Double-Booked {Michael Jackson & Jhené Aiko}

☀︎sangria-rouge☀︎

Chapter Two

Jhené Aiko

"Mysterious Chinese Woman holds Michael Jackson in a struggle of an embrace, how did she get into his hotel room? Read more to find out," I read aloud, before sitting down cross legged on the floor, my back leaning against the couch to the left of the one-seat that Michael was sitting on, "That's a good one. And it's Japanese,"

He chuckled slightly, before shaking his head and pulling the newspaper from my hands, curling it into a roll and throwing it across the room, though he didn't keep his eyes peeled on it long enough to see it had missed the trashcan.

"What's so funny?" I asked, as his chuckled turned into giggles.

"You! You're just so. 'it's Japanese'," he mocked, clutching his stomach as it must've hurt from laughing, "They even claimed to have more information, it's hila-"

"Uh oh! Tatiana Thumbzten seems to seek revenge on Michael Jackson after his hotel room scandal, as she is seen getting very close to Wilder Hudson in a-"

"Gimme that!" He took it from my hands, and instead of failing another throw, he began to read it.

All the color drained from his face as he stared at he pictures of them two together for what felt like forever.

"Isn't that your girl?" I asked, then slapped my forehead when I realized how stupid that question was, "I- I mean, what happened?"

He continued to stare angrily at the picture before attempting to rip the whole magazine in half, his jaw clenched as he clearly didn't want to fail. And he didn't. My eyes widened when he successfully ripped it perfectly in half, closed.

He sighed and walked over to the trash can, placing both halves in it gently, before turning back to me and briefly closing his eyes.

"Sorry."

He returned to his seat and placed a hand on my shoulder, "Tatiana. She was- she- man. I did love her; you know? I did. But it was all about her image. Who I was seen with always affected her, so she controlled me almost. She wanted too much and, seriously, don't laugh, she was a nobody before my entourage hired her.. well, I hired her but still! What makes her think she can just run away like that because- because of what other people say, or think, or write, huh? How is it okay? It isn't, it isn't okay at all, and- and-"

Cutting his rant short, he turned abruptly and buried his head in his palms, muttering something that I couldn't hear.

"She isn't worth you being upset, Michael," I breathed gently, shuffling myself across the floor so I was sitting in front of his legs, and reaching up my arms so my hands could hold his tense wrists.

"Look at me,"

He obeyed slowly, giving his hands to me and revealing deep, doe and bloodshot eyes that were full to the brim with so much hurt and misperception.

"I loved her," He choked, before I lunged forward and allowed him to rest his forehead on my shoulder whilst his masculine, strong act failed and he let his truer emotions show. It was like a guilty privilege, having Michael damn Jackson cry on my shoulder whilst I rubbed his back and stroked his curls softly.

"I'm so sorry, I don't want to cry like this- I- I'm ov- I want to be-"

"You don't get over someone quickly if you love them, it.."

"Loved. I loved her."

"You still do, Michael."

I pulled away from our embrace and held his shoulders as he went quiet, then there was an acknowledging silence before I continued.