tabloid junkie (Michael Jackson)

december 22ᶰᵈ ─ 11:20 ᵃᵐ

Call me a creep, or just about anything but I can't help it. 

Who can resist? Seriously. I sure couldn't, not with his mouth hanging ajar, possibly drool dribbling out onto the purple gingerbread pillow case.

His body continuing it's rhythm, it takes exactly three seconds for him to take a breath, I lean against the door my arms crossed over my chest and take a breath of my own.

I couldn't sleep. I couldn't close my eyes and dream about a blissful life I'd never have.

So, I watched him. Leaning against the guest room in my house.

It took everything, for me to resist pushing aside the singular dark curl dangling over his closed lids. I imagined if he opened his eyes, I'd be welcomed into a brown heaven. A smile curved at my lips, and for a second I just thought about the little things that could make my day.

Michael Jackson, okay? Is resting in my guest bedroom. Its still so hard for me to even believe. Even if it took him escaping his own life for him to get here.

He shifted over in bed, causing the thick comforter to slide from his skin to the floor, and if I thought he'd be bare from waist down then I should be disappointed because he was wearing loose black pants.

I shivered, realizing how cold it was. The snow had piled a lot since last Saturday. Sighing, I looked over to Michael who had to be freezing.

Being the good Samaritan I was, I strolled inside and grabbed the blankets from the floor, then covered his body with them. Smiling at his response, which was softly brushing his face against the thin fabric of the duvet.

Ready to turn and rush out because my cheeks were beet red, something warm latched onto my wrist and I looked down to see it was his hand. Confused, I rose my eyebrows wondering what possessed him to do such a thing.

"Just lay with me for a while." His eyes hadn't opened, but his lips were moving.

If it was possible, I got redder. When Michael released my arm, I nodded, telling myself nothing was crazy about this; absolutely nothing.

With a determined breath, I climbed into the bed and then realized I was cold, so I curled into a ball and burrowed into his chest, groping for warmth. Then his arm snaked around my back and there it was. There was the warmth.

I released a breath I hadn't noticed I was holding, and rubbed my face into his sweater, immediately I smelled that spicy scent of his. I relished in it.

I felt my eyes slipping close, and I welcomed the impending slumber.

"Diana."

My eyes snapped open, the desire to rest forgotten. His lids were still closed but by the way he was breathing, I could tell he was awake. "Yes?" I whispered.

His voice was soft hum, compared to my whisper. "Can I call you Annie?" I tensed in his hold, just as his free hand began to tangle in my dark brown locks.

"Sure." I whispered, completely sure.

After a while, this weird question was ringing in my head and I couldn't hold it in any longer. I sighed. "Michael, why do you want me to stay?" I tilted my head upwards, his eyes were still closed, except what I didn't realize was that his hands had not continued their stroking in my hair.

His breathing went back into that familiar rhythm, and he was just so still. I realized then that he was asleep.

I laughed silently to myself.