February, 1990
Michael Jackson is getting fed up with the rumors of him and rock star Prince having a rivalry. A friendly competition, yes, but no rivalry. Prince, however, thinks differently. To end all of these 'lies' according to Mi...
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February through March's edition of Upscale Magazine was finally delivered and out on shelves and kiosks everywhere. Prince laid on his bed, on his back, and stared at the cover in awe, not even bothering to check the inside's contents and his interview. Prince sat the magazine beside him and stared up at the ceiling as he began to think. The situation two days ago with Amir still weighed heavily on his mind; his train of thought always brought him to the exact moment of when they both snapped, and he hated it.
Things of that nature always seemed to bug him, but one could see why: it always caused stress and unhappiness, as well as rushing adrenaline. He thought of the look Amir had in his eyes as the whole debacle took place; the pure evil and anger and...intention...overtook Prince himself before he had a chance to snap out of the hold Amir's facial expressions held onto him. Prince always trusted his intuition, even if it was bad and wrong some times in some places, and he honestly felt like his new enemy was trying to get rid of him. Maybe brainwash Michael along the way, but mainly to get Prince out of the picture.
It was like Amir didn't want the agreement to go through, like he wanted the rivalry and feuds to continue. Messiness and shit-stirring was all it was. Amir was the ugly warlock standing over his cauldron of drama... the worthless piece of shit. Prince's hands went behind his head as he sighed and continued to rant on and on in his head. He then begin to think about Michael, how he just dismissed Amir's attempts like the naive, childish yob he was. Michael wanted them all to get along, but that just wasn't happening, not for a penny. Prince felt that Michael's refusal to see Amir for who he thought he was, conflicted and collided with the agreement.
Somehow...someway, if I could just get Mike to see Amir's true intentions, maybe he could finally leave the script and keep all this shit at bay, he thought.
Just when he was about to start thinking again, the phone in the room interrupted him. He groaned and reluctantly sat up, snatching the phone from the cradle and slamming it against his ear. "What? Hello?" he spoke, obviously annoyed. He expected to hear Xendrea's voice, but got a surprise when he heard the soft, but deep, voice of his...acquaintance.
"Prince, turn on the television, quick," he said in excitement.
Prince scrunched his face in inquiry. "What? W-why?"
"Because! We're on it!"
Prince grabbed at the remote on the drawer next to the bed that held the lamp. He sighed, "Channel?" he asked.
