The Way She Wants It (Michael Jackson FanFiction)

..43..

I sit in the arm chair, beside Michael massive king size, and I watch him. I'm waiting for him to get up. 

After I hung up on whoever-that-bitch-was last night, I made my way up to Michael's bed and tried to stay up, but eventually I fell asleep. I woke up an hour ago and Michael was beside me. I have no idea when he got home, so now I'm sitting beside him, impatiently, and I'm waiting for him to wake up.

Bastard. 

Who the fuck was that woman? He better hope it was one of his fucking dancers. 

"Ugh, fuck it," I grumble quietly, standing with one of his large fluffy blankets wrapped around my shoulders. I take another glance at him once more before rolling my eyes and going downstairs to finished what was left of my Thai food that I thought I'd leave for Michael, but clearly being a good girlfriend doesn't pay off. 

Fuck, if he was going to stay all night he could've told me. I wouldn't have cared but I shouldn't have waited for nothing. 

As I find myself in the kitchen, I get myself a glass of tap water and tuck into the leftovers. Leaning against the counter, I fork at my Pad Thai with attitude. It's not the dishes fault, but I need to take some of this aggression out as Michael as sweet dreamin' away. 

This man drives me crazy. Negative and positive. 

I finally open up to someone, and they do this shit. I should've picked a boring, average person. An accountant, or some shit. Reliable, predictable and able to do my taxes. 

As these thoughts run through my mind, I hear Michael's footsteps through the floor above, and down the stairs without missing a beat. 

"Hey Bee," he sighs heavily, wrapping his arms around me from behind. 

"Michael, don't touch me," I grit, trying to shrug him off of me as I lay my for on the counter, "Michael, get off of me," I demand as he fails to let go. 

"Are you mad at me?" he asks stupidly. 

"Yeah, no shit." I scoff, as his arms finally break from around me and I step to the side, keeping the blanket wrapped around my shoulders.

"Why are you mad at me?" he asks with a puzzled look on his face, "Was it because I was home late? I told you I would be late," he says, trying to defend himself. Fucking idiot. 

"Michael, have you ever been in a fucking relationship?!" I question harshly, and his frown deepens. 

"Not like this," he mumbles, trying to figure out what I'm getting. 

"Clearly!" I exclaim, "You act like you're new. Do you really not get why I'm mad?" I ask, squinting my eyes. 

"Is it because I was late?" he asks again.

"No!" I scoff, throwing my arms out to side and letting them flail back against me, "I called you, Frank picked up, and he said that he would tell you to call me back. Did he tell you that?" 

"Yes." Michael nods. 

"Okay, great," I say sarcastically before continuing, "And then I called again! And do you know who picked up?" I ask, hoping he fucking knows. 

"Frank?" he asks, looking very confused. 

"NO!" I bark, "It was some whore who was all "no Michael's not here, hahahah, but I would love to collab with you Abby, BLAH, BLAH, BLAH," I scream as Michael's brows shoot up. 

"Who answered the phone?" he asks, probably asking for specifics. 

"I don't fucking know, Michael! But that's not the point! All I know is that it was some whore who was questioning me! ME! SHE HAD THE NERVE TO QUESTION ME, AS TO WHY I WAS CALLING YOU, ON YOUR PHONE, WHEN I'M YOUR GIRLFRIEND!" I scream, and Michael's face is intense with questions, sadness and irritation. 

"Well it's not my fault that somebody else picked up my phone," he scoffs, "Whoever it was didn't tell me that you called." 

"But did Frank tell you that I called?" I ask, and he looks at the ground, "That's what I fucking thought." I grit, throwing the blanket on one of the barstools and grabbing my keys and phone off of the counter. 

"I should've called," Michael says quickly as I begin to walk towards the door, "I'm sorry. I was just busy. I should've called." he repeats before I whip around to look at him, making him stumble back a bit. 

"You're right. You should've called, but you didn't. That's the difference." I accuse, pointing my finger at him. 

"I told you I was going to work late." he says, sorrow filling his eyes. 

"I wouldn't be mad if you would've called, or if that whore hadn't answered your phone. Fuck, I wouldn't even be mad if you had said that you weren't coming home at all," I sigh rubbing the bridge of my nose. 

"I don't understand why you're so mad about me not calling this one time." he says, again, stupidly. I flick my eyes to his, shooting daggers, and shake my head. 

"The last time you didn't call me, I thought you'd left me." I say evenly. It takes a second, but Michael's face droops in realization.

"That was different," he sighs, stepping towards me as sadness fills his eyes. 

"How?" I ask, and he hesitates. 

"There were barriers." 

"Like what? Huh?" I ask, squinting my eyes, "First, you didn't call me for two months because you had some sort of hesitation about us because I had been with Janet. Fine, I understand that, but you still didn't call to explain yourself," I begin, and sadness and guilt fills his whole demeanour, "And then you don't call me for two years because you were busy and you didn't want a distraction, and whatever else you decided to tell me. So excuse me for getting angry this "one time" because you have a bad history with calling me." I grit, and he looks into my eyes with sorrow. 

"I should've called you."

"Yeah, you should've." I agree, folding my arms. 

"But I told you it would be like this. I told you that I would busy. I'm leaving in a couple of weeks, Bee, I don't know what you want me to do." he says, clearly not understanding the whole conversation we just had. 

"You know what, I'll make it easy for you," I sigh, turning towards the door, "Have a good time on your tour. Don't bother calling me because I know you'll be too busy, and I know that you wouldn't anyways." 

"Bee," he sighs, following behind me.

"Goodbye, Michael," I say, turning back to him one last time as tears fill both of our eyes when they connect, and my heart cracks. 

"Bee, I love you." he quivers and I shake my head, opening the door. 

"Goodbye, Michael." I choke, picking up my bag beside the door and walking out, slamming the door behind me as my heart shatters on the floor, and left with Michael forever.