With Michael

Chapter 29 - Bad Days

23rd of August, 1993
Brooklyn is 27, Michael is 34

Michael: "Are you done, baby?" Brooke asked from outside the bathroom door.

"Yeah, I'll be right out." I said, my voice cracking.

I've done so much crying these past few days, I could barely speak anymore.
Who knows if I'll be able to sing tomorrow when we go back to touring.

I was in complete pain. That's all I felt.

She was trying to help me deal with my agony. She led me a shoulder to cry on every night, and stayed up with me just to calm me down.

But, it wasn't enough. The pain took over my mind, my body, my heart.
I was debating with myself whether to contact my doctor and ask him for pills.
Eventually, I did. I asked for something strong enough to make me sleepy as well. All I wanted to do was disappear.

Demerol.
I read the label over and over again. Closing my eyes, I took a deep breath before shaking two pills out of the bottle. I swallowed them on a dry throat and hoped they would take effect quickly.

Guilt started creeping into my mind as I remembered all the hell I put my wife through last year.

I hurried to hide the pill bottle in a place I knew she couldn't find it, and opened the door.

Brooklyn was making the bed, quietly humming a little tune.

She turned to me with a smile plastered on her face.

My heart dropped. I felt like I just betrayed her by taking those pills.
The feeling got stronger with every passing moment.
When she placed her lips on mine I completely fell apart inside.

I pulled away, telling her I needed to put some clothes on.

~

Brooklyn: Michael was distant. I couldn't blame him, though.

This whole situation sucked. I couldn't believe someone would actually lie the way Evan did.

He sighed into my neck before pulling away from the cuddling position we were in.

"Why would Evan do this to me?" my husband asked for the millionth time this week.

"Because he's a pathetic asshole." I mumbled.

I looked into his eyes; they were darker, and seemed colder.

Since when are his eyes so cold?

~

That night, I called Frank over to help me convince Michael not to continue tour with everything he had going on right now.

"Are you sure you're ready for this? We could always start in a few days, Mike." Frank said.

"Frank, my fans aren't responsible for what's happening. They deserve to see me perform. I can't let them down." Michael told him, putting another shirt in his suitcase.

"Frank's right, Michael. Maybe it's best we don't start tour right away." I put a hand on his shoulder.

He shot me a glare, "As a dancer on this tour you should support my decision, not his."

"But as your wife I should worry about you and that's what I'm doing. You're going through something emotionally hard, I don't want you to over do yourself. You know you'll end up doing it. I'm scared you'll... That you'll..."

I couldn't let myself finish the sentence. Just the thought of him going back to that awful habit made me flinch.

I hadn't even started to pack myself because I hoped Frank and I could change his mind, but it was obviously not working.