Motion (Sequel to "Collide")

CHAPTER FIFTY EIGHT

I nervously paced the floor of my dressing room, questioning my own decisions over and over again. I felt like a lion in cage who was desperately trying to find a way out of this living nightmare I was stuck in.

And each ringtone of the phone I was holding to my ear only increased my nervousness. "Pick up the damn phone," I said, walking in circle like a maniac with the receiver glued to my ear while I was holding the base in my hand.

"Hello?"

I exhaled, letting out the breath I didn't realize I was holding. "You need to remind me why the hell I'm doing this," I asked, stopping in the middle of the room. "Please."

Michael chuckled softly on the other end of the phone. "Hello to you too, my love. I can hear you're way calmer than you were when you left."

"Michael, please," I begged desperately. "Don't be a schmuck, I'm freaking out right now."

He chuckled softly. "You know, you're kinda cute when you're freaking out," he told me in a low voice, almost whispering.

While I was questioning my entire life decisions before going live on television, Michael was working on his music at Westlake Studios with his collaborators, which explained his discretion.

We both left Neverland early in the afternoon to head to Los Angeles together. On our way here, we dropped Faraji at Hayvenhurst, as he insisted on spending some time with his Nana and Papa. Our son was beyond excited when he realized his uncle Marlon and his cousins were there, too.

I took comfort in knowing my son would enjoy himself while I was slowly agonizing from the stress that came with being interviewed.

Live. On national television.

I sighed, plopping onto the couch. "This interview is going to be the death of me. I'm telling you this."

"It's not," my husband reassured in a soft voice. "I know how nerve wrecking interviews can be, but I also know you. You're outgoing, you're funny and you're the smartest person I know. Just be yourself. You're going to ace this."

"I just don't want to make a fool out of myself on national TV," I confessed, throwing my head back with my eyes closed. "Ugh. Please distract me. How's work going?"

"Pretty good, actually," he told me, as I heard him rummage through papers. "We dug up some old demos, and we're working around that. I forgot half of them existed," he admitted, chuckling. "There's one I found that made me smile, though."

"Which one?"

"It's called If You Don't Love Me," he let me know, and I could hear he was smiling. "It's the first song I wrote about you. I wrote it when I was desperately trying to get a hold on you, but you wouldn't take my calls."

"When Grams saw what being around you did to me and told me I should stay away," I nodded, remembering that moment like it was yesterday. "How come did I never hear that song?"

"As I said, I forgot half of the demos I have even existed," he admitted, which made me chuckle. "And it's quite sappy, too."

I gasped. "Oh my God, shocker!" I fainted to be surprised, and he graced me with his infamous high pitched giggles in return.

"You're so silly," he commented, and I could hear the smile in his words. "At least I admit it is sappy."

"I can't wait to hear it, nonetheless."

"Oh yeah? Who said I was going to let you hear it?" he asked cheekily, and imagining his smirking face made me shake my head.

"I'll use force if I have to," I answered with a smile, winding the phone's chord around my finger.