"What About..." (MJ Fantasy)

Tomorrow, Tomorrow

The sun kisses my face, easing me to wakefulness. I lay still, my eyes opening slowly and adjusting to the daylight. I can't believe I actually fell asleep. What's more surprising is that I can't remember what I dreamt about, which means no nightmares. I can relax knowing that I survived one night without them. The outside world looks bright and green outside of my small bedroom window. It's very inviting, but I know better than anyone, we're not invited. Not with my kidnapper on the loose, not with the media in an uproar, not with Neverland being broken into. The world seems misleading at this point, and I'm just fine not joining in the debauchery. I feel an irregularity in my body temperature, probably due to the fact that I am only experiencing my own body heat and not sharing Michael's. I used to cringe when Michael touched me, in the beginning, so it freaked me out when he would attach himself to me at night. I began to get used to it, to the point where I was yearning for his over-protective touch to help me fall asleep. Now, I don't want anyone touching me and I know that's going to be a problem. I turn to see Michael resting peacefully. He doesn't sleep much, but when he does it's noticeable. His whole mood and demeanor is better. Plus, he sleeps forever so he misses all of his meetings and important events. I feel my lack of clothing and slip out of the bed, taking a hot, refreshing shower. The water feels like it's massaging every part of my bruised body and I just stand under the stream, enjoying a moment of peace and tranquility. I squeeze some soap onto my loofa and begin scrubbing my neck, feeling something in the pit of my stomach. I pause, doubling over in pain. The water feels too hot, almost scolding and I scoot away from the stream quickly.

"Gotta keep you looking somewhat decent, right? If I have to look at you for another twenty-four hours." My kidnapper chuckles cynically, running his soap covered hands over my back. "How does it feel? You can think of it as a 'last shower' then maybe it will be more comforting." He says, letting out a disgusting laugh on my neck.

I scowl. "I'd rather die dirty and putrid than have your filthy hands on me." I spit, gritting my teeth as he washes me against my will. I am handcuffed to the wall of this filthy shower. The blood runs to the ground from the handcuffs that are digging into my wrists.

"Don't be like that baby. You used to like touching me and being around me." He whispers in my ear, running his fingers through my hair.

"Before I knew you were a damn psycho." I say, shivering.

"Now why are you being so mean to me? I've offered to wash you and keep you fed. You don't appreciate it." He growls angrily, turning the knob on the shower closer to the hot side. The water burns my skin and I scream out in pain. "Apologize." He says calmly.

"I'm sorry!" I yell, the water feeling like it's about to burn right through to my meat.

He turns it to the middle and I collapse onto the shower floor.

"Good girl. I will unchain you after you think about what you said." He says, leaving me in the shower, the water running over my body, making me shiver and prune up. I am handcuffed too far away to turn it off so I sit there, helpless and vulnerable.

I breathe heavily as I pull myself back to reality. I slam the handle of the shower off and sit in the tub, raking my fingers through my hair. I wish I could stop them. I wish I could control them, but I can't and it's so painful. I calm my suffering heart and stand up, turning the water back on so I can finish washing myself as quickly as possible. I step out of the shower and dry off, looking at myself in the mirror. The dark circles under my eyes make it seem like I didn't have a great night's sleep. These flashbacks are killing me. Slowly killing me. I gently rub the scar on my forehead near my hairline. I open my towel, letting it fall to the floor. I step back and turn to the right where the full length mirror is bolted to the wall next to the shower. I am almost horrified by the image of my naked, ravaged body in the mirror. Deep bruising, gashes, scratches, hand marks cover my once blemish-free complexion. That same complexion that Michael loved so much. It was one of the few things I could be proud of with myself. Now that is all done. I run my hand over my stomach and close my eyes. My poor baby. I'm so concerned about everything he did to me, I can't imagine how my baby has suffered. I open my eyes and turn on my heels, willing myself to forget about all of this and just go on with life.