The Way She Wants It (Michael Jackson FanFiction)

..Epilogue..

The steady beeping of the monitor has lulled me to sleep and just as quickly brought me back to reality. I rub my eye with the hand that isn't holding Michael's and I take a deep breath. 

Thank God. 

I don't know what I would've done with myself if this man had died. 

As I think about possible plans for the future, I feel his hand lightly squeeze mine, and I look over to watch his body stir. 

"Hey, baby," I smile as his eyes flutter open. His brows furrow and he tries to sit up, but he fails, "Shh, it's okay," I assure, leaning over to place my hand on his chest, "You need to rest. Your body has been through a lot." 

"What happened?" he rasps, closing his eyes for a minute. 

"You overdosed," I sigh, and his eyes open, widening a bit more this time. 

"On what?" he asks slowly. 

"Propofol." I nod and he squeezes his eyes shut. 

"Shit." he grits, looking away from me. 

"You should've told me." 

"You wouldn't have understood." 

"Maybe not," I shrug, as he lets go of my hand and I lean back in the chair, "But I could've helped you." 

"I thought I had it under control," he mumbles, looking in the other direction. 

"Well, you killed yourself," I state and his brows furrow before looking back to me. 

"What do you mean?" he asks slowly. 

"Well, technically, you were dead for around a minute and a half to two minutes. They revived you, but you were dead." I explain, and he shakes his head. 

"I did this," he mumbles. 

"Yes, you did." 

"Where's Conrad?" he asks. 

"Who?" 

"Dr. Conrad Murray?" 

"Oh," I murmur, rolling my eyes at the thought of that coward, "He's around. Probably talking to a few other doctors." 

"This isn't his fault, Bee," he mumbles, reading my mind, "I injected the last dose of propofol." 

"Michael," I whisper as he coughs a bit. 

"I couldn't sleep," he shrugs, closing his eyes. 

"Shit, you could've called me or something," I hiss. 

"It wouldn't have made a difference," he sighs, his eyes still closed, "I haven't slept without Propofol or Demerol since you left me." he confesses and my heart sinks, "I know you leaving me was my fault. I know," he confesses, opening his eyes to look at me, "But I've said it before, and I'll say it again: I can't sleep without you."

"I didn't think it was like that," I mumble and he smiles genuinely. 

"What did you think it was like then?" he asks with a bit of a smirk that turns into a cough. 

"I thought you were overexaggerating." 

"Nope." 

He reaches back over to hold my hand and we sit in silence for what feels like an hour before the doctors and nurses finally decide to join us. 

"Michael," Frank smiles as he follows them in, "Good to see you."

"Good to see you too, Frank," he smiles as Dr. Conrad Murray, a doctor from the hospital and two nurses stand in front of us.