tabloid junkie (Michael Jackson)

March 4ᵗʰ ─ 5:00 ᵃᵐ

"This is it." I said impassively, as we reached room 283. I pulled my hotel key out of my pocket and opened the door.

I was surprised when Michael came inside behind me, when I heard him close the door behind me. "Diana." I turned at the sound of my name on his lips. "We need to talk."

"There's nothing to talk about," I said, sniffing as I unzipped my damp hoodie. "Go with Janet, she doesn't even know where my house is."

"You're right," said Michael. "No talking."

I scrunched my eyebrows, confused of the way he said 'no talking,' he said it in a way that kind of sounded seductive.

"And I am so tired of talking, of running my mouth, of pretending." I heard Michael say, his voice getting closer to me, and I turned to him, pushing my hoodie on the desk.

Michael slowly approached me, walking in such a lazy, special grace I'd never seen before. I had reached my limit when my back hit the cold wall.

"So, then what aren't you tired of?" I whispered, though could barely breathe, barely decipher or comprehend what was going on right now.

"You."

I didn't know what my response would have been, or what I would have done. I mean, I didn't even care by the time his lips reached mine.