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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❀ 1989 Detroit, Michigan Word Count: 6.4k
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Two years had passed, and with them, everything had changed. A year ago, Michael had graduated college with a bachelor's degree in music, something he had worked tirelessly for, against all the odds. Now, two years into their relationship, they had moved into their own apartment together. The streets that had once held a grip on him were nothing but a memory. He had left it all behind, the danger, the uncertainty, the chaos. The fellas—Max, Tip, and Ski—had followed his lead, all of them getting jobs, slowly pulling their lives out of the streets, but Michael had been the one to truly transform, to choose a new path for himself and for her.
"Baby?" Michael called out as he stepped inside the apartment, locking the door behind him. The click of the lock echoed in the quiet space, an eerie stillness hanging in the air. He kicked off his loafers, the soft thud barely breaking the silence, and removed his fedora, placing it gently on the side table. His eyes scanned the dimly lit living room, his chest tightening with a growing sense of unease. "Baby, where are you?" he called out again, his voice louder this time, tinged with worry.
Silence.
A feeling of dread settled in his stomach. "Shit," he muttered under his breath, his heart picking up speed. He moved down the hallway, the weight of each step heavy on the old hardwood floor. He reached their bedroom, and his eyes fell on the closed bathroom door, a strip of light spilling out from beneath it. He walked over, his fingers wrapping around the cold brass of the doorknob. He jiggled it.
Locked.
"Baby, it's me. Can you open the door, please?" he asked softly, his voice strained with worry. He pressed his ear against the door, straining to hear anything from the other side. Then, faintly, he heard it—her crying. The sound was muffled, but it hit him like a punch to the gut, tearing at his heart. She had been like this for weeks now, haunted by her own reflection, by the scars and bruises that refused to fade, reminders of everything she wanted so desperately to forget.
