whatever happens » michael jackson

115

[Bad era]

My face was smashed in the soft satin pillow, Michael's deep, natural scent infiltrating my nose, giving me a tiny bit of peace amidst it all. Both of my hands were pressured underneath me, pressing up against my stomach as my eyes squeezed shut against the material of the plushy pillow.

My hair was pulled up in a very tight and firm bun, unlike my usual ponytail or free hairstyle with my unruly curls; simply because I couldn't stand feeling the heat of that mess all over my neck and shoulders. Enough that I was incredibly uncomfortable and in pain.

Letting out a muffled groan in the pillow, mixed with half a strangled scream as I had been stupid enough to take the medication when I was far too into the cramps, so now there was no way I could feel better in less than an hour or two.

My eyes were still shut as I heard the toilet flush, followed by the running of the master bathroom sink. The bedroom door was slowly creaked open, and I heard the slight shuffling of feet against the thick carpet.

Seconds later the bed dipped under me a little, and I felt a gentle hand brushing back my hair from the very top. The action was very soothing and calming, and despite the cramps I was not-so-happily having, I felt at peace with his caring touch on me. Hell; I almost purred in satisfaction!

"Baby," his smooth as honey voice washed all over me, feeling very seductive and sensuous in the most subtle way, "I just showered, used the toilet, and brushed my teeth, so the bathroom is empty," his cheerful voice was followed by a pause as he took notice of my lack of movement, "You alright?" his concern was very heartwarming, and I popped an eye open in return, turning my head to the side in order to watch him.

His jet-black loose curls were stringy and wet as they draped down his face to the front of his stunning mahogany eyes, twinkling in the soft sunlight streaming in from the wide-open windows, one of his hands reaching up with a dainty finger to brush back one wet curl, flicking some water drops towards me.

His small but radiant smile on his plump lips was enough to light up the room with the sheer brilliance and brightness it possessed, instantly making me feel so ridiculously in love (but that could also be blamed on my raging hormones). My stomach, however, seemed to protest as I felt a pang of pain down there.

Wincing as a result, I saw the concern on his face appear rather visible. A little crease formed between his perfectly arched eyebrows, peering at me curiously.

"Are you okay? You seem to be uncomfy," he spoke in a lower voice, knowing well that sometimes when a person is tired, a loud sound can tend to be very annoying.

His hand smoothed over the back of my head to the round curve of my shoulder, rubbing small circles as I gritted my teeth, another sharp pain shooting through my abdomen and branching out through my body.

Letting out a strangled whimper, I weakly replied, "I'm in pain."

His worried look became more evident, straining his handsome features, "Should I ring up the doctor?" he jabbed his thumb towards the phone on our bedside table, his other hand carefully lifting my face to fully see me and inspect how I was feeling through reading my facial expressions.

I gave a brief roll of my eyes, a little more annoyed than I should've been, bluntly telling him, "I'm on my period, Michael."

His mouth turned into a perfect O in realization, nodding his head, his hand returning to brush my hair back.

A sweet smile upon his lips, he asked softly, "Do you want me to do anything for you? You know I'd love to."

Weakly reaching over to grasp his other hand, I gave it a little squeeze with the strongest grateful smile I could muster at that state, "I don't mind. I'm used to it. But thank you, love."