"You know you have to make a choice. Your parent's dream or yours."
For a good portion of her life, Bentley's mind was made up. She was going to follow in her parent's footsteps and continue the family business, but something changed along the way...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
July 31st, 1981
Washington D.C.
WARNING: Mild domestic abuse, suggestive themes.
Please refrain from reading this chapter if the previous warnings trigger or offend you.
︵‿︵‿︵‿︵‿︵
"Thank you, I love you!" Michael exclaimed into the microphone as he ran off stage, his brothers following close behind, still waving at the packed crowd of fans. Adrenaline buzzed through his veins as he entered the shared dressing room, he grabbed a towel hung on the back of the sofa to wipe away the sweat that glistened on his skin, the sense of breathlessness not deterring the smile that rested on his face. He could still hear the roaring applause of the audience even as the lights began to dim.
That feeling, the give-and-take with the audience, the shared joy—he wouldn't trade it for anything. He still got goosebumps hearing them belt out the words to "Rock With You." He removed what remained of his stage make-up in the mirror, spotting Joseph leaning next to the door, a dark shadow cast over his features.
Like cold, harsh winds, Joseph seemed to snuff out any light of positivity held by those around him. Michael's lips pressed into a thin line as he tried to ignore the sense of vexation he received from his father. Despite his unwavering stare, he had yet to utter a word, not even a grumble or a grunt. All the brothers felt the rising tension that always came with their father's presence, his eyes always searching for a slip up, a reason to swing the belt he never went without.
Throughout the ride to the hotel, Michael remained hunched against the door of the limousine, his arms crossed over his chest like armor. His leg bounced insistently against the felt floor of the car as he pulled his bottom lip between his teeth. His gaze didn't stray from the window, watching the streets of Washington as it still pulsed with nightlife.
He eyed the public displays of affection from the couples that loitered about, some hidden away in alleyways, their mouths glued to each other, some proudly swinging their connected hands as they paraded the streets, others simply leaning on one another, basking in each other's presence.
Michael clenched his fist, the ghost of her hand lingered on his skin, the scarcity of her laughter foreign to his ears. He moved on auto-pilot, his voice failing to hit the mark he'd set for himself, his mind far off as he went through the motions of her absence. His brothers were quick to pick up how he fell behind, their complaints and grievances endless.
"What's goin' on Mike? Why you movin' like that? You'd better fix it before we go on." They'd say. He understood their sentiment nonetheless, he hated feeling like he wasn't at 110%. Anything less would be him doing wrong by his fans, who paid their hard earned money to see him perform. Despite his best efforts, he failed to get out of this spunk and he knew why.
