tabloid junkie (Michael Jackson)

January 5ᵗʰ ─ 2:30 ᵖᵐ

{Edited}

Jan. 5th

2:30 pm

The view from the Reese Hotel was spectacular, that's why I'd chosen this place to reside.

I hadn't been home since Christmas. In other words, I haven't seen Michael since.

I'd told him where I was and asked if he could come to the hotel, he'd said yes. Still, I wonder how he'll get here without arousing screaming fans.

I trailed my finger on the window, drawing MJ in the condensation with my finger. I tilted my head and smiled at it. The only light in this darkness.

A knock sounded through the apartment, I jumped, turning toward the door. A few more knocks came, they were impatient. I slowly walked toward the door and stared through the peephole. All I saw was dark clothes and I knew who it was.

Quickly, I yanked open the door, allowing him to slide in, and then shut it. I bolted it down and turned toward him.

I was wondering why he'd looked so different, and the answer was clear: Michael looked...amazing. He was wearing a dark sweater and jeans, his face was washed of any makeup.

And his hair, those long dark curls were snipped away up to his cheekbones. I wish I could have complemented him, but it seemed wrong.

His disguise made him look completely different. And so beautiful.

Then I remembered why he was even here in the first place.

"Micha—"

"I watched the news." He ran an frustrated hand through his hair; then his huge eyes blinked over at me. "Are you okay?" He asked, nearly a whisper.

I walked over to the wide lace bed, and sat down. "Yeah...I think."

"Well, it's going to be okay." He assured me in a subdued voice, he reached for my hand and smoothed his thumb over my knuckles. "I promise."

"They're going to be looking for me." I whispered, blinking up at him. "I'm probably going to be arrested or something." I shook my head.

His hand slipped away from mine the second I said it, and Michael moved away from me over to the window. "This is all my fault." He balled his hands. I watched his eyes run over my sloppy MJ in the condensation.

"I should have done this alone." He said, as if he hadn't seen what I'd drawn on the glass.

"You couldn't have," I stood, walking over to him and smoothing my hand against the soft material of his sweater. "That would mean you'd be alone." My voice was nearly a whisper. "And I wouldn't wish that on anyone..." 

Our eyes met in the reflection of the window. "I still feel guilty knowing that you'd probably be home living your life if I hadn't asked you for help." He blinked, long lashes shadowing on his skin.

"Michael, I'm glad you did." My hand fell away from his shoulder.

"You shouldn't be, I've ruined your life."

"Look, I know you're sorry," I snapped, angrily. "But that isn't going to change the fact that #dirtydiana is trending worldwide on Twitter!" I shouted loudly, and Michael whirled, surprised at my outburst.

Michael ambled over to me, he snaked his arms around my shoulders, and pulled me in, I felt his chin on my head as my arms immediately wrapped around his back.

ᅚᅚBefore I could say something, he pulled away and held my shoulders tightly with sincerity. "Diana, I'm going to get you out of this. I promise."

"Do you keep promises?" I asked in a low whisper, my wide eyes pleading for an answer from him.

"Yes, Diana, I do." He offered me a smile, and pulled me back in for the embrace.