tabloid junkie (Michael Jackson)

February 1ˢᵗ ─ 4:00 ᵖᵐ

Once the thin wood of the door was no longer separating us, Michael grabbed onto the back of my head and kissed me. I was surprised, since I had just gotten done telling him the good news about Richard.

We were stumbling from room to room, our lips torturously moving against each others. I grabbed the hem of my tank and pulled it over my head, slipping my arms around his neck and jumping up to wrap my legs around his waist.

My back hit the soft mattress, and truthfully, I didn't even know whose room we were in and didn't care. Michael peppered kisses along my neck, cleavage and shoulders. Then his lips went back to mine, and I reached down for his belt when a ring cut through the air.

We broke apart, I realized it was the telephone on the bedside table, I scrunched my eyebrows, reaching over and grabbing it. "Hello?" I ask, as Michael fixes his shirt, and I can't do anything about me. My shirt is all the way in the corridor.

"Put Michael on the phone." The voice was deep, dark and void of any emotion. I put my hand over the phone and looked at Michael.

"It's for you." I whispered, handing him the telephone.

I was scared. Who would be calling for Michael at my house?

"Hello?" Michael repeated what I said in that too-soft voice of his, it was unfathomable, indescribable.

I watched his face go from fear, anger and then to sadness. He opened his mouth to speak into the phone when I guess the dial tone hit because he pulled the telephone from his ear and stared at it.

"Michael?" I reached over for his hand. "Who was that?"

Michael tilted his head at me. "I think you know."

The masked man.

I pulled my hand away from Michael's. I was so scared, almost too scared to ask my question but I had to know. "Wha-what did he want?"

"He wants," Michael sighs, closing his eyes for a second. "He wants me to break up with you, Diana. By 12."