Have you ever wondered what would Michael Jackson's life look like if some events didn't happen to him? If he had someone he trusted by his side through everything? Someone that had the power to save him from his tormented life?
Hayley "Brit" Thame...
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I looked around me with my hands on my hips and sighed at the sight before my eyes. Photos and papers were scattered all across the living room's floor, while every cabinet in the kitchen was open. The place had never been so messy before, but I didn't care much. All I wanted was to discover more about this mysterious Hayden. I found it pretty odd that there was only one picture of this man in my old stuff. Did someone accidentally leave it there? Was he a distant cousin of mine I never knew of?
I was too tired to even think about this, or to clean the loft up. The day was tiring and emotionally difficult to go through, and all I wanted was to go to bed and try to get some sleep. I switched off all the lights, and lazily dragged myself upstairs.
However, the phone rang from the kitchen, and I stopped dead in my tracks, in the middle of the stairs leading to my bedroom. From where I was standing, I could overlook the entire loft, since the kitchen, living room and dining room formed one and only big room. I looked at the clock hanging on the wall: 10:15pm. At that time of the night, it could be only one person: Michael.
Nervousness washed over me as I started to hesitate again. Was I really about to do that? To ignore my grandmother's warning? My heart was telling me to pick up that phone, while my mind told me I shouldn't. At least not now.
I decided t listen to my head.
I sat on the stairs, this feeling of guiltiness invading me as I did so. I put my arms on my knees, and intertwined my hands together. I looked through the dark loft to the place where my answering machine was. When the phone stopped ringing, I knew that I would hear Michael's voice soon, and a knot formed in my stomach.
"Hayley," his voice sounded exhausted as he sighed heavily. "It's been days now, and I'm worried. Did I say something stupid? Is that why you're not returning my calls?" he asked, his voice echoing through the empty loft, as I watched the answering machine flickering from afar. I had to fight the urge to pick the phone up. It was so hard that, every time I had to, tears gathered in my eyes. "I—I don't know what to think anymore. I've been leaving messages for the last couple of weeks, and I—," he sighed yet again, and his voice died down. I could hear his breathing coming from his end of the phone, "I miss you. Please, for the hundredth time, please call me back."
I miss you. This three little words had the effect of an electroshock on me. It's like they triggered a reaction in me.
After one last hesitation, I stood up from the stairs in a swift motion to try to pick up the phone, but the answering machine beeped, and the loft, once filled with Michael's echoing voice, became silent again, leaving me all alone with my own thoughts. Sighing heavily, I put my back against the nearest wall, let myself slide all the way down on the ground, brought my knees to my chest and rested my head on top of them. This feeling of emptiness was eating me alive, and whenever I listened to Michael's messages, sadness took over me, leaving me devastated.
