls out again, new sensations starting to take form inside of me now. I can feel all of the places his huge penis is filing, touching me in every corner inside of me. I feel myself arching into him, aching to increase our contact. My walls tighten around him and loosen again as I struggle to get more of him in. I have this terrible urge to feel him. Insatiable almost. It scares me because I still want more…but aren’t we as close as we can get already?

Noticing my arching back and the loud moans of his name coming from me in my desperate attempt to bring him impossibly closer, Michael bites his lip and places his hand under my knee. I start to ask him what he’s doing but then my eyes roll so far back in my head that I think I just left earth. He’s placed my knee on his shoulder and angled his hips so that now he’s going even deeper than before. He increases the speed a little. Pumping inside of me at a different rhythm, rotating his hips slowly to the left…then the right…speeding up…slowing down…

Driving me crazy. Insane with need.

“Michael!” I yell as I rush to keep pace with him. He adjusts my knee on his shoulder before biting his lip and pushing in so deep I think he’s going to come out of my mouth at any moment. Right to the hilt.

“Mmm, girl…” He groans staying buried inside of me as far as he can go and then spinning his hips around and around in a circular motion, sending my mind in a frenzy.

Then I feel it.

That knot of excitement and jumpy nerve endings in my stomach again. Heat flaring up where he’s pounding gently inside of me. Pressing this one spot. This one spot that makes me scream out each time he does it. And he keeps doing it…and doing it…and doing it until…I scream his name out and scrape my nails down his back involuntarily. I want to apologize for that. Tell him I didn’t mean to dig them that deep into his skin. But I can’t. All I can do is arch my whole body into him and say his name over and over again as that ball of fire explodes inside of me for the second time tonight. Relieving me of all these sexual fluids that seem to make it that much easier for him to continue going in and out of me.

I gasp as my body convulses against him.

I tighten my arms around his neck, every one of my senses heightened in a momentary state of bliss.

Every nerve in my body is extremely sensitive to my surroundings. The feel of him still moving inside of me despite my orgasm is that much more incredible. The sound of him gasping and moaning against my cheek is that much louder. The salty taste of my own sweat dripping into my mouth is that much stronger. The smell of his sweet cologne cloaked in a veil of sweat and my sexual release is that much more poignant.

“Oh, Michael!” I gasp as he starts hitting that exact same spot again and again…this time much harder.

​I can sense he’s close. His frenzied pace and the groans and sighs coming from him hint at the inevitable. Not wanting to experience the time-stopping sensations I just did alone, he leans down and captures my right breast in his mouth. Still moving hard inside of me, he takes my nipple in his mouth and sucks firmly on it, causing me to throw my head back in pure ecstasy. I can hear his headboard connecting with the wall. He’s really going at it now. He’s really close.

I want it. I want my drug. I want that secret hit he’s been holding out on for weeks. I want my fix of him.

Tightening my arms around his neck and digging my fingers into his scalp beneath the wild mane of thick dark hair, I try out this newly discovered muscle action I have. I clench my inner walls around him hard, hoping to squeeze my fix out of him. He lets out a guttural groan and almost slams himself deep inside of me, the full mass of his penis disappearing impossibly within my being for the first time.

I scream his name as I get that feeling all over again. Ball of heat. Lick of fire. Fireworks in my spine. Explosion.

But this time, I’m not alone.

Moaning out my name (the best sound I have ever heard—ever!), the wet slippery feel of my second release triggering him, Michael’s body shudders against mine as he tries to steal a few last hard pumps out of it. I tighten myself completely around his member, suffocating it within my walls, and milk him of what I crave.

I feel tears of bliss trailing down my eyes and I almost laugh from how good it is!

I can feel it. All of it. I feel him releasing dose after dose of my hit. I feel it thick and warm seeping into my stomach, better than a needle directly to your veins. My drug. I feel it running out of him like a faucet as he moans his pleasure into my neck. I’m getting higher than I could have ever dreamed of being. The best fix of any drug ever invented.

My eyes rolls to the back of my head as he finishes up his load inside of me…I can feel myself losing it…going insane from it…overdosing on his fluids.

Overdosing on these feelings he’s causing.

Overdosing on Michael Jackson.

Then he shudders again and falls down against me. For a moment the only sound filling the room is that of our rugged panting.

“Incredible.” He gasps out breathlessly, hoisting himself tiredly onto the weight of his elbows so he can look down at me. His dark hair is plastered to his wet cheeks and forehead, his eyes trailing my face with a softness in them that I hardly ever see anyone invoke from him. He touches my nose with his finger…trailing it down over my lips. “I love you, girl.” He sighs.

I can only laugh breathlessly, giddy with all of these newly discovered sensations and emotions. I grin and reach up to kiss his mouth. “I love you too, Cookie Monster.”

He bites his lip and smiles. Then sighing tiredly, he makes to move off of me.

“Wait!” I voice loudly, wrapping my arms around his shoulders like a scared child.

He looks down at me concerned. “What? What’s wrong? Did I hurt you?”

I suck my lip. I shake my head. I pull him down so that I can bury my face into the sweet sweat of his collarbone. “No…I just want you to stay.”

​He smiles and kisses my shoulder. “I wasn’t leaving. I was just going to roll over and take my weight off of you.”

I shake my head.

“I want you to stay…inside. Just for a little longer.” I whisper, closing my eyes contently.

It’s true. Feeling him there…just resting in there…it makes me feel good. Comforts me. I don’t want him to ever leave even though it’s inevitable. If I could, I’d tie a rope around us and keep him inside of me forever.

It makes sense. And when he leaves it probably won’t even feel like a part of me anymore. It’s like I handed this part of my body to him in wrapping paper and whenever he’s not using it…it’s just sitting there waiting on him. It’s not mine anymore.

He bites his lip, his eyes glancing down almost shyly. Then he nods his head and pushes back deep inside of me, kissing my neck softly.

“I’ll stay.” He whispers.

“How long?” I ask.

“As long as you want me to.”

I frown and suck my lip, thoughtfully. Then I ask, “Do have any rope?”

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