Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Thirty-Nine - Repaired

Chapter thirty-nine – Repaired

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As my fingers carefully pick up the pottery from the floor, tears can't help but spill from my eyes uncontrollably. What I've done is such a huge mistake, but I didn't deserve the last thing my mother ever gave me to be broken, did I? Michael will probably never forgive me for telling Marco that Clover's in America; I don't really see myself forgiving him for breaking something of such sentimental value, either.

"Mother, I've made such a mistake," I sob, stopping what I'm doing completely, instead just kneeling down on the floor looking up at the photo of mother on my bedside table. "And I think my relationship with Michael is irreparable." My voice breaks more with every word I speak, almost seeming indecipherable by the time my sentence has reached its end.

What I would give to have my mother here right now ... honestly, I believe I would do anything. She's just the person I need right now; to hug me, and tell me everything will be okay. But ... will it be okay? Judging by what's just happened, there'll never be the same atmosphere between Michael and I ever again.

Drying my tears away once more, I collect up the final few pieces of pot, not even caring about the fact it could cut me. In the back of my mind, I'm curious about what Michael's doing right now ... but then, at the same time, I couldn't care less. I'm so angry at him at this moment; before he broke the vase, I was on my knees begging for forgiveness.

There seems to be no chance of mending this vase, either. There are so many pieces, that I've probably not even found them all, even now. Over the next few days, I'll probably receive a lot of cuts on the undersides of my feet from walking on tiny specks of the pot.

Having collected all the large, obvious parts, I group them together, picking them up in my hands. The nearest place I can dispose of them is downstairs – where Michael most-likely is. With some luck, I'll avoid him on my way there. Slowly getting up on my feet, I head towards the door, using my elbow to push down the handle, before exiting the room. I can hear footsteps downstairs, meaning that Michael is pacing around in the kitchen. And just my luck – that's where the trash can is.

Before I enter the kitchen, I take a deep breath; telling myself to just ignore Michael as I walk by. Chances are, he'll be doing the same thing to me. I've really annoyed him tonight, just as he has annoyed me. Turning the handle, I walk into the kitchen; as soon as Michael spots me, he walks to the door, slipping by me. It was fairly obvious he'd avoid me.

Disposing of all the broken pot, I sigh sadly. If we ever forgive one another, he'd better make this up to me. Of course, I'd make it up to him too, but ... replacing something that someone now-deceased gave to me is going to take a lot.

Well, if neither of us are going to speak again tonight, then perhaps I should just go to sleep. Michael can take the bed; I couldn't care less. I'll just take the sofa. Slowly, I make my way to the living room, cautious in case Michael's in there. When I find him sitting on the sofa, I internally groan. Maybe if I enter the room, he'll leave; therefore, I'll get the sofa to myself.

And it seems my prediction is proven correct; as soon as I walk into the room, Michael lifts himself up off the sofa, and walks right by me, upstairs. The pain in my heart seems to grow; filling my whole chest as I collapse onto the seat, and my stomach tightens at the emotional agony I've just experienced, and am still experiencing right now. But what can I do to change what happened? Nothing ...

So with that thought haunting my mind, I close my eyes, to force myself to sleep. But with the argument partnering with my sadness, it's difficult to even keep my eyes closed. The thought of Marco being around scares me, too; every sound causes my eyes to snap open quickly, and for me to sit up with a start.