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...
A/N: hey guys! This is a long chapter, Ihope it won't be tooboring! Let me know if you enjoy smaller chapters, or lengthy ones in the comments, please :) Enjoy! xo
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The alarm clock's annoying sound was what tore me away from my deep yet short sleep, letting me know that it was already four in the morning. I groaned in frustration, and put my pillow over my head after I smashed the thing on the night stand. I didn't sleep much, since I had Michael on the phone for almost three hours. After I heard him, it allowed me to have three real hours of sleep, so I wasn't going to complain about this: I didn't wake up in the middle of the night, nor did I have nightmares. I hadn't slept that good for the last couple of weeks.
I left my bed in a swift motion when I realized the time on the clock: being late wasn't an option. I started my morning routine, making sure to be the most quiet possible. I didn't want to wake up Carl, since he was starting his day at two in the afternoon, when mine would be over. His bedroom was downstairs, down the hall, but still I knew that there was a lot of echo though the loft that could cause commotion and wake him up.
Even though I didn't sleep much the previous night, I caught myself being joyful for the first time in two weeks. That's the effect Michael had on me. Just thinking that I'd see him again put me in that state of joy. Just hearing his voice put all of my blues away, and I realized that I was not trying to fight this feeling anymore, like I used to in the beginning. No, I was getting used to it. I was getting used to be happy again without feeling guilty.
I arrived at the hospital fifteen minutes late because of the enormous traffic jam in downtown LA. I went to Annie's front desk to get the charts of the new patients that were waiting for me in the ER, humming the same song that was stuck in my head since I got in the car. I started reading the one and only chart she gave me as I walked to my destination. When I spotted the little girl with her obvious nervous father by her side, I put a reassuring smile on my face, and walked closer to them.
"Mr. Herman?"
"Yes," he stood up quickly when he looked in my direction. "Are you gonna take care of my daughter?" he asked right away, panicking.
"Yes, sir. Calm down, I am here for her," I reassured, as I put my hand on his shoulder reassuringly before sitting on the edge of the little one's bed. "You must be Grace, right? I'm doctor Thames, can I take a look at your wound, Grace?" I gently asked her. She gave a look at her father who nodded his head, encouraging her to put her hand away from her forehead. She looked back at me with fear in her watery eyes, and finally nodded slightly. "What happened to you, sweetie?"
Once again, the little girl looked at her father, and I frowned, finding this odd, "I fell from the swing," she explained in her little shy voice.
"Why were you on a swing this early in the morning?" I asked, my eyebrows knitted together, as I put the band aid back on her wound. She looked terrified to answer that question, and she focused on her father again.
