Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston

Argue

Whitney POV

I made sure I was looking flawless and walked out my closet into the room.

"Baby, I'm ready." I said.

Michael didn't reply just sat there with my coc in his hand. He looked livid. It's very unusual for him to get mad over simple things.

"Michael, come on. What do you wanna do?" I asked.

"Why, Whitney?" He looked at me.

"Why what?"

"Why the hell are you using drugs?"

"Profanity, baby." I ignored the question.

"I knew something was going on. But I didn't suspect anything this bad! Do you know what this can do to your career."

"Why were you going through MY things!" I asked.

Michael threw daggers at me with his eyes. I back up a few feet.

"Michael, I thought we were gonna spend time together tonight. Isn't that what you want? For you to have my attention." I tried to distract him. "Come on. Relax. We'll talk about it tomorrow. We'll do whatever you want. If you wanna screw, lets screw. Anything!"

"I don't even wanna look at you right now." He snapped. "This is disgusting. We have a daughter. Only a couple of months old! And you're just gonna go around sniffing cocaine and not care?!"

"I didn't f*cking say I don't care, Michael. I just don't wanna argue tonight."

"Okay. So let me ask you a question." He said more calmly.

"Go ahead."

"Are you also cheating on me, Ms. Houston?"

"OF COURSE NOT!" I yelled in fury. "And since when did you start calling me 'Ms. Houston'?"

"Now. Starting now! How long have you be doing this?"

"A while." I admitted in a small tone.

"Wow." He gasped. "Did you really think you could keep this from me?"

"No. Michael, just please calm down." My mood fell.

I felt hurt. The comment 'Ms. Houston' hurt me. Last time I checked I was Mrs. Jackson. Was that a warning of divorce? .

"Michael, I'll get help. I promise."

"I honestly don't care. I'm done."

"With?" I asked horrified as he walked past me.

"You're a smart girl. The comment 'Ms. Houston' should've gave you an idea."

"Michael, what?"

"I want a divorce."