Don't Walk Away (A Michael Jackson Love Story)

Chapter 7:

It was almost an hour before I was tired of the separation. Throwing on some clothes, I stood up from the bed weakly. My eyes stung. I had cried a few times, draining myself of any tears.

"Mike," I called.

The faint music from the main room was cut off. He walked into the bedroom, blinking in surprise at the fact that I was awake and clothed.

"Do you wanna get something to eat?" I asked. There wasn't much more to say for conversation. I picked at my fingernails.

"I guess. Room service?" Michael offered. He picked up the phone. I nodded as he started to dial.

I approached the balcony. There was a group of fans on the sidewalk far below. I stepped farther out, to the railing at the edge. The small crowd hollered. Their noises of excitement gained volume as I waved. Cameras flashed and clicked, signaling the presence of paparazzi. I cursed under my breath and gave a final wave before hopping back inside.

"There's people down there," I informed Michael.

He hung up on the phone. "You can hear them from here?" He obviously didn't see me on the balcony.

"No. I waved to them."

"The paparazzi are out there!" Mike exclaimed. His eyes widened. "There's gonna be stories about us tomorrow."

Just then the room service cart rolled in. Next to one tray was a stack of newspapers and magazines. I picked one up. "Why wait until tomorrow?"

Michael and I were on the cover of the first magazine. The title read "Michael Jackson Back with Spicy Ex-Girlfriend?--More on Page 4"

I flipped to page 4. Sure enough, there was a picture of us running down the hallway to my room to pack my stuff.

Mike snatched it out of my hands. "Sorry ladies! Michael Jackson is unavailable yet again. He's back with his sassy ex-girlfriend, Lily Davis. She made headlines after reportedly punching a secretary in the face at a studio back in 1980. The lovely young woman suddenly stopped making public appearances with the singer and went on tour as a back-up dancer, most notably for Jackson's rival, Prince.

But apparently the couple decided to get back together--fast--judging by Michael's lack of shirt. How long do you give this reunited duo? Seems like this power couple is really trying to stay together this time." He looked up at me after he finished reading the article aloud.

"They seriously called me 'sassy' and a 'lovely young woman'?" I burst out laughing.

Mike put the magazine down. "How did they get that picture?" he demanded. He was far from humored.

"I don't know. A lot of famous people stay at this hotel. You can't expect to be perfectly secretive," I guessed. "And they already know you're here." I pointed at the balcony. As if on cue, the people below cheered loudly.

"I don't want your reputation to be ruined," Michael explained. He sighed unhappily.

"You should worry about yourself." I picked up a french fry from my plate and ate it. "I probably already have the reputation of slut in the industry."

"But you're not. You're all mine." Mike walked over, wrapping his arms around me from behind. He nestled his head on my shoulder right beside my neck.

I giggled and twisted my head to kiss his cheek. He smiled, then nudged me away from him. "Go eat. You need it. You're getting too skinny for me, girl."

I took an obnoxious bite of my sandwich in front of him. "Happy?" I mumbled with my mouth full.

Michael rolled his eyes. He ate his own salad politely. "I don't know how I can love you sometimes," he teased.

"Well, you're lucky you got my heart. You know how many guys have asked me out on dates in the past two years?" I asked rhetorically.

"Did you go on any?" His voice was guarded but curious.

"Nope. I felt like I would be cheating if I did." It seemed like every night when I went to a bar, there was some guy trying to make a move on me. Some of them were really sweet. It's a shame I declined them.

"So sex didn't count as cheating?" He raised one eyebrow.

"I already told you, I have needs. I can't just stay abstinent for two years!" I folded my arms over my chest.

Mike picked up a pepper from his salad and threw it at me. "Eat your sandwich!"

"I believe that pepper throw declares war," I said devilishly. His eyes widened. "No. Wait, no food fight!" he screeched.

I cackled. He knew he could never win a food fight with me. No matter how hard he tried, he always ended up being the one covered in food. I chucked a french fry right at his face. He ducked in an attempt to avoid being hit. The fry just got in his hair.

I continued to throw french fries at him until he retaliated with a tomato. It splattered on my shirt. I gasped. "That's not fair!"

"You never play fair," Michael retorted, continuing to toss vegetables at me. I screamed. "I've been shot!"

I fell to the floor, acting as if I was actually hit by a bullet. Apparently it was realistic enough, because Mike dropped to his knees beside me, panic flashing in his eyes. "What?" he yelled. His voice cracked.

I sat up. "Kidding," I said. I attempted a laugh. His terrified face stopped me. "I-I thought you really got hit." He pointed at my stained shirt. "Tomato," I explained.

Michael sighed in relief. "The window was open, and with all the people down there, it could've happened."

I took his hand and smiled. "I'm fine. Don't worry about me." I picked up a stray piece of tofu from Mike's salad and stuck it to his face. He picked it off and kissed my cheek.

I stood up from the floor, pulling him up with me. I hugged him. "Thank you for caring."