In Love With Greensleeves✔️

Chapter One: His World

I've always had trouble differentiating reality from fantasy. Reality is defined as anything of or relating to the norm, whereas fantasy is defined as something unrealistic, only found in the realm of imagination. But, within the definition of fantasy lies the root of reality, real. Whose to say there is no difference and that my confusion is irrelevant?

"Work hard boy, I push you because you're not like them" Joseph always told me. "You're special Michael, baby you have to use this talent" Mother always reminded me.

I have to be the best, but my best was never always to be acclaimed aside my brothers. I needed to branch. Motown knew this. Joseph knew this. My brothers knew this, but only I could see it. I was offered to stay, but I couldn't. I was guilt tripped into staying a little longer, but I promised this time I wouldn't.

And so then came Off The Wall. That's where it all began. That's when I met her. That's when things seemingly changed for me. That's when for the first time in my life, I felt unleashed. I felt free. Although my freedom would be cut short along the ways of revamping myself as a solo artist, I always had something to fall back on, more so someone.

Fire and ice, that's what we are. She's a poised panther, I'm a meek field mouse. She never shies away with sharing her uncanny thoughts, I remain quiet and avoid any means expression. Many thought I was completely insane for falling for the woman whom held my image in her palms, but I didn't care.

She was a sculpture that I just couldn't turn away from. Wafted with confidence and undeniable beauty, she demanded attention; even more than she demanded answers.

Her name, Birdie Zora Greensleeves. Yes, quite an interesting name for a woman. I think that fueled my attraction. Long legs, slender frame absolutely marvelous. Contagious laughter, pearly smile just breath taking.

Our meeting, unconventional. Our love, inevitable.

"Michael! Boy how many times do I have to call you for you to answer?!" He fumes, his voice nearing my door.

I turn away from the window, feeling the sneaky breeze of the outside nipping at the back of my neck. The breeze calmed me, just enough to bare his expression as he seemingly bursts through the door. I hate when he interrupts me. I heard every single one of his calls, I just chose not to answer.

Standing at nearly five-foot-two, he eyes me perfectly. His green eyes frame mine, erring his apparent agitation.

"Did you hear me callin' you boy?" He demands.

Yes, I heard-is what I think to say before silently shaking my head, no. I'm not one for conflict, especially with Joseph. Instead of confrontations with him, I tell him whatever he wants to hear, just as long as he leaves me alone afterwards.

He holds his glare, obviously unpleased by my silent answer.

"I called you for five minutes straight! This house is big enough for my voice to echo! Michael don't play with me boy! I ain't in the mood!" He spits, now using his meaty index finger for emphasis.

I stifle the vomit developing in my stomach. It's an instantaneous reaction to this man. He scares the living hell out of me. I've always felt the need to regurgitate or have actually regurgitated within being in his presence. He embellishes this much fear and even resentment in me.

There's a long silence between us. He's waiting for an answer that will not come. I'm afraid that if I do make an effort to reply, my apple from earlier will appear in an distasteful presentation. So there I sit and he stands, neither of us willing to break the awkward silence. I wish he would just move along now. Just as him, I'm in no mood for conversation.