Book II Of the 'Not Vanilla' Imagine Series
𝚃𝚆: includes strong language, Sexual content, Explicit content.
Readers discretion is Advised
Imagines Between you & Michael Jackson.
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✰ 1979 Chicago Word Count: 10.8k
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The cool night air wrapped around him like a suffocating blanket, doing nothing to quiet the storm in his mind. The streets of Chicago stretched out before him, dark and empty, the faint glow of streetlights casting long shadows that followed him as he walked. His loafers scuffed the ground with each slow, deliberate step, his eyes never lifting from the cracked pavement. He kicked a small rock ahead of him, over and over again, like a mindless game. But his thoughts were far from the sidewalk. She was all he thought about. She was everything. She was all his body, his heart, his soul knew anymore.
Every day, every night, it got worse. The aching, the gnawing emptiness she had left behind. It was relentless, a constant presence that made it harder to breathe, harder to think. He could still hear her voice in his head, the venom in her words as she called him obsessed, crazed, a stalker. The way she had said it like he was some kind of monster. But she didn't understand—how could she? She couldn't handle him, couldn't handle the intensity of his love, the way it consumed him, how it bled into every part of him. She couldn't handle how much he needed her, how much he wanted to touch her, to feel her.
And yet, those memories—the ones she left him with—were a double-edged sword. He could still hear the sweet, breathless moans she made when his body pressed against hers, could still feel the way her skin felt under his fingers. Those sounds, those sensations—they were engraved into him, haunting him, filling every quiet moment. Her scent still lingered in his apartment, a cruel reminder of what he no longer had. It was everywhere—the faint traces of her perfume that clung to the pillows, the lipstick-stained napkins he had collected from restaurants, the pictures that covered his walls. Even her lace panties, used and intimate, still carried her essence, and every time he touched them, it sent a shiver of longing through him.
He glanced up as he walked, and there it was—her house. His breath caught in his throat as he saw the familiar lights glowing softly through the windows. The living room light was on, and so was her bedroom light. He stopped, the rock forgotten as it rolled off the sidewalk and into the gutter. His heart pounded in his chest, the thrum of it so loud he was sure it echoed in the quiet night. His eyes scanned the empty street, checking for any signs of life, but there was no one. Just him.
