Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Eighteen - Girls

Chapter eighteen – Girls

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"Michael, wait!" I call, clambering up from the grass and running after him. I seriously didn't mean for my joke to aggravate him; it was meant to be fun – and he was meant to pick up on that fun the way I intended him too. As soon as Michael realises I'm running, he runs too, automatically widening the gap between us, "Michael! Come back!"

My calls become somewhat desperate, to try and convince him to come back, but to no avail. He's truly angry at me for what I said. Or maybe ... he isn't angry, as such – more, frustrated because of everything else that's going on in his life already.

The chase ends when we both get home. He can't get inside the house, because I have the key, so he stands by the door with his arms folded, and his foot tapping the floor. Once I've reached him and the house, I take out my door key, unlocking the door.

"Michael," I breathe, but he's already in the house, avoiding talking to me, "Michael, come on, I think you're kind of overreacting now ... " My footsteps follow his, until he enters his bedroom. Before I can enter as well, he closes the door, barricading it with ... I don't know what – but it's to stop me from entering the room.

Surely he's taking this too seriously. He's isolating himself from me, all because I made a joke about Clover? There's no way; he'll have come out before the end of the day, and we'll be friends again. Maybe this is a result of keeping his feelings on this morning bottled up for too long.

Nonetheless, I try to lure him out of his room with my calls once more, "Michael!" I bash the door gently, pressing my forehead against the wood of it, "Please come out ... "

"Give me some time alone," he demands, finally speaking.

I furrow my eyebrows sadly, moving away from the door, "As you wish, Michael ... " As I walk away, a single tear runs down my face, which I allow with no protest. It's difficult to judge whether I went too far, or whether he overreacted. I really can't tell.

Upon arriving downstairs, I enter the living room, before letting myself drop down onto the sofa. Our drawings of my vase are still lying on the coffee table; his photograph-like piece, next to my toddler-standard one. How he can say I won that competition is beyond me.

A sigh passes my lips, as I sit back against the soft cushions on the sofa. Today has been rather eventful, so it's nice to have some peace and quiet, with a comfy place to sit. To be honest, I think that's what I've been needing all day.

* * *

It's been about two hours since I came downstairs, and there are still no signs of Michael showing his face. When he says he wants alone time, he really means it; he always leaves for ages and ages.

What does he possibly do when he's alone for so long? It leaves me curious every time he asks for some time on his own. It really does intrigue me.

Suddenly, soft footsteps are heard coming down the stairs, and a slight feeling of nervousness washes over me. If he's going to start an argument, I don't want it. I hate confrontation as it is; with my best friend, that would be way worse.

The door opens, before a timid-looking Michael enters the room. Undecided as to whether to look at him or not, I keep my eyes locked on the coffee table, as if I'm in a trance. That is, until I feel Michael's arms wrap around my neck from behind me.

"Citria ... " he whispers into my ear. Having ignored him, he huffs and attempts to get my attention once again, "Citria Tiannah Espinosa ... "

Giving in this time, my head turns in his direction, "What?" I demand quietly, hoping that he doesn't start any more arguments.