A New Kind Of Love//Book 2

Chapter One: I swear I'm Not

November 21st, 1993

Michael's POV

The warm blankets covered my sleeping body. I snored lightly as the minutes ticked by slowly. I rolled over to Prince's side of the bed, I felt empty without him there.

My exhausted eyes flew open as the impending urge to vomit hit me. The vomit traveled up my throat, sending me bolting to the bathroom.

I emptied my pour stomach into the porcelain bowl, coughing a few times. I took a deep breath, trying to calm my shaking body down. It hit me again, I threw up whatever was left in my belly. What is happening? After dumped my guts into the toilet, I slumped onto the cabinets attached to the sink.

Another wave of nausea hit me like a tidal wave. I hacked up what was I hoped to be the last things in my stomach. I thought I was done with the flu and being hungover, what the hell?

I scrambled up to my feet, leaning against the marble counter. I brushed my teeth and every inch of my pitiful mouth to get the strong acidic taste out. I felt my forehead, to make sure I didn't have a fever. Wait, you can't take your own temperature, where is that damn thermometer?

Subsequently after searching the medicine cabinet above the sink, I care across the thermometer Liz brought over. I stuck it in my mouth and waited the appropriate amount of time and pulled it out. No fever, huh. Why am I throwing up then, human bodies are so crazy.

I headed down the stairs, since Prince moved in we agreed to move the master bedroom upstairs again. No early sun showed through the large windows in the foyer, the sun wasn't up yet.

It felt like, with every step I got more and more tired. My movement turning into sluggish motions. I made headway to the kitchen, my chef was already there, standing by the stove.

"Hello Mr. Jackson. What would you like?" He greeted.

"Bacon and eg-" My sentence was interrupted by the front door opening loudly. Marcy walked into the kitchen, a little purse hung by her side. She looked surprised to see me up so early, I usually wasn't there when she arrived in the morning.

"Oh you're up. Good morning." She greeted groggily.

"Morning." My voice came out raw, probably from theirs mornings events in the bathroom. Marcy waddled past me and over to the chef. She got out a plate and set of silverware as I sat down at the kitchen island.

Sleep started to bug me again, my eyelids would close ever so slightly with each second that passed.

Marcy came over to me, the steaming hot plate of bacon and eggs in her tiny hands. She set it down in front of me, the amazing smell filled my hungry nostrils.

"Why are you up so early? You're not usually up for another few hours." I glanced up to the clock on the wall: 6:30 AM. Oh lord.

"I threw up a few times." I explained through a mouth full of food.

"Oh no," she gasped, "are you sick?"

"I dunno. I took my temperature, no fever." I scarfed down the food faster.

"Oh, um. Do you need anything? Tylonal from the store?" She asked, watching me eat. For no reason, those questions bugged me so badly.

"No!" I exclaimed, anger coating my husky voice. Marcy backed away instantly, an uncomfortable tension hung in the air.

Marcy's POV

"I'm sorry." Michael whimpered, tears spilling down his rosey cheeks. I shrouded him in a warm hug, even though I wasn't to fond of hugs myself.