❥𝐌𝐨𝐨𝐧𝐰𝐚𝐥𝐤 || 𝑀𝐽 𝐼𝑚𝑎𝑔𝑖𝑛𝑒𝑠 /𝒞ℴ𝓂𝓅𝓁ℯ𝓉ℯ𝒹 /❥•

♥Scars(Dangerous Era)♥

A/N:

This particular one happens to be quite sensitive (I'm pretty sure) and it may be triggering. If you are depressed in any way and are feeling suicidal...I advise you not to read this piece.

If you are feeling lonely and need someone to talk to, please feel free to message me...I'd be more than happy to help you in any way I can. I suffer from depression as well and I am sad to say that I cut too. Always remember that you are not alone.🦄

I love you. 🌈

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You run your fingers through your hair and groan in frustration. You and Michael had yet another argument and he'd ended up walking out. 

It had become quite the norm to have massive arguments with Michael, and yelling at each other from opposite ends of the room was nothing new. For five months now, you and Michael had argued every single day. Each time, he would walk out for a few hours and then come back to you to apologize. However, the next day, you two would be at it again.

It never stopped.

This particular time, you and Michael had argued about Brooke Shields. Michael had been out with her and you were jealous. There really wasn't anything more to it. You were Michael's wife and you were crazy jealous because Brooke was the epitome of perfection in your eyes and you always felt like you could never attain such goodness.

You had questioned Michael and he'd told you calmly that nothing was wrong but you weren't satisfied.

"Nothing is going on between her and I,"

"I don't believe you!"

"(Y/N) please, you need to stop being so jealous,"

"I have a right to be!"

The whole argument played over and over again in your head. You'd pushed Michael and had provoked him beyond reasonable doubt.

"Then go to her and be with her!"

"I already told you (Y/N)! We are friends! Why would I do something like that?!"

"Because you're Michael Jackson!"

"I'm so sick of this!"

"I'm sick of you!"

"Well you're not the only one!"

Those were his last words before he stormed out of the house, leaving you in misery. You walked into the bathroom and pulled out your pocket knife which you kept in your makeup bag. You'd always told Michael that you were in possession of that object for creative purposes as you'd always loved art and craft - but you were also a good liar.

You clutched the knife as you made your way to Michael's dance studio, for some reason you felt as if that room would help you clear your mind.

"Mrs. Jackson?" your housemaid, Carol, stopped you in your tracks.

"Yes?" you responded softly, not daring to turn around for fear that your intentions might become clear.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her voice laced with concern.

"Yes," you lied softly.

"Where are you going, if I may?" her loving voice rang through your ears.

You sighed and decided not to lie. "I'll be in the studio," You would lock the doors anyway. 

You made your way into the dance studio and closed the door, forgetting to lock it. You slid down against the wall and onto the floor as your body began to shake with sobs.