The Way She Wants It (Michael Jackson FanFiction)

..26..

*New York*

"I LOVE YOU ALL SO MUCH!" I scream into the mic as all of my fans loose their shit. I bow before running off stage to collect my things and head off to the next place even though there is only one place where I want to be and one person who I want to be with.

*Houston*

"YOU ARE SO AMAZING YOU GUYS! THANKS FOR COMING TO THE SHOW! I LOVE YOU!" I exclaim, out of breath, as my mind swells with energy. Bria pulls me off stage as the lights shut off and the crowd is screaming and hollering at the top of their lungs.

"Come on, Bebe, we gotta go catch our flight," she pants and I run into my dressing room. I pick up my phone, looking for notifications from the one person I want to hear from.

Nothing...

*Tokyo*

"THANKS FOR HAVING ME! I HOPE YOU ENJOYED THE CONCERT!" I exclaim, plastering a smile on my face, "I HOPE TO BE BACK SOON! HAVE A GOOD NIGHT! I LOVE YOU!"

I run off of the stage after all of the lights go down and the fans are screaming and making the most noise that any other stadium has made on this tour.

Shit, it's already been three months. This is going to be so fucking long.

*Brisbane*

"Has Michael called?!" I yell at Stephanie as Scott drags me towards the stage.

"No, I'm sorry," she says, holding her phone to her chest, "I'm sorry!" she screams as someone shoves me onto the stage and the lights come up for the second half of this fucking concert.

*Rome*

...

*Paris*

...Why the fuck hasn't he called yet?

*Berlin*

"This place is fucking crazy," I mumble as Danika sweeps some powder onto my face and I keep my eyes glued to my phone.

"Just because you stare at your phone doesn't mean he's going to call," Danika sighs in sorrow as I roll my eyes, slouching in my chair, "You need to call him."

*London*

"I LOVE YOU LONDON!" I yell, smiling widely. I drop the mic comically and the crowd gets even louder than it was before.

"Fuck," I sigh, tears pushing behind my eyes. A lump forms in my throat as I jog off stage and multiple people in the crew are trying to stop me to talk about the show. I run into the small dressing room and burst into tears, letting my weak body slide down the metal, dented door.

"Abby?" Scott asks hesitantly from outside the dressing room. I sob softly, ignoring his concern, and lean forward, pressing my forehead to the floor.

"Fuck Michael. Why? Why don't you want to fucking call me?!" I sob, rolling onto my side to lie in my change room, wishing I could sink into the floor and disappear indefinitely.

*

Michael's POV

"You're really attractive," the busty female winks as she holds onto my tie.

"Thanks," I mumble, looking down at the scotch in my hands as my mind fills with all things Abby.

"You wanna get a room together?" she whispers, unattractively, into my ear. I sigh, shaking my head as I look around the decorated ballroom of the hotel.

"No thanks," I smile, tight lipped. The busty, exotic looking woman rolls her eyes, scoffing and walks away, switching her hips awkwardly as I lean against the bar.

Fuck, I miss her. It's almost been a year.

*

I flop onto the bed in my suite, shoving my face into the soft comforter. I pick up my phone, putting in the passcode, and go into my contacts.

Michael.

I look over his name, debating whether or not I should call him. I sit, hesitantly, before deciding to click on his name.

Voicemail.

"Hey Michael, it's Abby," I sigh, tiredly, "I have a month of break from this damn tour," I joke, running my hands down my face, "Anyways, I was just seeing what was up and if you wanted to get together or something.... I don't know why I would even think you want to since I haven't talked to you in almost a year." I sigh, getting frustrated, before hanging up the phone, "Fuck."

*Barcelona*

Michael never called back.

*Vienna*

Still nothing except for this fucking tour that I don't want to be on anymore.

*

Michael's POV

"Fuck!" I shout, punching the wall. How did I not see this voicemail until now? She sent it over two months ago.

I'm a fucking idiot.

*

*Toronto*

"THANKS GUYS! I LOVE YOU!" I exclaim as the fans eat it up, losing their shit. It's good to be in my home town again...

I can't believe that he still hasn't called me back.

*Los Angeles*

"THAT WAS A GREAT WAY TO END OFF THIS TOUR! I LOVE YOU ALL! I LOVE PERFORMING FOR THE CITY THAT I LIVE IN! HAVE A GOOD NIGHT!" I yell with a hint of relief in my voice. I shake my head, smiling out of relief as a tear runs down my cheek and the lights all shut off and the crowd goes wild.

Shit, thank god that tour is over. It only took two fucking years.

"Michael hasn't called?" I ask softly, turning to Steph.

"No, honey, I'm sorry." she sighs wanly, knowing how much I like Michael. I shake my head, looking down at my feet.

"It's okay, it's not your fault," I sigh in defeat, "It's not like I really need to see him." I scoff, putting up the tough facade again.

"Abby," she sighs knowingly.

"I'm going to go get change and head to my condo," I mumble quickly before she can say anything else, "I want to have an 'End of Tour' party with everyone who was involved in the tour." I smile, turning to walk away, "We can have it at my house, I don't really care. I just want a party with free food and drink as a thanks to everyone." I smile over my shoulder, walking away.

"Abby, anyone would be honoured to be on this tour with you," she smiles wanly as I slowly make my way towards my dressing room, "You don't need to throw a party to thank anyone. They're already having a hard time trying to thank you." she smirks as I smile widely.

"I know," I wink, "But I want to."

"I wish everyone knew about this side of you." she sighs, folding her arms.

"I don't," I smirk sarcastically, waving her as I pick up the pace and make my way to my room.

I unlock my dressing room door, half expecting Michael to be in here, but he's not. I shake my head, swallowing the lump in my throat, and check the notifications on my phone. Emails, texts, snapchats, and calls but none of them are from Michael.

As I'm looking over the notifications on the home screen, the date catches my eye.

February 11th.

Shit, tomorrow is my birthday.

Happy 28th to me, I guess. Michael probably hasn't even given it a thought.