Michael Jackson and Diana Ross: A Love Story

A Change of Heart

Diana's POV
You are woken up by sun-rays that pierce the room through the partially opened curtains. As you are adjusting to your surroundings, you notice a weight on your chest. You look down and see a brown arm sprawled across you - you trace its origins to a shirtless man, lying face down on next to you on the bed, covered waist down by the ivory sheets. In a moment of sleepy confusion, you wonder if you are at your ex-husband Robert's place, and then suddenly the truth comes crashing down on you.

Shit. Shit. Shit. Shit.

Michael breathes in deeply and adjusts himself in his sleep. You gently lift his arm and place it on the bed, and you slowly get up, grab your clothes from the floor, and make your way as quietly as you can to the bathroom.  You quickly slip on your dress and then clutch the sink, face down, breathing in and out, in and out, trying to stop yourself from having a mild panic attack.

After a long time you regain your composure and tip toe back into the room. Michael still hasn't woken up. You sit on the edge of the bed, trying to decide what the best way forward is.

Suddenly, the door opens, and it jolts you up. Tina walks into the room, tray in hand. The mixed scent of fried bacon and fresh oranges comes in with her. She seems startled to see you, and hesitates at the door.

"I-I can come another time..."

Michael stirs, presumably because of the smell of breakfast, and slowly sits up. His puffy eyes are half-closed and he yawns.

"Morning Tina, just place the tray on the table."

"Thank you."

She rushes to the table, places it carefully on top, and practically runs out of the room.

Michael yawns again and scratches his chest. He catches your eye and gives you a sleepy smile.

"Morning."

Suddenly you are angry at him - angry that he let Tina into the room when you were here, angry that he isn't panicking the way you are, angry that he doesn't understand how severe the situation is. You crouch down and start to look for your shoes.

"Um...what are you looking for?"

"My shoes, where are my shoes?"

"They're downstairs, you left them there yesterday...is there something wrong?"

"It's fine."

Michael seems fully awake now. He leaps out of bed, hastily pulls on his shorts and walks up to you, putting his hand on your shoulders. He says in a worried tone:

"Diana, are you-"

"I said I'm fine!"

You aggressively push his hand away and stand upright to face him. He is taken aback by this, but doesn't try to put his hand on you again.

"The shoes are by the record player. Your purse is on the couch, I think."

You mutter a curt thanks and storm out, rushing down the stairs into the living room. You grab your purse and bend down to put on your heels.

"Diana, please talk to me."

You look up: Michael has followed you to the living room and is standing at the entrance, an apprehensive look on his face.  Some of your anger melts away. You sigh, biting back tears.