[MJFAs 2019 Winner - Best Short Story]
The fourth day of the week.
The day before Friday.
Just any other day.
But to Valerie, it's everything. It's the one day that she belongs to Michael Jackson.
Sex, drugs, and alcohol are his life. He doesn't d...
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~A FEW DAYS LATER~
Weed, ecstasy, cocaine.
Michael sat on the couch in his upstairs lounge and stared at the assortment of drugs spread out on the table before him—bags and bags of them—wondering which one he wanted to welcome into his body first. There wasn't even a hint of shine in his molten mahogany eyes, as if he was in a daze. Distant. The question of why he just couldn't stop ran through his mind. But at the same time, he didn't want to stop. Ever.
He supposed that he needed something strong if he was going to be able to vicariously have Valerie...
Their last encounter didn't change how much or how often he thought about her.
The night before, he had fallen asleep to the memory of chasing her around his bedroom; how young and alive, how happy she had made him feel. Other nights, his mind wouldn't let him sleep, no matter how tired he was. He felt strangely incomplete on the other 6 days of the week, and there was only one person in the entire world who could fill that emptiness. But he wouldn't knock down his wall for her.
Michael sighed and reached for a bag of high-quality cocaine. He tipped the contents out onto the tabletop and prepared 2 thin lines. A small part of his subconscious would always raise a red flag, but the other part of him—addicted and ruling—had him lean in and take a long snort of the powder through a rolled up bill. He brought his head up and exhaled a sharp breath, pupils dialating to the size of olives. He reclined on the couch for a minute, feeling a wave of euphoria course through his veins. This was how he wanted to feel all the time. He closed his eyes and savoured the moment of relaxation, until he was met with a female voice calling out his name from the bedroom.
"Fuck," he muttered. He almost forgot about that.
He hated being rushed when it came to his drugs—not only was it dangerous, but he liked to take his time and enjoy every blissful second of his high. Once he had quickly inhaled the second line, he was taken over by the drug. He rubbed his eyes and blinked, glancing around the room; he had been sent into a pleasant world of illusions and hallucinations which was spinning on its axis.
He stood up from the couch and dusted any residue off his nose. Then he entered his bedroom next door, where a tall, pretty brunette was waiting for him on the bed. He picked her up from a club and invited her back to his place. Apart from the hair and skin colour, she wasn't like his Thursday Girl in any other shape or form; her smile didn't shine as brightly as Valerie's, nor was she as beautiful.
