Extra Scene: Chap. 49. Airplane Outtake

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Chuckling to myself on her behalf, I shake my head and return my attention to Michael as he slips my panties off before blazing a trail of wet kisses back up to my lips. I wrap my legs around his back and French him for a while, giggling at the way the tequila taste mixed with his usual peppermint flavor. They should make a peppermint-tequila drink and serve it in all the clubs. It would sell reaalllly fast…

“This is…a temporary…loan…” I murmur vaguely as he grinds into me through his boxers causing me to tighten my grip on his shoulders.

“Temporary loan…” He concurs nonsensically, his attention already on where he wants to put George. Mmm, George…I miss George. Always such a good friend to me in my time of need…

I gasp and throw my head back, a small smile coming onto my face.

Hello, George…

&             &             &

I push my head back into the pillow just as he pushes the wide tip of my best friend into me. I’m pretty sure it should go in puuuurrrrtttyyy easy seeing as I’ve actually been fantasizing about how great George would look between my legs again since we got on the plane and he exchanged those black slacks and big military jacket for simple crotch-hugging jeans and a thin white oxford. I tried not to get hot and bothered but boooyy, If those jeans weren’t saying “Asha, fantasize about me!” then I don’t know what was! Haha, his jeans can talk. They talk a lot, actually…

“Waitaminun, waitaminun!” Michael mumbles suddenly, shaking his head with a contorted expression as though thoroughly upset with himself. Hey! Did he really just pull it out!? Nooooo….

“Miiichaeel, put it back!” I whine, slapping his shoulders repeatedly with the palms of my hands. “Put it back, put it back!”

“Stop it!” He groans back, glaring at me as he slaps at my hands. “Noo, I don’t wanna do that first! I wanna do somethin’ else!”

“Shut-up—put it back!” I moan, not in the mood to hear what he wants to do. I don’t care what he wants to do. I want George! George…George, where are you, buddy? I look down searchingly and grin big when I find him, wrapping my hand around him tight. “There you are!”

“Hey—let it go, I donwannadodat!” Michael’s pouty voice cuts in as he reaches down to try and undo my hand but I only scowl at him and pull on George hard, successfully making him leave me alone. He bites his lip and groans a little as his hips push inadvertently into my hand. That’s more like it. Geez, I swear Michael can get sooooo annoying. Does he really have to be here?

“Michael, go away!” I snap, thumping him in his flat pale stomach. “Me and George wanna spend some qua-lit-titty-time together and you’re bothering us!”

He pauses in his moaning/complaining to cock a seriously confused brow at me. Heheh, he looks like a cartoon…“Who’s George?”

I roll my eyes. He’s so stupid. I bet these bees and the people playing these drums around here somewhere are smarter than that. “You don’t know who George is?”

He frowns. Scratches his head a little. “No…”

“You really don’t know who George is?”

“…No…”

“You reeeaallllyyy don’t know who George is?”

He pauses. Then, after a moment of serious deliberation…decides he really doesn’t care. Instead, he uses the opportunity to tickle my armpit causing me to giggle like a hyena and unthinkingly free my strong grip on George as I cross my hands instinctively over my chest.

Laughing successfully, he ignores my growl of complaint as he moves George out of my sight in order to bend over me and press his lips to my neck. I forget about my strong urge to slap him in the head and call him a kidnapper as he sucks on my collarbone hungrily. He just loves putting marks on me. He used to do it all the time back waayyyy in the day when we used to have sex like every other hour during my last week in happy, happy, Neverland. I still have a few bruises that refuse to heal…I wonder if he can find them. I’ll give him a dollar if he does.

I frown suddenly. Oops, I left my wallet in the other room. Guess I’ll just give him the gum wrapper in my pocket as a prize instead…Michael likes gum.

 “Asha.” Michael murmurs into the ivory skin of my upper-chest.

“Whaduyawan?” I groan irritably as I curl my fingers into his hair. He lowers his kisses toward my breasts and begins inhaling my nipple. Gahh…he has an A-Okay mouth. I love his lips…specially that bottom one…

“I…luuurrrvee your small tiiiitiiieeess.” He states fact-fully as he continues to prove that declaration true by licking sloppily between the two as though he can’t quite decide which one he likes better. “I think your right one’s prettier though…it’s got flare.”

“Really?” I sigh like a school-girl, thinking that’s the sweetest thing anyone’s ever said to me. Feeling the need to repay the compliment, I say, “I like your long…socks! They make your legs…look verrry, verry…leggy.”

He only mumbles in approval before popping my nipple out of his mouth and dragging his tongue down my stomach. When he comes to my pelvic bone, he leans back a little and tilts his head as he examines my womanly goods expertly. I giggle and toss my ankles on his shoulders. He shakes his head and smirks up at me, placing his hands on my inner thighs and pressing down so as to spread them wider. I suck my lip as I think about what he wants to do first. Yay! This was always his favorite part—he told me once that I tasted better than alllll of the candy in his concession stand. I asked him about the skittles. He said I tasted better than a rainbow; he said I tasted like the gold at the end. I asked him how he knew what gold tasted like. To this day he still hasn’t given me a straight answer….

“Asshhaaa…” He sing-songs, lowering his head to my glistening warmth. Man, I’m so horny for this guy! Why don’t we just run far, far, away and have sex all day long? That way we wouldn’t have to worry about annnyyything. I bet we wouldn’t even be sick of it. We could be stranded just like Gilligan forever but we’d never try and get off, I don’t think. On second thought…yeah, I’d probably beat him with a coconut a few times.

“What?” I question him, leaning my head forward as my eyes eagerly trail over the centimeters separating his mouth from my wet lower lips as though by staring at him, I can eat away the distance. Heheh. No pun intended (or was it? hmmm?).

“Guuueesss what I wanna dooo…” He grins wiggling his eyebrows ridiculously. I bet he can guess what I’m gonna do to his big head if he doesn’t go ahead and put it where it belongs.

“Michael…”

“Whatever do…you need…my princessss?” He makes a semi-bow type movement.

“I’m gonnnaaa giv-give u five seconds to guess”—I hold up three fingers—“and if yooouuu don’t figure it out by…five seconds, then you’re…um…suspended.” Hah. Take that.

He looks at me absolutely befuddled. “From what?”

Thinking on my feet (haha even though I’m really on my back), I say, “From…dancing! Ever, ever…and ever…and forever again!”

“…How ya gonna do dat?”

“That’ssss…it; I’m leaving! And I’mmmmm taking George with me!” I announce, pushing him away from me and reaching for his beautiful penis. But he surprises me by slapping my hand back and shoving me back a little forcefully.

Pointing a finger in my face, he slurs, “Giiirrrlll, donchaknow I gotta eat before I sleep? I ain’t had a meal all day and ya gunna help me ffffix that, gottit?”

Smiling brightly, I respond by lying back on my back once again, tucking my hands behind my head and—shooting him my most compliant look—spreading my legs. “Okay.”

He grins, his perfect teeth catching the light. I take this brief moment of pause to admire him in all of his naked glory. It’s been a minute since I’ve seen anything this magnificent. He’s so small yet so powerful…damn, fuck the descriptions; I’d rather he just get on with fucking me instead. My head is beginning to hurt and that yelling chick keeps interfering with my thoughts and it’s starting to piss me off. Something tells me this chick just does not want me to get lucky. Man, I tell ya. The nerve of some jealous people is astounding.

“Keep ‘em open for the Coookie Moonnsstterrr.” He sings, grinning from ear to ear as places his large palms on my inner thighs to hold my legs open. I lean my head back against his fluffy pillows and bite my lip in anticipation. That gentle wave of energy that’s been bubbling inside of me on low ever since we stumbled our way in here is now rising to full power as I unintentionally begin to squirm, the physical and psychological dependence on him bringing itself to light once more as he just…barely…grazes his tongue the length of my slit.

“Oooh, yes! Fuck, yes.” I curse, arching my back as the unexplainable shockwaves shiver up my spine and then dive headfirst back down to my cunt like a lit match following a trail of gas.

Raising his head, Michael shoots me a stern look. “You…watch your mmmmouth….young lady.”

“Oopsies.” I giggle, covering my mouth with an apologetic hand. Snorting, I pat his head very gently. “Sorry, Cookie Monster.”

“It’s okay.” He shrugs unconcernedly before returning his attention right where it belongs.

Still holding my legs open, he leans forward and takes a moment to close his eyes and inhale, seemingly getting lost in the aroma of my arousal.

I run my fingers through his hair and try and count the individual strands. Probably a trillion pieces to make up one perfect head of woolly hair. One strand…two strand…three strand…ahhh yesss! I groan and fist my fingers in his locks as Michael abruptly begins to lick at my moist inner walls and lower lips with his tongue. Sucking messily at my clit for a second, he surprises me by swiftly biting down on the sensitive flesh causing me to moan out his name and struggle against his restraining hands as my thighs jerk in an impulsive attempt to close. Mmm, he’s suuuucchh a ffffreak!

I lean my head back contently and close my eyes, enjoying the oral pleasure he’s always had a fetish for giving me. “Shh…give it to me, Michael…I wannn ittt.” I sigh out as he begins to prod my entrance with his tongue before hungrily tongue-fucking me like the feen he is. I literally have to bite my hand to keep from screaming his name as he hastily shoves a long finger inside of me to aid his insistent tonguing, breaking briefly to blow cool air on the wet area. Finding my special spot with his finger, he begins to poke and prod at it deep within me as his mouth sucks furiously at my swollen bud.

“Oh…oh…ohhhh!” I moan helplessly as I feel my body twist and jerk beneath him. “Keep it riiiigghhttt there, baby. Uhhh…”

As I continue to get worked to the brink of nirvana by his plunging finger and talented mouth, I vaguely take note of the way his lips seem to curve against my wet heat, making me believe he’s smirking smugly, along with the tint of arrogance in his voice as he quietly sings in his tipsy state, “Haha, III still knnooww where it issss.”

Hell yeah he does.

“Oh, sh—Micha…Mich…Mi...Mi…oh, God, baby!” I can’t help crying out as he shoves another finger in and begins pumping them furiously into my burning warmth like it’s done something to him. Still beating my thang up with his hand, this incredible temporary loan of mine leans forward to begin making hickies around my bellybutton. I throw my head back and almost cry from how good I feel. The rush of the alcohol mingled with the rush he’s eagerly providing with his fingers pumping desperately inside of me makes me sure I see the vague outline of stars beginning to form on his ceiling.

“Tell me something, Asha?” Michael mumbles lazily against my stomach, his languid tone contradictory to the hard work his hand is still putting on me.

“Ooooh…” Is my only response as I began to urgently hump his hand, trying to quicken the pace and reach the bliss I feel lingering just out of my reach.

“Can you feeelll it?” He tunefully murmurs out his Victory album hit before giggling profusely into my stomach just as I feel my wet walls begin their stiff tightening around his fingers.

“Helllllll yeaaaa!” I manage to moan out.

I’m almost there…almost there…ooh…ooooh…aaahhh ye—no! No, no, no! Don’t take them out! I almost cry as his fingers pull suddenly from my warmth just as I’m sure my orgasm is about to send me skyrocketing out of this airplane and floating above it on a cloud. But before I have a chance to think, or whine, or complain, or weep…Michael’s got George plunging hard into me full force.

Oh, God in heaven, sweet mother of Jesus, holy Moses in a hand basket—this is too much. Michael Jackson isn’t huuuummmannn! He’s a machine. A perfectly sculpted sex machine sent to earth to provide women with the ultimate pleasure only disguised as a genius entertainer. Hallelujah! I see the light…damn do I see it…and boy is it bright…I’m blind!

“That’s iiittt girl, lemme have iiitttt,” Michael whines, holding tight to my ankles as he plunges hard into me like he’s a hammer and I’m the stubborn nail that just won’t go in.

Oooohhh mmmmyyy goooossshh.

I reach up to drag my nails down his chest as I toss my head from side to side going crazy as my orgasm finally hits—even better than I thought it’d be (and I’m a girl with high expectations when it comes to this guy). Oh, God, it’s like it won’t stop! My body seems to spasm multiple times as waves and waves of euphoric ecstasy tear at me again and again…fuucck meee. I squeeze his stabbing penis with my drenched heat and feel the pulsing of my cunt as he grits his teeth and drives harder, the soft slapping becoming a semi-loud squelching as I release all of my pleasure in liquid-form around him, giving George a proper pool party I imagine.

I do cry. I have tears trailing down my cheeks and words that have no meaning flying out of my mouth as my brain struggles to grasp the unexplainable heights of rapture and delirium I seem to be encountering on the way up…

Buuuuttt of course, Michael’s not done with me. He’s never done when I first am. And when he hastily pulls out of my body as I finish up the last of my spasms in order to flip me over so that I’m on my stomach, I briefly wonder if I can even take it again so soon. But needless to say the thought of taking a break from his huge magic-stick jumps out of my head gracelessly as he enters me again from behind. I muffle my scream in the pillow in front of me, tearing my teeth into it as he grips the sheets on either side of my head for support to steady himself as he begins to ride me from behind. Gooollllyyy, I’m pretty sure that seven shots of tequila and this amount of good-lovin’ should not be mixed together. This could be potent. Ahhh, but it’s… soooo…gooood…

“Do…you love me…Michael?” I moan out woozily, arching my body back into his pounding.

“Mm…I love you…so…damn much, girl.” He mumbles vaguely, kissing around the back of my sweaty neck as he long strokes me.

I grin and let out a breathy laugh as he continues to fuck me the way only he can. “I…knneewww it!”

Moaning, loudly, he removes a hand from the sheets he’s gripping to prop himself up and instead tangles it in my hair, tugging on the brown locks and pressing down on me so that I can feel the slickness of his dampening chest touch to that of my perspiration-drenched back as he grazes his lips between my shoulder blades. He whispers out words and sentences that I strain to catch as he thrusts into me but I fail to hear what he’s saying to himself, too far gone as he humps me into blissful mindlessness and too tipsy to focus on any one thing as my mind begins to skip around erratically; displaying pictures and words and random visions before me.

Love…sex in his office a week ago…lust…new job…college…Skyler…hate…my father…California High football locker room…Cody…Sweet, lovable Cody…need...trust…Michael kissing my neck right now as his fingers trail down to massage my back…lust… love… hate… Michael…Cody…Skyler…father…lust…college…no…yes…bad…very bad…good…Cody…cheater…addict…Michael…faster…harder…HARDER…

“Ashhhaaa,” Michael suddenly whines out as he slams into me, his pelvis resting against my bum as he releases his hard load of cum into my warmth, causing me to mimic his gesture and explode with a moan of his name as I bury my face into the pillow again to muffle my cries of need for him.

He slows down, rocking into me bit by bit for a moment as we both struggle with trying to extend the sexual gratification for as long as we possibly can. I kind of don’t want him to leave. He feels soooo good inside of me…Why did we break up again? I dunno…but he has an amazing penis…reminds me of those sausages…those jumbo ones you by with the chili…what kind of girl leaves a penis like this? She’d have to be prreeeetttyyy loocccooo…or just stupid…my head hurts really bad now…I feel woozy…I’m tired…

He lies down on my back for a while, still buried deep in my dripping center seemingly unwilling to part with it so soon; and just occupies his unsteady brain with kissing along the sides of my neck and resting his hands over my much smaller ones, intertwining our fingers. I don’t mind the extra weight…he’s not that heavy…feels great actually…he smells like sweat and chocolate…I’m so stupid…that screaming girl is finally starting to make a little sense…she says I shouldn’t have done this…that I’m a cheater…involved in an official affair…I don’t like that word; affair…such a stupid word…

Finally, Michael sighs fuzzily into my neck and rolls over, successfully removing George from his home—or rental apartment more-like now—and flops onto his back, a lazy hand draping languidly across his eyes.

Quietly he slurs, “Imma…baaad…person.” Sniffs and falls asleep.

I frown sleepily, my disoriented thoughts gradually disintegrating as sudden lethargy creeps over me.

I don’t think he’s a bad person…I think…he’s a good person…who’s afraid of…being alone…but who’s just so…used to it…that he can’t break the habit…of acting like he is…when he isn’t…that’s not bad…that’s just…sad…if only he’d realize…if only he’d understand…

I yawn as that drunken throbbing intensifies, causing my face to contort into a wince.

Turning over, I lie on top of him and bury my nose into his thin pale chest, feeling both safe and insecure, both right and terribly wrong as I fall asleep there, snoring loudly along with him.

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Oh. My. God.

Are you shitting me?

We didn’t. No, no, no, no. There’s no wa—I mean we couldn’t! Could we?

But judging by the way Michael’s sleeping form lies twisted up in the sheets, his naked body pressed into mine as he snores into my shoulder coupled with the fact that I’m just as naked as he is and just as tangled with him…I’m thinking somehow we did. Yep…there’s no mistaking that hard-on pressing into my thigh.

I glance over at the clock and gasp. Almost eight. We’ve been locked up in here for three hours!?

B-But that doesn’t make any sense! Why would we have sex? I mean, we’re not that stupid. Are we? We already made this mistake a week ago and we both agreed without talking that it was something that shouldn’t have happened…even if it did feel like heaven. It was a bad heaven. A trip to lustful paradise that we had no business taking. So why the hell would we hop right back on the same train to go on the same vacation to that same forbidden turf?

We wouldn’t…would we?

Suctioning my lip in nervously, I glance down just as Michael mumbles something in his sleep and shifts some, successfully planting his face right in the small crevice between my breasts, his lips lightly grazing against the sensitive side of one as he sighs.

My neck floods with heat, running up to my cheeks and causing them to ripen to red, I’m sure. Dammit. Thank God, I’m still on that freaking pill he made me start taking a year ago. I hadn’t stopped, first out of habit, and then out of the sex I kept intending to have with Cody. Lord knows, I don’t need another baby crawling around before Michael even knows about his first one.

Even though I know I have no business to and that I should be kicking myself, I can’t help but think how nice it feels to wake up to him nestled safely between my breasts again, his warm body pressed into mine. He used to always bury his nose there in the mornings or whenever we were done and had time to lay around afterwards. He once told me it made him feel secure. Almost like a child seeking comfort in his mother’s touch, he sought comfort in the warmth of my breasts in the mornings and the sound of my heartbeat.

Hesitantly, and much against my guilty conscience that’s slowly but surely beginning to awaken, I lift my hands and place them gingerly to the back of his head and neck. His dark curls feel damp beneath my fingertips, making the woolly black locks even softer than usual.

I close my eyes and bend forward to press my lips to the top of his head.

I shouldn’t be here…God, what’s wrong with us? Why the hell are we so drawn to each other; so magnetically compatible yet so chemically explosive? We try to be apart because we’ve convinced ourselves that it’s for the best, that what we have is too much too soon and to easily destructible…but we keep falling into old habits. His body plus mine equals perfection. Sometimes I’m positive our frames were purposely designed to fit together like puzzle pieces. When he’s inside of me…I swear there’s nothing more natural.

But that doesn’t matter. Dammit, none of that matters!

It doesn’t because we both consciously acknowledged that we were over a long time ago. We even went so far as to move on with our lives…or at least pretend. He’s got a fiancé back at his home waiting on him, trusting that he won’t break his promise of monogamy to her and will come back just as devoted as when he left. And I’m no better. While I lay hugged up in bed with some other man, I’ve got the most loyal, humble, and loving guy patiently waiting on me to call him when we touch down in London, to tell him if my flight was well and how I am.

And no matter what reasons I give, no matter what justifications my indecisive mind will continuously come up with, no matter how much I still want Michael…it’s wrong.

Plain and simple. I’m a cheater now and so is he. I’m breaking promises to someone that I care about by being here and so is he. I’m getting nowhere in my search to form some kind of understanding regarding us because I’m so wound up in remedying a craving instead of figuring us out and neither is he. I’m getting myself stuck, tightening these chains holding me to him with my own hands instead of freeing myself from all of the baggage; from the ball-and-chain.

Oh, God, I’m such an idiot.

I want Michael to make progress—one of the whole reasons that I bothered to even take this job. I want him to come to some kind of terms with himself and his life and his choices; I want him to finally take the time that it takes to sort out all of these demons, to make an attempt or even simply acknowledge the fact that he’s unsatisfied and wants some kind of clarity; I want him to be tired of floundering and come to the realization that he wants better…for him. I just want to see some kind of change—something to show me that he can bear the responsibility of taking care of his priorities without quitting on them the moment he decides it’s too hard; something to show me that he can raise a child and not let his own conflicting feelings for himself and everyone else tarnish his judgment and thinking and send him spiraling out of control while Skyler watches.

I’m worried about him. I’m worried and afraid and I just want him to want better for himself. To acknowledge for him that he deserves it and to obtain that inner peace that comes with it and that would make being there fully for someone not as hard a task as he seems to think it is.

I want progress out of him.

 And what am I doing? Nothing but setting us both back every time I give into him. For every sexual thought and act we pursue uncommitted behind our partners’ backs, that’s three steps backwards instead of forwards that we’ll have to struggle to make up at some point in time.

This is so wrong. I’m not supposed to be here, in his arms, in his bed. This isn’t my place anymore and I can’t just force myself into the role because I want to fuck him on the regular whenever his future wife isn’t around or my serious-boyfriend is too preoccupied to notice.

Ugh. This isn’t me. I’m not this girl and I’ve got to stop allowing myself to behave like I am. I can’t help but feel the beginnings of thorough disgust for this chick I’m beginning to emulate and I don’t like it. I don’t like me. I feel wrong.

That’s it.

I can’t keep doing this. I won’t. This is the end of the line for us as lovers…unless he figures out what he wants and I figure out what I want and somehow it wounds up being each other. Because otherwise, this past sexual encounter was officially our last. The end. Finished.

…I sigh sadly, inhaling the possibilities for us before releasing them with a wisp of air as I exhale.

It is pretty sad though…especially since I can’t remember any of it.

It’s our last lovemaking session and I can’t remember a damn thing. Ironic, right? I hate irony. The pounding in my head tells me the tequila, while being the driving force behind the sin being committed, is also the culprit that stole it away from me, leaving me with only the actuality of his body curling into mine right now as proof that anything even happened. I can’t remember. I simply can’t. The last thing I can recall clearly is him closing his door and wrapping his arms around me as he kissed me. But at that time we were still fully dressed so seeing as we’re not anymore, I’m guessing that wasn’t all that went down.

“What the fuck is wrong with meeee?” I groan, slapping my palm to my head. Dumb idea. Immediately, I’m rewarded with something that reminds me of a sledgehammer. Ouch.

And then suddenly…I’m burning up.

Every place his skin is brushing against mine feels aflame, almost as though karma wants to burn me with my own foolishness. Abruptly, I place my hands against his shoulders and shove, suddenly desperate to be from beneath him. Afraid of the way that I’m still aching for him despite everything that says I shouldn’t be. I don’t need to feel him right now. I don’t need his unique scent of perfection messing up my resolve. I just need to move. I feel crowded. Overwhelmed. Too much of him…way, way too much of him.

Just as I get his weight off of me, I throw back the sheet encasing my nude frame and quickly roll out of his bed. The plane gives a tiny lurch when I stand, causing me stumble a little as I quickly snatch up the first items I can grab (which turns out to be his boxers and my shirt), slipping them both on as I haste to the bathroom.

“Asha…?” Michael’s groggy voice comes from somewhere behind me. He’s awake.

Unable to help myself I glance back to look at him just as I reach his bathroom door.

He’s slowly propping himself up on his elbows, one of his hands rubbing sleepily at his eyes. The moment he’s done, he removes his fingers and fixes those dark treasure-troves on me, the deep mahogany acting as portal to another realm as they try to suck me in. His black bed hair is a muddle of disarray atop his head and shoulders; the dark curls tangled and twisted messily. His broad neck is marred with traces of my mouth’s assault on him via the red and purple hickies in the middle of forming. His pale chest tainted with crimson from the strokes created by my nails. I knew they were long over-due for a trim.

Damn, I want him so bad…This particular thought actually has me close to crying. I place my hand over my mouth as a reflex to keep everything together.

Michael frowns at me, concern immediately etching his features. He sits up a bit more. “Asha…I’m sorry, girl.”

This does it.

I don’t know why but the fact that he’s apologizing to me for something we both screwed up…it gives the tears reason to escape. Before he can take notice of my newly weekend state or say anything about it, I turn away from him and step into the small airplane bathroom, closing the door behind me. The moment I do, I fall onto the toilet seat and bury my face in my hands, angry and miserable. Fighting against myself because there always seems to be two sides of me when it comes to Michael. This time…it’s a brutal fight. Because I can’t stand the Asha that’s begging me to go back out there and kiss him, who knows he would comply and that they could make-love again—this time sober and with a promise of remembrance.

But this time, I’m not siding with her.

I’m with the more logical Asha who is slowly beginning to understand the concept of cause and effect. Of consequence. Of unintentional sabotage to the people who matter. She knows that the Asha still crying for me to go curl back into his arms—if only to sleep the morning away there—is not entirely sane. She knows that that Asha—Michael’s Asha—is illogical to a fault and would say anything to convince me it’s alright make-love to him under the circumstances.

She knows this and is calmly explaining to me in my ear that if I want Michael to be who he needs to be, if I want him to stop fighting against himself so much, if I want him to understand the importance of being there for himself so that he can be there for someone else…than I have to give him space to do that. She tells me that I can encourage him from afar—preferably not in his bed—and that I’m giving him reason to question himself by simply being here…and that that’s enough. She tells me that if I have any hope for him and for his happiness (even if it is with that optimistic woman who clearly loves him) then I need to step back. Because his happiness is all that matters. Because that’s the real Michael. The one who likes to smile. The one who tells jokes and laughs loudest at his own. Because that’s the Michael our son needs to know.

I inhale a shaky breath and release it, my hand combing through my tangled hair as my resolve begins to set in deep. I wipe my face but stop a second later when I realize that for the moment, it’s futile. Tears keep coming anyway. I’ll just have to wait for them to run out.

Standing up, I look into the circular mirror with the golden rim and stare.

My eyes are almost bloodshot. Wow, I hadn’t realized I was crying that hard. My overly-curly hair is in matted knots all over my head and dancing a frenzied dance all around my shoulders. My neck is covered with love-bites—not unusual after an intimate time with Michael—and my face…my face just screams resignation. I almost laugh but my voice-box is apparently lost somewhere inside this hallow cave of a woman.

Who would have thought to see such a look of resignation on the Asha Amelia Rockweiler? The stuck-up know-it-all who refused to give up on a problem until she got it right; even it meant staying up for twenty-hours solving endless equations to reach it. Just so she could wave it around bragging and prove to everyone and herself that she was worth something…because secretly, she didn’t believe she was. Who would have thought to see that mean, bitter, and sometimes unnecessarily cold girl looking in the mirror and seeing someone full-grown and softer in her place?

No one. I doubt anyone expected the change. I know I didn’t.

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