The Way She Wants It (Michael Jackson FanFiction)

..39..

"That was phenomenal," I sigh heavily, rolling off of Michael and lying beside him. 

"I'll say," he says, letting out a deep breath as I turn on my side, hoping he gets the cue to spoon me. He does. 

"I can't believe you were trying to with hold me from sex," I giggle as he intertwines his fingers with mine. 

"That didn't last very long, did it," he chuckles, kissing the space behind my ear. 

"I guess you just can't resist me." I smile, pressing my back into him, trying to get as close as possible. 

"Of course not," he smiles, kissing my shoulder this time, "I love you." 

"I love you too, baby," I smile, smitten as a kitten. 

We lie in a comfortable silence, my eyes slightly closing as I listen to Michael's heartbeat and breaths, luring me to fall asleep. 

"Tell me about your family, babe," Michael sighs, making my heart clench. 

"Why do you want to know so badly," I sigh, still holding onto Michael's hand. 

"I just want to know about you, baby," he says softly, kissing my shoulder, "You fascinate me, and I want to know what your family is like, and who raised such a phenomenal person."

"Please," I scoff, "I do not credit my parents for raising me. I'm self made." I smirk at my own cockiness as I feel Michael's face frown in confusion. 

"What do you mean?" he asks, "Were your parents not a part of your life?" 

"Not exactly," I sigh, shaking my head, "My parents had me when my Mom was 17 and my Dad was 18. They didn't want me and they acted like it." I grunt, rolling my eyes at the thought of those two assholes. 

"Bee," Michael sighs with pity in his voice, holding me tighter to me. 

"Don't feel bad," I sigh, scooting away from him to sit up. 

"Where are you going?" he asks as I shake out my curls. 

"Nowhere, I just don't feel the need to be held if I'm talking about this kind of thing. I don't need to be comforted. It's not that big of a deal." I sigh, standing to put Michael's shirt over my head, just covering my ass. Michael watches me as I get back into the bed, leaning against the headboard.

"It may not be a big deal to you, but I just want to hold you and make you feel better," he explains, propping himself up on his elbow. 

"I don't need that," I sigh, running my hands over my hair. 

"So they didn't treat you well because they didn't... want you?" he asks hesitantly. 

"I guess," I shrug, looking down at my hands, "I mean, they would always put me down and give me endless amounts of work to do around the house, almost like I was their slave," I sigh, recalling the memories, "My Father would hit me too, but he wasn't around too often to do so." I sigh as Michael looks up at me with sympathy, "But I moved out when I was fourteen, so it wasn't really that big of a deal for that long." 

"You moved out when you were fourteen?" Michael asks in shock. 

"Yeah, I had to get out of there," I sigh, "My Father started hitting on me when I was like, thirteen, so I had to leave." 

"You could've called child services," he says, rubbing my thigh with his large hand. 

"Yeah, I could've, but then I would've ended up in the foster system." I sigh, "So I just moved in with a friend and lived in her basement for a while, before hopping through different houses throughout high school." 

"Do you have any siblings?" Michael asks, still rubbing my thigh, not failing to get me wet all over again, the same way I usually am with him anyways. 

"I don't know," I sigh, shaking my head, "To be honest, I wouldn't be surprised if my parents split up and had their own kids with other people." I mumble, looking down at my hands, "They would want their new kids more than me because they are older and more mature, probably have their shit together too." Michael looks up at me, not knowing what to say. I know all he wants to do is comfort me, hold me, and whisper sweet, comforting nothings in my ear, but that'll probably just make me cry. 

I know I act like a tough bitch, but come one, you might cry too if you knew your parents didn't want you. 

"Do you want to know if you have siblings?" he asks hesitantly, not sure whether or not to keep pushing the subject.

"I'm not sure," I murmur, furrowing my brows, "I've never really thought about it, to be honest. But probably not. They would just remind me of my parents giving them everything that they could've given me." 

"They're assholes," Michael grits, starting to get angry, "I can't believe that they did that to you." 

"Yeah, well," I sigh, still looking at my hands. If I look into his eyes I'll probably break down.

"So you haven't talked to them at all since you moved out?" he asks, irritation in his voice. 

"Well, of course there was back and forth when I was hopping houses. It was mostly just me letting them know where I was so that they wouldn't get in shit if anything really happened to me," I explain, and Michael shakes his head, clenching his fist on my thigh, "But otherwise, they've tried to contact me, but I haven't talked to them." 

"How do you know?" he asks, furrowing his brows. 

"One time they called Steph. I don't even know how they got her number, but they did. Another time it's been through different managers or publishers that I've had. Even other celebrities that they've gotten through to. I don't know, they're probably just trying to get to me for some money." 

"Yeah, probably," Michael nods, "My family does that to me sometimes. Calls me up to host a party for them, or have some sort of big bash. Even to lend them money sometimes." He murmurs, staring off into space. 

"Well, I don't care for them, even if there is a slight possibility that they are trying to call to make up with me, or tell me that they're sorry," I sigh, standing from the bed, "If they wanted to apologize they could've done it before I had all this money," I mumble, pulling my thong up my legs, "They really fucked themselves out of this one."