whatever happens » michael jackson

93

[Blood On The Dance Floor era]

I was roughly woken up by a sharp ringing in my ear that seemed to go on for endless hours (though it really was just a half minute or so).

Groaning as I blinked sleep away from my eyes, I struggled to push up myself on my elbows and attempt to really wake up.

I remained still for a few moments to regain consciousness, before realizing that my doorbell was indeed ringing. Scurrying up from the mess that I'd made of the duvet and bedsheets, I detangled my limbs and hurried to the door, tripping on the way on a pair of my shoes I'd left a couple of weeks ago.

"Coming," I yelled out as I scrambled up, swinging the door open and regretting doing so immediately as I saw who was behind the wood.

My landlord.

Cringing inwardly at the fact that I was still very much in my bedraggled jeans and washed out hoodie with my hair looking like a bird's nest, I managed a smile, "Hi, is anything wrong?"

"Yeah, my money," he snorted out, his steely grey eyes scowling from behind his glasses.

Nervously licking my lips, I tried to avoid his glare, asking instead, "What's wrong with it?"

He snapped at me with an intimidating stare, "I can't see your share being paid anytime now."

My heart dropped to my knees, "Please just give me two weeks--"

"I've given you 8 weeks so far, you're 8 weeks late," he interrupted, his salt and pepper hair looking just as strict as his stern face did.

Gulping, I tried to come up with any sort of excuse other than the fact that I was broke as hell, jobless, and couldn't possibly pay for any rent, "I just need some more time to get the money, I promise I'll get it then."

He shook his head, his frown deepening as he crossed his arms across his freshly ironed plaid shirt, "You have twenty four hours, or the flat will go. Maybe then you'll learn to pay your stuff on time."

With that he gave me a short look of disgust, turned on his heel, and walked off.

The moment he was out of my peripheral vision and I couldn't hear the squeak of his velcro trainers against the polished corridor floors, I sunk to my knees and began to cry.

My hands let my face bury itself in them, as the sobs racked my body violently. I managed to muffle out the sound with my hair, because if I didn't, I knew the result would be what I like to call ugly crying.

I'd just been fired little over two months ago from my quaint job at the diner downtown, and though it was a crappy job to start with, at least it kept a roof above my head. As time progressed, it seemed that even that was becoming a luxury. Within twenty four hours, I'll be on the train station to nowhere, breaking up with my boyfriend as well; because what kind of guy would want a girl that was broke as fuck and living on the streets?

I tried to calm myself down, but all I did was hiccup instead. As despair grew in my heart, along with frantic plans as to where I would head with the last few cents in my pocket, I couldn't hear the soft pitter patter of black loafers against the floor.

"Hey baby, why's your door op--"

The cheerful voice came to a stop, before his pace rushed and I could hear him much closer as he crouched down below, a shadow looming over my tiny body.

"Oh baby girl," he sympathetically said, "Is everything alright?"

I kept on crying, whereas my boyfriend wrapped a long arm around me, rocking me back and forth in his warmth, resting one of his big hands atop my stringy hair, the other at the small of my back, gently rubbing and attempting to soothe me.

"There, there, love," he whispered against my hair, his chin settled there and pressing several kisses against my forehead in between my fingertips.

He began to pry my fingers away from my face, cooing softly, "Tell me what's wrong, girl. I'm here for you."

Avoiding eye contact with the beauty in front of me, knowing that I looked like hell, I glanced away.

"I-I haven't got money to pay the rent," I swallowed my pride as I came clean, tears still dripping down on my face. I didn't want him to know that I wasn't exactly well off.

He froze in place, a small frown resting as his red lips formed a pout. Daring to glance up, I saw that his stunning eyes were as wide as saucers and as warm as a summer day. Keeping eye contact with me, he inched closer so that the distance between us was mere centimetres.

"Why didn't you tell me before? I would've helped you, baby girl," he mumbled against my lips, his warm, minty breath on my face.

"I didn't want that," I croaked out, before wiping furiously at my eyes and clearing my throat, "I didn't want to depend on you, or be a burden."

He chuckled, "Now that's plain ridiculous, girl, you're my woman and I love you," he kissed me briefly, warming me instantly before pulling away, "Why on Earth would you be a burden? It's my job to spoil you."

"But then everyone would call me a gold digger," I lamely came up with any excuse, not letting him trample on my pride. Damn my stubbornness.

"And they call me a pervert, but does that matter?" he shot back, a kind albeit sad smile on his face, "As long as we love each other that's all that matters, okay?" he whispered fondly, stroking at my burning cheeks, kissing my forehead again, "Now show me that beautiful smile I live for."

Weakly smiling, I sniffled one last time. Michael in return kissed the corners of my mouth lovingly, brushing the top of my hair.

"Now, come on," he heaved a little, pulling me up by the arm to fall into his tender embrace, "Chin up princess, go get your stuff so we can get you out of here and into my house."

My eyes widened in shock, "Michael, no way! I can't--"

"Shut it woman, you protest too much," he teased, playfully rolling his eyes, "You'll be living with me, we'll get married, have twenty kids, 3 dogs, 6 cats, and all the lot, now come on!"

Touching the tip of my nose subconsciously, I sighed in defeat. Maybe for now I should put my pride away and pick myself up, accepting his help.

"Fine, I'll go," my shoulders dropped, "But I'll get a job and get out as soon as possible."

"Sure you will," he cheerfully added, clearly disbelieving, dusting his smart black pants with a knowing smirk on his face.

I shook my head at him. What a doofus.

I loved him.

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