Early in the year of 2003, Michael Jackson begins writing a book about a woman he calls the love of his love. Years before, he lost touch with her so he holds high hopes that once his book is published, it'll reach her. But after unfortunate events...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
July 4, 1983
For almost an entire year, I held on to hope that Michael and I would get back together. That I could convince my best friend to just let me be happy. Even with all of the misery she witnessed instilled within myself, she didn't want to budge. Our friendship was non-existent at this point. Leaving Michael felt like such a waste of time. I was ready to let him know how sorry I was. And how certain I was to never hurt him again.
"Hello?"
It was refreshing for my heart to recognize his voice. "Hey. It's...me." I couldn't stop smiling.
"Who's me?" he asked sweetly. I could feel his smile through the phone.
"Isabella." I figured Nya never got around to telling him I would call. "Nya gave me this number to reach you."
"Oh." I felt that smile disappear. "How are you?"
"Michael, you don't have to be nice to me. If you really can't stand to talk to me, I understand."
After a few moments, he responded. "We can talk."
"I'm sorry." I didn't know where to go from there.
"Umm..." A rising sound of rattling and clinking was heard from his end. "Sorry, hold on a sec..."
As I was waiting, my phone beeped in my ear, alerting me another caller was trying to get through. I didn't even risk clicking over.
"Hello?" All background noise had ceased.
"Hey."
"Umm...yeah. We don't have to talk about that."
"What else is there to do then? Just pretend it never happened?"
He was hesitant. "Well it happened so...I'm still upset about it," he confessed. "You really hurt me," he whispered.
"I know. I'm sorry. I'm not even friends with Janelle anymore."
He scoffed. "Don't ever say that girls name to me ever again."
I stayed silent.
"But you made a choice and I have to somehow accept it."
"Well, that's the thing. I was hoping maybe we could start over. Or continue what we had."
"Isa, I'm sorry but I can't even handle this phone call." He seemed to be breaking down. "I just..." His voice began to fade. "I just...the way you hurt me. I don't ever want to feel that pain again."
"Michael, I promise you I won't."
"No. I just can't risk it right now. I have a lot going on. And I can't risk being hurt like that again. I was finally starting to heal and this phone call...hearing your voice is like peeling a scab."
A few tears of shame began falling from my eyes. This was the worst outcome I knew could come of this phone call. "I'm sorry."
"I'm sorry too. But I have to go," he said painfully urgent.
"Understood." I hung up the phone. Not able to handle any more of his contagious pain.
Quickly, I dialed another number. I wanted to be put through to someone I knew could easily put a smile on my face. As soon as he answered, it was instant.
"Hey."
"Hello, beautiful. How may I be of your assistance today?"
I sighed heavily through the phone.
Somehow, he was able to detect weary. "What's wrong?" he asked in a protective manner.
This guy... I met him a year ago at a club my sister took me too. He was a musician I never thought I'd ever end up forming a friendship with. "I'm afraid to tell you."
"Oh...could you possibly be in love with me?" he asked playfully. That was just his sense of humor. I knew he wasn't serious.
I laughed through my tears. I never thought in all my life that I would be so attracted to this guy. He wasn't my type. A wild dude known for his sexually overt lyrics. But he was so nice to talk to. His continuous flirting made me feel wanted. And I knew he was attracted to me, but wasn't sure how he really felt about me. "Maybe I am."
He laughed. "Really, Isabella, what's wrong?"
"If I tell you, promise you won't get upset?"
"That's something I would never promise. If you say you killed my dog, I'm going to be mad."
I rolled my eyes. "I called him."
"Michael?" He was already aware of my past relationship with Mr. Jackson. It was one of the reasons I think he never went too far with me. "Why?"
"I just wanted to try again."
"Try what again?"
"I'm so confused," I said full of sudden regret. I shouldn't have told him because I realized I had really fallen for this guy.
"So am I. You said you were trying to get over him."
If I didn't tell him how I felt, I thought I would vomit. "Prince?"
"Yes?"
I knew if I was to confess to him how I truly felt, that it would only go two ways. And I knew there would be no turning back if it went in my favor. I didn't know if his rivalry with Michael was real. Still I felt like I was choosing sides. "I have a confession to make."
"What?"
"I think it's obvious."
"It's not."
"That I have feelings for you?" I said in the smallest voice.
"Oh...I was afraid you would say that."
My heart ached. Just as bad when Michael ran off the phone.
"You can't be with someone like me. I'm no Michael."
"I know. And I like what you are."
He was silent for a while.
"You're different. Exactly what I'm looking for..."
"What are you looking for?" he whispered.
"Healing. Affection. Need."
"And you think out of all the men in the world, I'm best for that?"
I smiled. "I don't know all the other men in the world."
"Then I think you should keep looking. Because I'm not him."
