The Way She Wants It (Michael Jackson FanFiction)

..63..

"Shit," I hiss, wiping tears from my eyes as I pace back and forth in my suite. 

What am I going to do about Michael? He needs help, and the reason he's not getting it is because he's done what I've feared for him for years. He's completely isolated himself and the people he's surrounded by are yes-men. 

After Michael left me in the hospital, I decided to take a bit of break from my career, which is something I never thought I'd be capable of doing. I took a step back, stayed in the states, with occasional flights out to see Michael. I thought I could make it work, but he was fucking around with other women when I wasn't there. 

I was slowly leaving him, emotionally, but when I went to visit him in Paris and walked in on him with two french girls, I knew it was time to leave him. 

We both had our issues, but that was the last straw. 

"Oh Michael," I sniffle, wiping my nose with a tissue. 

As I finish weeping and the tears have stopped running, I walk over to my suitcase and start to undress. When I'm in the middle of taking off my bra there is a knock on the door, making my eyes widen as my head turns towards it. 

"Who is it?" I ask in a voice that doesn't feel like my own. 

"It's me, Bee," his velvet voice seeps through the door and a shiver goes down my spine. I breathe deeply, closing my eyes for a minute before looking back at the door. 

"Just a second," I sigh, taking off my bra to put on a more comfortable one and an oversized t-shirt. I quickly change into a pair of short, spandex shorts and make my way over to the door. 

My hand shakes as I reach for the handle. I rest my hand there for a second and I hear him sigh on the other side. 

"Bee, let me in," he coaxes, knowing I'm there, and I roll my eyes at the effect he's having on me already. 

Slowly, I turn the handle to reveal Michael standing there in his black loafers, high waters and a plain white tee. 

"Hi," he smiles in one cheek and I sigh, shifting my eyes away from his, "Can I come in?" he asks, taking a step towards me. I step back a bit.

"Why, are you going to try and seduce me?" I ask, with a hint of sarcasm in the back of my voice.

"If this were twenty years ago, that's what I'd be asking you," he smiles. A smile tugs at the corners of my mouth and I step to the side to let him in, "Thanks," he nods, stepping past me, "I really thought you'd shut the door in my face."

"It was a close call," I mumble, shutting and locking the door behind me before turning to watch Michael observe the suite. 

"This is nice," he nods in approval. 

"How'd you know where I was?" I sigh, folding my arms. 

"I called Stephanie." he grins, turning to look at me as I lean against the door. 

"Of course you did," I nod, walking over to grab two bottles of water out of the fridge. I hold one out to it, and he gladly accepts before we both down half of each. 

"How are you?" he asks as I take a seat on the couch. I gesture to the spot beside me and he sits, making me tense. 

"I'm fine," I sigh, looking down at the bottle of water in my hands.

"You're not going to ask me how I'm doing?" he chuckles, placing his arm along the back of the couch. I look up to him and arch a brow, "What?" 

"Michael," I sigh, leaning my back against the arm rest, "I know you better than anyone else. I know you're not okay, so I'm not going to ask when I know you're going to lie about it." 

"What are you talking about?" he scoffs, shifting his eyes from mine before clearing his throat, a sign of nerves, "I'm fine. I'm doing great. The tour is going to take off and I will be on top again." 

"Is that what you tell yourself?" I ask softly and he looks into my eyes with menace, "Michael, you're almost fifty. I'm not saying that you shouldn't still be doing what you love, and I don't want to discourage the fact that you'll never be on top again, but it's pretty unrealistic." 

"Maybe for you," he sneers, and my heart drops, "But for me... I'm unstoppable." 

"Just because you don't want to grow old doesn't mean it's not going to happen," I sigh, standing from the couch to walk into the washroom. 

"Age doesn't mean that I won't top charts again," he tries to persuade me as he follows close behind. I rinse my face in the sink, feeling crusty, as I feel his stare on me, "I'm Michael Jackson. I've done what people can only dream." 

"And I'm happy that you've done that," I snap, standing up to look at him before grabbing a towel to dry my face, "But this... this is bad." 

"What? My want to resurface?" he scoffs and I roll my eyes. 

"No," I grit, stepping towards him, "What you're putting yourself through is bad."

"I'm not putting myself through anything except for hard work," he tries. I stare daggers into his eyes as I take another step and poke my finger into his chest. 

"And the fasting, and the medications, and the people who you surround yourself with, and the fact that you can't see that you need help!" I yell as vulnerability shows on his face for a fraction of a second before his cold demeanour returns. 

"I'm glad I left you." he sneers and I laugh as my heart sinks lower. 

"I'm sure," I smile condescendingly before walking around him, "So that you could surround yourself with yes-men and groupies to satisfy your whack mindset." 

"Abby," he grits and I slowly stop walking to turn around and look at him, "I'm fine." 

"Are you trying to convince me or yourself?" I ask quietly, keeping my hands at my sides as he stands by the doorway of the washroom. 

"I'm fine," he repeats, this time a bit slower. I take a step towards him, not sure of what is going to happen next. 

"Michael," I breathe, staring into his eyes as they coat with wetness, "Michael, tell me what you need and I will do everything I can." 

"Abby," he chokes out, looking away and a ball starts to forms in my throat. 

"Michael," I sigh, walking up to him to place my hands on his brittle chest, "Tell me what you need." 

"I need you," he croaks and I take his face in my hands, "I didn't mean what I said. I really didn't mean it. I should've never let you leave me." he cries and tears well up in my eyes. 

"Michael, why are you doing this to yourself?" my voice shakes as he shuts his eyes tightly. 

"This is all I've ever known," he cries and my heart sinks, "And now... people don't even like me. The allegations, all of the conspiracies and the accusations. They all think I'm a freak. I need to win back their love for me." 

"Baby, no," I sniffle, wiping his tears with my thumbs and he looks back into my eyes with his bloodshot ones.

"I don't know what else to do," he cries, "I took those few years to deal with everything that was going on and, you know, I canceled my Invincible tour because of 9/11. I just want everyone to love the Michael Jackson that they loved before." 

"If they don't love the Michael I know, then that's their loss. You don't have to try and win people over." 

"Yes I do," he breathes, staring straight into my eyes, "That's the only thing left for me to do." 

"What do you mean?" I ask softly, the ball in my throat slowly getting smaller. 

"Bee, I can feel that something isn't right," he says softly, placing his hands over mine.

"Michael, what are you talking about?" I ask as he sighs, shaking his head. He takes a deep breath and opens his mouth a few times to try and find his words. 

"I know that I'm going to die soon."