tabloid junkie (Michael Jackson)

January 7ᵗʰ ─ 4:04 ᵖᵐ

{Edited}

Jan. 7th

4:04 pm

When I arrived back at the Reese Hotel, Michael was sitting in the bedside chair, he was holding a photo in his hand. I saw an intense sadness in his eyes.

And it made me even more curious, and more anxious to ask him the question I've been dying to ask for the last 3 months.

"Why did you leave?" I blurted before I could stop myself, and when I was ready to take it back he stood up and brushed his dark hair back.

I shut the door softly and dropped my groceries on the desk.

"It's complicated. Don't worry about it."

"Well," I said, dropping my shopping items on the desk. "I brought some junk food. You hungry?" I tossed him a can of Pepsi.

He caught it easily. "Thanks." He looked over to the window, staring out at the showering rain. Thankfully, I'd gotten inside before any of it touched me.

"You know...I used to tell myself that keeping secrets was a good trait." I rested on the edge of the bed, watching him with calm, serene eyes. "It nearly destroyed me. Still is." I said.

"I still can't tell you." He ran a hand through his snipped hair again, he looked nervous.

"Michael," I sat down my own can of soda and approached him by the window. Placing my hand on his shoulder like I did a few days ago. "You can."

"Would you believe me if I said I just didn't want to live like that anymore?" He looked over at me, with pleading eyes.

I scoffed. "Do you even look at yourself when you perform? Michael, I know you're happy with your life, and I know you love your family. And don't lie and say you were tired of the fans."

"If there's one thing I can't do, it's lie." He told me.

My expression softened. "What's the real reason, Michael?"

"I can't tell you now, Diana. I promise I will, just not right now."

I can't say I wasn't disappointed but maybe I understood. "Alright, I won't push you."

I watched him pop the cap of his drink in silence.