The Way She Wants It (Michael Jackson FanFiction)

..30..

I sigh lightly as Michael rolls off my sweaty body to lay beside me. I look up at the ceiling, not wanting to even look at him as the pain that I've had from the last two years forms in my chest again. That pain was temporarily removed while we were fucking and now I don't know what to do.

"Abby," he sighs and I see his head turn to me in my periphery.

"I don't want to talk, Michael." I sigh, "This was a mistake. I shouldn't have let you into my house. It was a mistake." I repeat as tears brim in my eyes.

"We can talk about this," he says softly, turning on his side and resting his head in his hand, "I'm sorry." he whispers, making me turn my head away from him.

He's going to make me cry.

"Michael, cut the shit," my voice shakes as I try to collect myself, "I don't care if you're sorry or not. You left me for two years." I confront him, looking up to the ceiling again.

"No, you left me for two years." he bites back, but not with a confrontational tone.

"You knew I was leaving," I grit, whipping my head towards him, looking into his big brown eyes, "I called you, multiple times, and I even told you before hand that I was going to call you everyday. I told you that shit, Michael, and you fucking ignored it." I say shakily, a tear falling from my eyes. I wipe it quickly as Michael's eyes fill with sadness, "I'm not even mad. I'm just sad and disappointed. I thought you wanted me Michael." I confess, knowing that this wouldn't happen if this was anyone else. 

"Can we at least talk about everything?" he asks softly, knowing not to test the boundaries right now. 

"What could we possibly have to talk about?" I ask hoarsely, slowly sitting up while holding the covers to my chest. 

"I just need to explain myself." he sighs, rubbing the bridge of his nose as if he's the one who's in pain. 

"There's no explanation for not caring, Michael. You either do or you don't, there's not really an in between." I shake my head, letting the sarcasm seep through the air before I stand from the bed, naked to the world, and for the first time ever, uncomfortable with my bare skin. I quickly walk into my walk-in closet and search for a house coat as I hear Michael's foot steps slowly approaching the door way. I turn my back to the door as I wrap the navy, silk robe around me and start to tie it up. 

"You haven't changed a bit," he sighs from the doorway as I stare at my hands that are latched around the ends of the done up sashes, realizing it's the same one that I was wearing in my condo when he first came over, "You look great."

"Michael, stop," I shake my head, not wanting to look at him, "You don't need to tell me these things. I've heard them before, from you and from others." I shake my head, not intentionally trying to take a dig at him. 

"Bee," he sighs as I finally turn to look at him. 

"I didn't sleep with anyone." I confess and his brows furrow in a bit of confusion, "I didn't sleep with a single person for two years because I was still hung up on you, Michael Jackson." I say softly, trying to keep my tears down, "I haven't not slept with someone for two years straight since I was 15. I went from a virgin to having sex when and where I wanted. Until you," I sigh shakily and his face falls in realization, "I hate that you do these things to me." 

"Bee, just let me explain myself." 

"No," I shake my head, holding my hand up as the room starts to feel smaller and smaller, "Let me explain myself. I told you more than two years ago that I don't do relationships. You made me think that it could be able to work out, and I let myself fall. I fell for you, Michael Jackson, and I'm still falling. My heart aches," I choke, hot tears streaming down my face, and I'm just now realizing it, "I fell hard. Right onto the cold, hard ground, and no one was there to catch me. You were supposed to catch me, and you let me get hurt."

"Abby," 

"I told you I didn't do relationships. I told you I didn't want to do what you wanted to and yet I did, because I fucking cared about you more than I've cared about anyone in a long time. I'm fragile, Michael. I may come off like some cocky, know it all who doesn't give a shit, but it's all a facade. I'm letting you see through that. You're the only person who I've let see through that. I didn't even let Janet see this and I was with her for three years, for christ sake. So how could you, Michael Jackson, be so cold as to let me go two years without any access to you whatsoever? Tell me that. Because I'd like to think that I know you're not cold." I sob, wiping the hot tears from my burning face and tears run down his cheeks as well. 

"Abby, will you please let me explain myself?" he croaks, wiping his hands down his face, taking the tears with them. 

"What is it, Michael? Who or what could've possibly kept you away from me last time?" I cry, still trying to wipe the tears away as they keep coming like a downpour. 

"Your manager," he sighs and my heart stops for a second, "It was Steph. She told me not to see you anymore."