whatever happens » michael jackson

77

[Black Or White era]

Waking up to a cold bedside in the middle of the bone-marrow-freezing night was not my ideal picture. Sighing as I knew that Michael was yet again out trying to perfect his new and upcoming album in the studio to past 3AM, I wondered when would he ever remember that he had a wife to return to.

I never was the clingy type, never. In fact, I haven't even hinted at the fact that he wasn't spending time with me anymore, and it had been over a year since that began, and god knows how long it would last. And in all honesty, no matter what he did, I will never ever doubt his fidelity. But now, he really was taking it too far. He'd spent six weeks not returning home, because him and his new producers were at their wits' end, trying to find new material.

Then, when he did finally make it home, his appearances, after having been almost 7 hours at home and an extra decent few hours sleeping, turned into barely an hour or two of eating, peeing, showering, and God knows what other necessities, a few minutes of sweet talk and a kiss goodbye, without even an hour of sleep at home. I still won't ever think he was cheating, but damn, I was his wife, not just a guest!

I found the light being switched on, and his lean frame came into view. This had been a repetitive thing—he'd walk in, sleep an hour or two to convince me that he'd been there the entire night when I know he hadn't, and then leave first thing in the morning before I'd wake up—but by now, I'd really had enough.

I shot up before he could make a move near the bed, and made it a point to speak in a firm voice, "Not on my watch, mister."

He jumped a million feet in the air at my sudden movement and speech, before frowning, "What do you mean baby girl?"

I felt enraged by the fact that he hadn't been noticing how neglected he'd been leaving me.

"Do you even remember that I'm your wife?" I snapped at him.

"Of course I do," he still had that frown on his face, "How can I forget the best thing in my life?"

"Jesus Christmas, Mike, don't sweet talk your way out of this!" I exclaimed, causing him to approach me carefully, "I haven't properly spent time with you in over a year and a half, and you come now and tell me this? It seems a little unbelievable when you say that I'm the best thing that's ever happened to you, when you haven't even remembered anything related to me!"

"I still don't get it, I haven't been unfaithful!" he cried out, lifting his palms to the sky, "I swear I haven't."

"I never said you did, I never even thought it," I began to yell now as he sat at the end of the bed, "You've forgotten my birthday, Valentines Day, our anniversary, and our wedding anniversary! I vowed I'd be understanding, but that's really not how a marriage works—one trying to let go of everything that bothers them, while the other prances doing other stuff without a care in the world!"

I let out a breath of air, glancing at his now guilty expression, but I had to let it all out.

"When was the last time you told me you loved me?" I asked quietly.

"Um, I don't remember—"

"When was the last time you made love to me?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, "Sometime in the summer..."

Raising my eyebrow, I answered him smartly, "Now you do realize that was over seven months ago, right?"

Gulping, he looked down a few moments, and I took that as a chance to speak again.

"Have you had a meal with me lately?"

"Not since the beginning of filming Black Or White..." he admitted, guilt riding his face as he fiddled with his fingers.

"Michael, you really need to fix something here," I firmly stated, "You can't go around expecting me to be the perfect little housewife for you when you exert zero effort in the bare necessities of being a husband."

He let out a desperate whine, "But I told you, I warned you our marriage won't be normal!"

"This isn't even a marriage anymore!" I began to choke on my words, gripping on the blanket desperately, immense grief beginning to take its toll on me as I felt my eyes water, "This is like having a drunken roommate in college that never is around, but by title shares with you!"

His normally calm face grew into an expression of fear, "What are you saying?" and I could hear his labored breaths from the other end of the bed.

"I'm saying that while we may be married by law, we're really not," I let out a breath of despair, "Fix this. I do all I can. Show me that I'm not alone in this. Or else—"

"Or else what?" his eyes were now frantic with the scared expression of his face, "Anything but divorce!"

"Then save it," I finalized, leaving it a little vague.

It was up to him to figure it out himself.

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