MATURE CONTENT IN THIS CHAPTER !
After she told me what she would like, we both bid our goodbyes and went our separate ways for the time being.
Once I picked up dinner, I drove over to her house, which had to be one of the prettiest homes I'd ever seen.
She lived in a beautiful two-story home which expanded over a beautiful plot of land, it was like a fairy wonderland.
I slowly walked up to her front door and knocked softly.
I heard the door begin to open. Her bright green eyes peered around the door, "No soliciting!" She shouted, shutting the door.
"Hey!" I shouted, bursting into a fit of laughter.
She opened the door again, giggling like a maniac.
"Come in, come in," She laughed.
"Woah," I said, widening my eyes.
The interior of her home was decorated with plants, and 70s themed furniture, along with some knick-knacks here and there. I loved it.
"I see you've met my ghost, Percy," She joked, "You look like you've seen him."
"No, no! Your home, it's just so beautiful," I began, "It goes perfectly with the one who lives inside it." I winked.
"Oh, you're smooth," She laughed, leading me to the kitchen.
After we ate dinner, we sat on the couch and got straight into talking about everything we could, nothing was off the table and we could finally take our time.
"Here wait, let me put on a record," She said, walking towards her record player.
She put on Solomon Burke's 'Greatest Hits' record, which was one of my personal favorite artists.
"I love him!" I smiled as she took a seat next to me on the couch.
"I figured you would, after all we both have excellent taste," She laughed.
"So," She began, "Tell me about yourself, what makes you think you're fit for this position?" She joked.
I laughed loudly, "Girl, you're too much."
She giggled, taking a sip of her wine, "You think I'm kidding, go on."
"Well, my name is Michael Joseph Jackson, born on August 29th, and from Gary, Indiana. I grew up in a house with my mother and father and 8 other siblings."
Her eyes grew wide as I revealed the number of siblings I had, "8, wow, your mother must be a saint."
"Oh, she is," I laughed, "My father is a little bit of a different story. He was pretty rough on us. He'd call himself a 'strict disciplinarian,' but he was just downright mean."
"I'm sorry, Michael. That must've been awful," She said, rubbing her thumb over my knuckles.
"Oh, it's okay, we can't control what we're born into. The only thing we can change is how we come out of it," I swallowed, "He's changed now, but I think that's only because the family barely even speaks to him. He never really understood what he did, and I don't think he ever will."
She put her head on my shoulder and hugged my arm, "I get it, I know that's something that takes time coming to peace with."
"It really does. It's nice to talk to someone who gets it." I said, relaxing my head on hers, "Is your father the same way?"
"Oh boy, he's almost identical to yours," She said, "He was pretty rough on me and my mom. He was big into yelling, which was not a fun thing to be around. To this day, he still has no idea what he did was wrong. That's the thing about people like that, they've been so hurt that they allow themselves to hurt others."
