fed up wasnât even the word anymore. you were jaded, deeply exhausted, and completely exasperated with michael. the constant, suffocating weight of his absence had settled into your bones, turning what used to be patient understanding into a cold, lingering resentment.
at the beginning of your relationship, things had flowed so smoothly. michael was incredibly sweet to you, the absolute epitome of a gentleman. his soul radiated a rare, pure joy and a gentle warmth that practically cast a spell over everyone he met, and that genuine innocence was what truly gravitated you toward him in the first place. even though he was a global pop star navigating a level of fame that felt entirely alien to you, you knew from the very start that his world was packed with demanding schedules, endless studio sessions, and pressures you couldn't completely comprehend. but even with the weight of the world on his shoulders, that man had always put in the time and effort for you. he used to make you feel like his only priority, anchoring you with soft late-night phone calls and spontaneous, quiet moments away from the flashing cameras.
but now, as time progressed, your relationship with the singer became incredibly rocky. you guys weren't publicly known for dating, a deliberate choice that was supposed to protect your privacy but had instead turned into a slow-burning psychological torture. because you were kept hidden away in the shadows, the vacuum of information was filled by a relentless media machine. rumors conspired quickly between him and other famous women in the industry, including his prominent exes.
every morning felt like a gamble with your own sanity. you would walk downstairs only to find the newspapers splashed with agonizing pictures. there would be high-definition photographs displayed across the front pages with michael facing another gorgeous woman, playfully touching her arm, or laughing directly in her face with that dazzling, intimate smile you thought belonged only to you. the tabloids ran with ridiculous, sensationalized titles that tore at your confidence and forced you to question the entire validity of your relationship.
it was the public intimacy that hurt the most. while you were confined to the quiet security of his private estates, the rest of the world got to see him being charming, attentive, and physically affectionate with women who fit the pop-star narrative perfectly. even if your rational mind told you it was just industry networking or harmless publicity, your heart couldn't block out the constant noise. every headline felt like a subtle mockery of your hidden status, making you wonder if he was hiding you to protect you, or if he was simply keeping his options open while you waited faithfully at home.
of course, you had brought it to michaels attention, desperately seeking a lifeline to pull you out of your own head. but whenever you confronted him, he would wrap you in his familiar, soothing warmth and reassure you with that soft, pleading voice. he told you that the media is just gonna say what they want just to make a coin, that they're lying, and that he has absolutely no romantic interest in the women he would be paired with in the papers. for a moment, looking into his eyes, you wanted so badly to believe him. you wanted his words to be enough to quiet the storm inside you.
but then, things started to get severe.
the fragile peace he offered couldn't hold up against the sheer weight of the media onslaught, and the rumors started getting worse. the tabloids grew bolder, more vicious, and increasingly specific. at first it was with diana ross. the paper was suddenly flooded with pictures of them together. him smiling brightly in her face, completely unbothered by the cameras, while she was touching and caressing his arm with an undeniable, seasoned intimacy.
as your eyes scanned over the headlines, something in your soul felt so irked. it wasn't just a random starlet anymore; this was diana, a woman who held a massive, legendary piece of his heart and history. seeing the physical contact printed in ink, the effortless closeness that you were forced to deny yourself in public, triggered a visceral wave of nausea. the reassurance he had given you felt paper-thin, completely shredded by the look of pure adoration on his face in those photographs, and the sinking realization hit you that his excuses were no longer enough to stop your heart from breaking.
âMICHAELS SECRET LOVE: WHY HE CANT KET DIANA GO.â
âIS DIANA ROSS THE TRUE LOVE OF MICHAELS LIFE?â
âCLOSEST CONFIDANTE OR SECRET ROMANCE?â
you ripped the paper to shreds, your hands trembling with a sudden, sharp burst of fury as the fragile newsprint tore apart under your fingernails. you quickly threw the mangled pieces deep into your garbage can, desperate to banish those images of him and diana from your sight, as if destroying the physical paper could somehow erase the toxic doubt blooming in your chest. you stood over the trash, chest heaving, trying to breathe through the suffocating knot in your throat and convincing yourself that you were done letting fictional headlines dictate your peace of mind.
but more came, and the universe seemed determined to prove that your nightmare was only just beginning. this time, it was brooke shields.
the next wave of tabloids hit with a deafening roar, and this time, the images felt like a physical blow to the stomach. brooke was young, stunningly beautiful, and possessed a pristine, hollywood elegance that the media absolutely devoured. the front pages showed them everywhere together. glitzy red carpets, intimate after-parties, and quiet car rides where they leaned in close to whisper to one another. the headlines practically screamed about a budding, picture-perfect romance between the worldâs biggest pop star and the ultimate turning-heads starlet, completely erasing your existence with every bold font and sensationalized paragraph. seeing him with her, looking so effortlessly matched in the public eye while you remained hidden behind closed blinds, made something shift inside you. the anger from before dissolved into a cold, paralyzing dread, and you realized that ripping up the papers was no longer going to keep the heartbreak away.
âMICHAEL & BROOKE: HOLLYWOODâS HOTTEST MAYBE COUPLE?â
âAMERICAâS SWEETHEART AND THE KING OF POP!â
âHOLLYWOODS GOLDEN PAIR?â
youâve grown sick of it. absolutely sick. the endless loop of the same empty excuses spun around in your head until it made you dizzy with anger. youâve called michael to address the situation too many times to count, pouring your heart out over the static of a long-distance line, and all he could ever muster up was a dismissive, soft âstop reading the articles, babyâ or a hurried âI can make it up to you, i promise.â those gentle terms of endearment, which used to make your heart melt, now just felt like a cheap band-aid over a gaping wound, a tactical way to hush you up until his next press conference.
and eventually, after that thin line of patience finally snapped, after having long, agonizing nights spent thinking about your decision in the quiet dark of an empty bed, you wanted to drop michael, completely. he was just too flirty, maintaining what felt like a endless roster of beautiful, famous women while you were sitting home alone, being fiercely, quietly loyal to a man who didnât even consider you outside of his private life. he got to live a double life, enjoying the thrill of the spotlight and the company of hollywood icons, only to come back to your unconditional love whenever it was convenient for him.
it didnât feel fair. it was a twisted, one-sided dynamic that was slowly eroding your self-worth. you shouldnât have to live under constant, suffocating stress, constantly feeling like you were competing with gorgeous women who didnât even know you exist. you were fighting an invisible war against ghosts and media darlings, and michael was letting you drown in it just to protect his carefully crafted image. you deserved to be loved out loud, not kept like a dirty secret hidden behind drawn curtains.
and the moment you told him, he begged on the other line, like how he always did. you could hear the immediate shift in his demeanor, the smooth, confident pop star vanishing to reveal a panicked, desperate man.
ânoâmichael, no. iâm done.â you finalized, sighing as you rested a hand on your hip, trying to steel yourself against the familiar ache of his pleading tone.
âbaby, no. please, cmon. this is so unfair and you know it. you canât just throw us away over nothin.â
âno, michael,â you countered, your voice dropping to a harsh whisper. âwhatâs unfair is that iâm sitting at home, waiting for you everyday while your out there doing god-knows-what with everyone else.â
âyou know thatâs not true,â he rushed out, his words tumbling over one another. âwhat did i tell you baby? stop reading those stupid tabloids. they don't know me. they don't know us.â there was a brief pause, a heavy silence over the line before he whispered the ultimate hook, the line he always used to disarm you.
âyou trust me, donât you?â
but you shook your head, even though he couldnât see you. you turned around to lean against the cold wall of your home, letting out sarcastic huffs that felt more like choked-back tears. you raised up a hand, waving it at the empty room as if dismissing his ghost right then and there.
âiâm done michael. please do this for me for once and leave me alone.â
but you hung up, placing the phone back into its holder with a final, decisive click that severed the connection completely. your chest was rising up and down rapidly, your heart hammering against your ribs as you stared at the plastic receiver for a long, heavy moment. it felt like a monument to all the hours you had wasted waiting for it to ring. rolling your eyes at your own lingering hesitation, you turned on your heels and marched out of the room, making your way down to your kitchen.
you reached out for a bottle of champagne hidden in the back of your cabinet, a bottle that was originally meant for a celebration that michael had inevitably canceled. you quickly pulled it out, your hands trembling so violently that the glass clinked against the counter. with a sharp twist and a dull pop, you forced the cork out, barely even caring about the foam that threatened to spill over your knuckles.
fighting back tears, your chin was trembling uncontrollably as you shakily brought out a wine glass from the shelf. you poured the champagne into it with an unsteady hand, watching the golden liquid fizz up aggressively at the top, the tiny bubbles popping and bursting just like the illusions you had held onto for so long. you raised the glass to your lips, desperately needing something. anything, to numb the sharp, hollow ache opening up inside you.
you turned around, leaning your lower back against the cool marble counter as you brought up the glass to your glossed lips. shaking your head in pure disbelief at how things had ended, you stared into nothing as a couple of hot tears rolled down your cheeks, leaving wet tracks in their wake. you sipped some of the champagne, the cold burn of the alcohol stinging your throat, though you wished more than anything that it could ease the tight, suffocating lump forming there.
you sniffled, using the back of your hand to wipe one stubborn tear from your cheek, bitter resentment finally flaring up to replace the sadness.
âsorry ass excuse for a man.â you muttered to the empty kitchen, the words tasting like poison on your tongue.
and then, shattering the quiet house, you heard a sharp knock on your front door, followed immediately by the loud chime of the doorbell ringing and echoing throughout your entire home. you quickly sniffled, wiping away the fresh tears with your fingers as you hurriedly fixed your hair and adjusted your clothes in a desperate attempt to look composed. âcoming!â you yelled out, your voice cracking slightly under the strain as you set the champagne glass down and made your way down the long hallway toward the front door.
as your hand touched the brass knob, you sighed heavily, swinging the door open, forcing a polite, detached smile.
âhello? how may I help yââ
but your sentence stopped right in your throat, the words dying instantly as the air left your lungs.
there he was, in all of his frustratingly, fine glory. michael stood tall in a jacket and jeans, looking so effortless that it made your chest ache with a sudden, vicious pang of longing. he was holding a massive, beautiful bouquet of flowers tightly against his chest, with a couple of small, glossy gift bags dangling from his other hand. and the look on his face, he looked deeply concerned, his dark eyes wide and searching, his eyebrows furrowed with genuine anxiety while his lips were turned into a slight, vulnerable pout.
but as his eyes settled on you, his eyes twinkled, widening with a sudden flash of hope, his lips forming into a soft, relieved smile before speaking.
but as quickly as you opened it, you slammed the door. the heavy wood clicked shut with a loud, definitive bang that echoed through the quiet foyer. your eyes were wide, your chest heaving up and down rapidly as you took a few cautious, trembling steps back from the door, as if he could somehow pass right through it. you stared at the solid wood, your hands curled into tight fists, your heart hammering against your ribs like a trapped bird.
for a moment, it was total, suffocating silence. you held your breath, listening so intensely that the quietness itself felt loud. and then, through the thin gap at the bottom of the frame, you could hear the soft rustle of plastic and paper as the things in his hands were carefully placed down on the ground of the porch.
and then he knocked, a gentle, rhythmic tapping against the wood that sent vibrations straight to your core.
âcan you open the door?â he asked, his voice muffled by the thick wood.
you stood frozen in the center of the foyer, your bare feet glued to the floor, not daring to move an inch.
âplease?â he begged softly, the word stretched out with a familiar, childlike vulnerability that usually broke you in seconds.
âI thought I told you to leave me alone, michael.â you spoke, voice shaky.
it was a long, heavy moment of silence, the quietness stretching between you like a taut wire, before you heard him let out a deep, heavy exhale on the other side of the panel. you could picture him out there, running a hand through his curls, looking down at his shoes in absolute defeat.
you really considered leaving his sorry self outside, to stay in the cold night air, to let his guilt bubble up until he felt himself completely drowning in sorrow. you wanted him to sit on that porch and stew in the mess he created, letting karma come right around the corner to bite him in the behind for once. because at the end of the day, you had every right to feel the way you did. you had every right to feel like you werenât being considered, weren't being taken seriously, and like your immense loyalty and feelings werenât being reciprocated in the slightest. you had spent months swallowing your pride for the sake of his career, and you were completely justified in wanting him to feel even a fraction of the isolation you felt every single day.
âI know I messed up.â
âi know i havenât been the best man to you lately,â he confessed, his voice dropping an octave, heavy with a raw sincerity that made your chest tighten. âiâve been so caught up in the studio, so caught up with the cameras and the managers, that i havenât been able to make it up to you properly. iâve been selfish, baby.â
at the weight of your heavy silence, the quietness stretching between you like a fragile thread, he continued.
âiâm not gonna take no for an answer, girl. you know i cant leave you alone. i won't do it.â
you bit back a small smile, staring down at the polished hardwood floor. even in the middle of a breakup, when you were entirely justified in your anger, his unyielding persistence and that subtle, confident charm still had the power to disarm you. it was infuriating how well he knew you, and how easily he could melt the ice around your heart with just a few softly spoken words.
and it was true, michael couldn't leave you alone. to him, you were his baby, his love, his best friend, his everything. no matter how bright the stadium lights were, or how many thousands of screaming fans chanted his name, you were the only anchor that kept him grounded to reality. despite the toxic dynamic that had formed between you two over the months, with the constant cycle of breaking up and getting back together, it felt like the chaos just made you guys stronger in a strange, unbreakable way.
almost like the more you got sick of him, the more he wanted you. the moment you pulled away, his instinct to chase you kicked into overdrive, refusing to let the one pure thing in his life slip through his fingers. with every single argument that threatened to tear you apart, this man always came to your door with endless gifts, and endless apologies, willing to humble himself completely just to see you smile again. he would buy out entire boutiques and spend hours crafting the perfect words, proving that while he might belong to the world during the day, he belonged entirely to you at night.
âitâs either you open this door, be the beautiful, mature woman that you are and stop holding a grudge, or these flowers and expensive gifts are gonna get soaked. i swear someone said it was supposed to rain in tenââ
but you were already at the door, slowly cracking it open so that your tear-streaked face was visible through the narrow gap.
at seeing your appearance, michaelâs eyes softened instantly, the playful, teasing tone dying in his throat. he took a step closer to the door, his heart sinking as you fully opened it, exposing the raw vulnerability you had tried so hard to hide behind the heavy wood.
âhave you been crying?â he asked softly, his voice barely a breathy whisper.
you shook your head quickly, wiping your face with the back of your sleeve and sniffing softly. âno.â
he tilted his head to the side, rolling his eyes in amusement at your stubbornness. he gave you that silent 'girl' look, his eyebrows raised in perfect disbelief that you could even try to lie to him when the proof was written all over your face.
âmhm, and Iâm broke.â
at that you giggled, and he smiled, stepping over the bouquets and gifts to step inside of the house. hovering over you, he placed both of his hands on the sides of your face, using the pads of his thumbs to swipe under your eyes.
âcmon, girl. your too pretty to cry.â
you stared up at him, swallowing the lump in your throat as you pressed your lips together, trying to stop the trembling of your chin, as your eyes glossed over. you felt a single tear escape, tracking hot down your skin before his thumb caught it.
âi mean it,â he whispered, his voice dropping into that deep, earnest register he only used when it was just the two of you. he leaned his forehead gently against yours, his breath warm against your lips. âi hate seeing you like this. especially when it's because of me. i hate it so much.â
you wanted to pull away, to tell him that his sweet-talking couldn't erase the ache of the headlines, but the sheer weight of his presence was paralyzing. standing in the quiet foyer, wrapped in his scent and his undivided attention, the rest of the world, diana, brooke, the flashing cameras, and the gossip columns, seemed to just melt away into irrelevance. he was here, holding you like you were his entire universe, and the anger you had tightly clung to only minutes ago was slipping right through your fingers.
as more hot tears fell from your beautiful eyes, michael felt his heart crack inside. the sight of you completely broken down because of his lifestyle was a heavy blow, stripping away all of his usual playful charm and replacing it with a raw, aching guilt.
âbaby.â he whispered, shaking his head in absolute distress. he leaned down, pressing tender, lingering kisses to your damp cheek, your shaky lips, and your temple, trying to absorb your sadness into his own skin. âdonât.â
as he parted from you slightly, his hands leaving your face, you sniffled, bringing up a hand to wipe your face of your salty tears. noticing the subtle shift in your posture, michael reached down to grab the beautiful bouquet of flowers and the heavy gifts he had left on the floor, presenting them to you like an offering of peace
âlook.â he spoke, faintly smiling in a desperate attempt to cheer you up and bring back a glimmer of the smile he loved so much. âi even brought you your favorites.â
your eyes drifted down toward the bags, and you noticed the iconic CHANEL sign imprinted on the sleek black bag in bold white letters. right next to it was another bigger one branded by PRADA, and another luxurious, heavy box branded with a gold H in the middle of it, straight from hermès. even the massive bouquet in his arms was overflowing with perfectly bloomed, fragrant red roses, your absolute favorite.
you huffed, your mind spinning as conflicting emotions fought a violent war in your chest. you truly didn't know whether to spew words at him, to cuss him out senseless for trying to buy his way back into your good graces, or to cry even more at the sight of your favorite high-fashion brands all gathered in one hand of his, proving just how desperately he wanted to make it up to you
âi hate you.â you shook your head, laughing softly through your fading tears as you moved forward to embrace him. the anger that had felt so solid only minutes ago evaporated completely against the familiar warmth of his chest.
michael immediately let out a soft, breathy chuckle, carefully setting the heavy bouquet of flowers down on the foyer floor and dropping the designer bags right alongside them. he didn't care about the expensive silk or leather anymore; his hands were already moving to wrap his long arms tightly around your waist, pulling you so close against his body that there was no space left between you. he rested his chin in your soft hair, closing his eyes tightly as he let out a massive, trembling sigh of relief that shook his entire frame. the crushing anxiety that had gripped him on the drive over finally dissolved, replaced by the deep comfort of having you back where he needed you.
âlove you more.â he murmured into your hair, his voice thick with emotion, his arms tightening around you as if he were trying to weld your souls together.
and now, it was official. the great michael jackson could never leave his precious girl alone.
