Thicc Bambi Boi

Michael is currently feeling the consequences of his avoidance more than ever. His nail beds are nearly nonexistent from how much he has been chewing on them. He knew that this was not going to go over well, but this was worse than he had predicted.

It's been almost three months since he first ignored your calls. At first, it was enough to hear you speak your concerns to someone else. But then, when Bill and his other bodyguards began calling you about his behavior, Michael decided that no one was to speak to you at all, including him. This was mainly because Michael wanted to be petty. He loved you, breathed you, but he was not happy with his staff calling you to tattle about his moods. Everyone saw him as a monster, especially now that the tale of how he destroyed a bathroom has spread throughout his closest staff.

The guilt of that decision was making it hard to work. His days are becoming consumed with the image of you at home, alone, and now you are probably angry at him. He hated making you angry, and now he's avoiding the anger he directly caused, knowing that it was becoming a bigger issue day by day.

This also made his life worse. He was using your voice to get by, and now he feels like he has nothing. Michael gets to his room and can only wait out the night by himself. His thoughts once more on you and how empty his heart feels. All he was left with was a shadow of you.

Michael leaned against the wet tiles of the shower; fatigue and adrenaline coursed through his veins simultaneously. The feeling left his mind hazy as he squinted through the steam. His mind supplied him with apparitions of you. The memories of your intimate moments flooded his mind, leaving him gasping as his body seemed to demand that he reach for you. You are the only oasis he has ever needed, and yet, you were a thousand miles away.

His breathing was heavy as he tried to stifle his noises by biting his lip. A wet hand moved down his stomach, eager for some simple pleasure. His body shivered at the feeling of his hand wrapping his dick. His own touch was never enough. Nothing could ever replace how you touched him. He wanted to start slow, but then more images of you flashed through his mind. He remembers the first time you made love together. He tried to be gentle and make sure that you were comfortable. It turned out that Michael never truly knew how to be intimate.

You were everything he needed. Michael had never been the main focus when it came to sex, but with you, he was the only focus. So much so that he was almost always desperate to please you, he would do anything to get you to acknowledge how good he is. Michael also remembered the first time you had him pleasure himself while you watched, a punishment he incurred by not stopping himself from overworking. He could still feel you talking in his ear, the praise, the directions you gave. It was enough for him to beg you to stop. The pleasure he received just from you kissing down his neck. He had never been so overwhelmed to the point of cumming fast.

His whines echoed in the bathroom when he remembered more. He knew just how good you looked on top of him. How soft you felt when he held your waist, mesmerized by the way the sweat shone off your body. His body was so in tune with the rhythm you both made. The sounds coming from you were better than any song he has ever made. Michael needed to feel that again, needed to feel you again. He needed your breaths to be in sync; for him to get that permission to drive you over the edge. But all he had now was his hand that tugged aggressively on his dick, his precum and water made the slide smooth. A loud moan escaped him when he brushed his thumb across the head, only for the sound to get louder as his hand pumped faster. His hand gripped the walls as he neared the edge, though that feeling stayed bubbling in his lower stomach. Michael was nearly in tears, silently begging his own body for that boost he needed. It wasn't until he tightened his hand to simulate how it feels when you come around him that his body broke free and he came into his hand. That moment took everything from him and left him relieved to feel tired enough to sleep. That moment of clarity also made him feel worse than before. He felt pathetic knowing that all this wishful thinking was his fault. Still, Michael cleaned up and got ready for bed.

His only happiness came in the morning, when he was on the plane ride back to America. Surprise flooded him when he realized he had completed the first leg of the tour. He couldn't believe he had made it back to the States in one piece; all the times he'd pushed through the pain of fatigue and hunger were about to end in just a few months. His bones vibrated at a mere daydream of rest and the comfort of your arms.

They were rehearsing for the first show in Madison Square Garden. Things were smoother now, as changes to the style and songs were made after the need was recognized during the tour's rough start. They finished quickly after about 3 hours so that Michael could have his snack of celery sticks and water. He took a short 20-minute nap before he was placed in Karen's chair for makeup. She did all she could to bring him back to life, but everyone knew it was useless. They could only pretend.

"You look so much better now that you've lost the weight," she chided, pressing powder into his forehead.

He nodded absentmindedly, used to the same sentence by now.

She looked down at him with a glittering smile, "I also see that you haven't called your girl in a while," she ran her hand through his hair pretending to fix what his stylist had just finished, "Such a shame," she breathed.

Michael's eyebrow twitched at the not-so-hidden joy in her voice. His eyes left the mirror, flicking up to her; she could almost feel the heat from the blue flames that resided constantly in his brown eyes. She recoiled instantly, moving back and looking at the now interesting floor, waiting to see if he would start yelling for her blatant disrespect. After a moment or so, she sighed. Giving a small smile when it didn't come, she looked up with hope only to be pinned by his still-narrowed eyes.

Everyone had chills around Michael. They all walked around him as if he were a caged animal that was ready to strike when provoked, even at the smallest of terms. He was winding up to snap, and that fume came to a head later that night.

While performing, he spotted a friend of yours in the front row. He knew that it was your best friend, the one whom you depended on and loved as if she were your sister. She was also someone who welcomed Michael with open arms, disregarding his status, and treated him like family. He tried hard to hide his shock at seeing her because he knew what the look on her face meant. He saw her eyes clearly enough to see her mood shift from excitement to confusion to disbelief, and finally to anger.

He did his best not to make eye contact, but then his heart spasmed at the thought of you being in the crowd, too. He could hear his breathing pause as everything moved in slow motion. The stage director was yelling in his in-ear to tighten up his act as he felt his body run on autopilot, never missing a note or beat. But his head was not there even as the lights dimmed and he stumbled backstage, coming face to face with the very person he was trying to run from.

"A-Anissa..." he breathed, his voice shaking. He knew that she was there to confirm what she had spent two hours watching. The feeling in the dressing room suffocated the staff as they watched your best friend regard him with a tigress's air.

"What the fuck, Michael?" she touched his arm, pulling back fast when he flinched at the contact. "I'm calling her..." she pulled out her phone pressing the speed dial.

Michael weakly grabbed at her, wheezing in panic, as she stepped back with a look of concern. "No..." Please," He could feel a sharp pain run a sprint throughout his body before the room started to spin. He grabbed the nearest thing to him, pulling his drummer down with him as he slumped to the floor, vision pulsing to black.

A couple of hours later, his head pounded to the rhythm of the monitor. His eyes remain blurred as the bright lights send sharp pains to his already pounding head. His hazy body told him that he wasn't backstage; if anything, the white fluorescent lighting gave that away. He moved his head to the left, groaning as his body croaked in defiance- sore from the concert and his body hitting the floor. He sighed, knowing the team had likely brought him there for an IV and that he would need to get up to catch his next flight.

"How are you feeling?" a soft voice rang out.

His hands started to shake as his eyes focused on the figure in the corner of the room, his throat contracted harshly when he finally saw the person he had spent the last few months dreaming of.

"My love..." His voice croaked out, sounding every bit broken and lovestruck as he looked.

His eyes burned with hot tears when he saw the bags under your eyes contrasting sharply with the redness of your eye. You had been crying, you were still crying, and you were trying hard to be discreet as you dabbed at your cheeks with a tissue.

"Michael," Your whisper, staring at the man in the bed, silently checking to see if he was the same man you let leave months ago. "What is this?"

You watch as he struggles to sit up; his weak state was like a dagger slicing at your heart. Walking to his side, you quickly help him get comfortable, fluffing his pillows behind his back while you clench your teeth to hold in the sob that was threatening to leak out. He was so small now, his body even feeling weaker as you gently lean him back. "Postpone the next few shows."

He sits up rapidly, holding his head as the movement made him dizzy, but his health was secondary as he grabbed your wrist, pulling you close, "WHAT?!? NO!!"

You stand back up, pointing to the monitor, "Michael, you're in the damn hospital for malnutrition and bruised ribs. What the fuck do you mean 'no'?"

"That doesn't matter... I have fans. I have a team, and they need me. They need Michael Jackson." His hands fisted the covers.

"Michael," You touch his face, bringing his attention back to you as you sit next to him on the bed, "Your fans are concerned about you according to your fan site, plus I'm sure they would like to see a healthy Michael Jackson rather than one who's pushing himself too far." You give him a hard smile, thinking of the details you've heard from his dancers and the band. "And your team is the reason you're like this in the first place. I think they need a stern reminder of who exactly signs their checks."

Michael lowers his eyes, his shame taking the back seat as you needlessly straighten his covers. His voice rings out sharp as steel, pulling a gasp from your lips, "You know nothing. Leave my business alone."

Looking at him as if he'd grown three heads, you grit out, "Your well-being is my business. You're withering away, look at yourself,"

He looks to the side, eyes closed. "...They're helping me."

"THEY ARE KILLING YOU!" You grab his chin to turn his head back. Your tears were threatening to spill but the dark anger in his eyes makes you pause.

"They are helping... I'm better now."

"THE DOCTOR SAID YOU WERE MALNOURISHED!" You yell back impatiently before letting out a sigh to calm the anger brewing inside you. It left a hollow and broken sound as you spoke, "This is better to you?"

"WELL, AT LEAST I'M NOT FAT ANYMORE! THAT'S ALL YOU'VE EVER DONE FOR ME, BUT THANKS TO THEM I CAN MOVE BETTER! QUICKER! THE FANS LOVE IT!" He panted, his eyes holding yours in a silent war. The door slammed open as his manager and Anissa rushed in to see what the matter was.

"Listen to me-"

"NO NO...no... I can't leave them..."

"Michael," you respond gently.

"SHUT UP! THIS DOESN'T CONCERN YOU."

His sharp demand takes you by surprise, but you know that he wasn't going to change his mind soon; those people brainwashed him too well, and now all you can do is wait.

Giving a curt nod, you stand up and smooth out your clothes, "Alright. Well then, I hope you have a good tour. I'm moving back to my penthouse."

"Baby, wait.." He sighs, holding his head in his hands.

Seeing his small body in distress brought you a pain you had not felt in years, but the thought of seeing him fade away, the pain of watching him struggle to keep himself together again, would be too much. "It's been three years since we have been through this. I'm not strong enough to watch as you disappear before my eyes. I'm removing myself from the picture. I wish you happiness and health, Michael."

Four months went into getting the production together. He spent it running like a machine. Michael made sure everyone was as tight as possible. He watched from the fan pits and again, from the back of the stadium just to be sure that everyone could see or, at least, hear the show. The time that he spent was worth it. Michael wasn't completely satisfied, but he was pleased enough to see his notes being put to use, as it was the only time anyone listened to him. All that was needed was for him to satisfy himself in practice; the issue is that even he doubted that would happen. Instead of feeling more alive and energetic, he moved sluggishly. Of course, no one else says it, but he knew what was happening. He knew that he was slowly deteriorating.

Michael looked out the plane's window, taking in the fluffy clouds as they soared through the sky. They were on their way to Moscow, the first stop of the tour, and he was more anxious than usual. One, there were many things he and the crew needed to fix musically before the first show, and there wasn't enough time to fix them all. Two, he hated flying, and though he wasn't by himself, that didn't make him feel better, as he was less alone and lonelier. It was an odd, suffocating feeling, and three, he only weighed 140 pounds right now. He knew you were going to freak. He was sure that losing this much weight so quickly wasn't normal. However, the praise he was getting told his mind otherwise. He was just worried about how you would react. He knows that you love him and that you didn’t really care about his body. You worried more about what you couldn’t see: his mindset and emotions. Those were the dangerous parts, and he knew it was getting worse by the day.

Luckily, he's been really good about keeping his mouth shut over the phone. He's a little proud of his acting skills being put to use but disheartened to say that they've been doing wonders against you. He's even perfected the art of rerouting questions. Michael never did well in interviews, but for you, he tried his best. In fact, you had stopped asking whether he ate at all and were now just assuming he was eating and being healthy. Michael even became good at faking his tone, so you couldn't tell if anything was wrong.

The only time he's slipped was whenever he said he missed you.

Without fail, his voice would choke up, breaking as if his soul was clawing its way to the surface in order for you to save him. He swallowed down every plea that got stuck in his throat. He wanted to be with you so badly.

He gave a bitter smirk when an Iliad quote flashed before his eyes. “There is the heat of Love, the pulsing rush of longing, the lover's whisper, irresistible magic to make the sanest man go mad…”

Yet here he was, stuck on a flight that was moving even further from you and feeling exactly like that. Feverish with lovesickness and be on the cusp of going mad.

A tap on his shoulder pulled him from his darkened dreams. "Michael, I hope you enjoy this little break because you start your training again when we get to Prague," Josh, his personal trainer, said playfully.

Michael gave a fake grin and nodded, glad that his sunglasses were on so that Josh couldn’t see the disdain. He didn't know why they were still making him train. It didn’t matter, though; he was beyond the point of questioning it. He just wanted this to be over. He was dying to have a real meal and sleep.

Once while rehearsing ‘I Just Can't Stop Loving You’, his new backup singer slipped him a small sugar cookie. He almost cried when he found it later in his pocket and silently promised himself to give her some extra cash when he saw her again. He guarded his pants like a starved paranoid wolf all day until he could hole himself up in his room, sitting on his bed, staring at it for what seemed like hours. Envisioning how good it would taste. He knew that to make it last, each bite had to be controlled, but that ended quickly after he took his first bite in worship. Michael ate like a desperate man at sea, something that he would regret later as he spent that night rolling on his hotel bed from the pain. His stomach rejected the cookie after he had lived off celery, cucumbers, eggs, and water for weeks.

After the battle with his stomach, he could only crawl back to bed. His hands shaking as he gripped the plush pillow, all he could do was turn his face into it and scream. With his tear-dampened fabric, Michael clawed at the bedding, his chest feeling so tight that he thought he was about to pass out. He bundled his shirt, patting his chest as he sat up, only to make himself dry heave. No matter what he did, it was as though the tears were just coming harder. It wasn't until he was being shaken awake the next morning that he realized he had just cried himself to sleep.

Michael’s mind was reeling with a hurricane of thoughts as the clouds outside his window seemed to get thinner. He felt like he was spiraling into a dark hole. He didn't want to admit it, but he really felt like he was losing his mind. He knew the only thing keeping him from crumbling was you and the need to be perfect for his fans. That's why he couldn't lose you. This play that he's created has to go on; you could never learn the truth. Michael planned everything to perfection while on the plane. He would tour and try his best to keep all news of the tour away from you- something that was easy to do, he had connections after all. Then, after the tour was done, he would simply gain it all back and present himself to you like the lovesick fool he was. You would smile brightly as he returned, showering him with the love and attention he craved from you, and then you two would live out the dream.

The plan was foolproof.

He even worked out the timing and fantasized about how you would look and what you would say when you saw him. He swore he could feel your arms around his neck, your body pressing against his own as he inhaled your comforting scent.

Michael sinks into his chair, losing himself in his daydream, trying hard to grasp onto the small paradise that was his mind. Truth be told, he is mentally exhausted, even cringing as he lays his hands in his lap. He hates his body more than ever, and now his own touch seems foreign. He misses his plush thighs and the way his tummy bulged just a little. He misses how you used to rub his aching body with lotion after a long day and how you fed him. He misses how tight the clothes used to be. He couldn't even wear the clothes you packed him anymore, all his favorite clothes- favorite memories- were taken from him and thrown away by his too-happy trainer and a jackass of a manager. Gods, it was like the world was trying to take his happiness from him. He snarled as he thought about how even his clothes were controlled by them. He couldn't even be creative with his wardrobe. Most of Michael’s daily wear has been reduced to his standard plain white tee and his red corduroy button-down shirt. All he had left was his music, but come to think of it, they wouldn't even let him perform the ones he wanted.

'Fan's choice,' they claimed. Michael knew his fans better than anyone. He was the one who heard their cries, their aspirations, and their wants. He knew that they were tired of hearing the same few songs each tour. This wasn't the fans' choice. This was just a push for his album. Company choice.

He sighed as he swore that each day, he was growing more and more numb. He still had another 6 months to go with these people, and while he loved some of them. He is ready to return to a time when he could do as he pleased, including being with you.

You were not able to see Michael before he left for the Czech Republic. You tried to make it in time, telling Michael that you wanted to see him while he had some downtime before boarding the plane. Michael insisted that you stay home so you wouldn't stress yourself out worrying about schedules.

You did find it a little strange that he kept talking in circles about you seeing him. He spoke of everything in riddles, and that was when he even gave an answer. You were starting to get annoyed with him, especially since he knew you preferred him to just speak his mind. The more you talk, the more it becomes apparent that he was avoiding something and that you should have gone with him on that tour. It’s clear that you were both suffering. There was not a day that you were not worried about Michael. Bill is kind enough to give you updates on the progress of rehearsals, but they were vague, with only small hints as if Bill were trying to push out a message.

Now the tour was officially about to start, and you felt as though your relationship was starting to see cracks in the foundation. Michael was no longer communicating. All your calls were being routed to his manager, who dismissed your concerns.

“I just need to speak with Michael.” You pleaded on the phone.

In the background, you could hear the sounds of grunts as others seemed to be shouting out. The voice was definitely Michael, but you didn’t have time to figure it out as his manager could be heard walking out of the room into a quiet area. “Michael said that there are a few things that he needs to do.” His voice dropped into a snide before continuing, “You know that Michael is busy. Why don’t you call back sometime later?”

You immediately start doing breathing exercises as his condescending tone rings in your ears, “This is later. You tell Michael to call me immediately when it gets back to his room. I mean that.”

You start the day with a call. It was unexpected, but you were just happy that he picked up. The sounds from the other side of the phone was telling you that this was not a good time. Michael was panting hard into the phone, fully ignoring your questions, instead redirecting them to ask about you. His voice was strained, like he couldn't catch his breath. Even so, you try your best to engage with him, only to be disappointed that the call went just like it has for the past month- he gave nothing.

"Michael, baby, what's wrong?" You asked, concerned.

"N-nothing." He panted, "I just got to the hotel. Don't worry about it. How are you, love? I miss you."

You smiled shyly at his words, getting ready to respond when suddenly you hear muffled yelling, then you clearly hear Michael's voice take in a shuddered breath, "Actually, baby. I gotta go," he says, catching you off guard, "I'll call you when I can. Love you." Then he just hangs up, leaving you to stare at your phone in disbelief. You only said four words to him; the call didn't even last a full minute.

Yet, it's been five days since then. He won't answer anything, and you were more than a little worried; you were damn near ready to send a whole letter, but Anissa stopped you. She helped a lot by listening to your panicked rambling and sporadic worries. She let you get your feelings out, nearly in a panic herself with how serious you were. It took a while to calm you down and help you regain your logic. Otherwise, you would have been on a plane already.

You were at a spa center with your best friend, Anissa. She is everything to you and the reason why you and Michael were together. She is the fire to your water. Unaware of the mental wars that were happening behind your back, but your intuition is telling you that something is wrong with your baby. You've been on edge since the phone call you had with Michael.

"You know how much goes into touring.” She said, holding your hands so that your breathing could match hers. “You own a management company, babe. He's just busy. Stop frowning before you get wrinkles, and Michael gets upset with me." She soothed the scrunch between your brows. Telling you about how she’s 'psychic,' so she booked a spa day to help you cool off.

You laugh before giving her a hug, thanking her for caring so much about you and not dismissing your discomfort. She knew how lonely you were, but also how much you cared for Michael. To Anissa, you both are the epitome of love, so it was surprising to her that he agreed to the tour and didn’t drag you with him. You both spent the day trying to calm your nerves through the message, the sauna, and a facial that is good enough to make you both fall asleep for the entire hour session.

During the manicure, you sip on a glass of orange juice. The drink makes you reminisce about the time when you first got together with Michael. He spotted you when your were on a set for one of your clients, his own set was nearby, and during downtime he wandered off. Michael was shy, but not too shy that he did not miss the chance to speak to you while you waited for your client. He was sweet and a bit silly to the point that it was what made him glow. Every question drew a blush from him, and every giggle pulled you closer until it couldn’t be denied that you were crushing. You gave him your number before he could even ask, shooing him back to his work with a reluctance that you would never admit to having. It wasn’t long before Michael called you every day, and your talks became so long that both of you were gaining a reputation for being late and always smiling. Even now, a smile graces your lips as wonderful memories are pictured in your mind.

On the other side of the country, Michael was falling apart.

Michael is almost a month into training, and he hates everything right now. His routines, the lifestyle, it’s making him hyperaware of how much things were not sweet. He even hated the rehearsals, which to him meant that he was beginning to take his job for granted- something that was against his nature. It felt all too vile, he even scoffed as the word ‘demonic’ ran through his head. He wanted so much to disappear and leave it all behind, like he said he would after the Bad tour.

The feeling of helplessness left him with an itch to lock himself in another room, but he didn't want to inconvenience the cleaning staff more than he already had. After the tantrum last night, he calmed down significantly. The issue is that he’s full-grown now; he was supposed to be an adult. An adult who's calm and collected. How would it look if Michael Jackson threw another fit and caused a huge mess, once again, just because he was tired and beyond the meaning of hungry?

It's just all too much! He could see himself changing drastically. The hard work you did to get him healthy, to make him see just how beautiful he really is. The years it took for you to teach him how to relax and actually be a little carefree. To make him understand that eating isn't a disease and that he didn't need to be perfect, all that is slowly draining from his body.

He's becoming the person he was before you. With you not here, he finds that he doesn't even have the strength to fight it. His mind is accepting this. Every day, he finds himself agreeing more and more with what those bloodsuckers tell him. He took in their praises as they saw the metamorphosis of his mind and body. He stopped correcting them on their disrespectful language; instead, he now laughed along with them. The words "fat" and "not good enough" circulated in his mind far too often for him to ignore. Now he said these out loud to himself and to some of the crew who were starting to become concerned.

Michael stepped on the scale: 165. Only 15 pounds down.

He sighs, closing his eyes. It's not enough. Google says he is fine, exactly where he needs to be for a man that's his height and age. If you knew what was going on, you would order him back home before he could even think. You would panic and order all his favorites before feeding him yourself, reaffirming what you’ve always told him. That he is beautiful, and there was nothing wrong with being healthy and comfortable. His management is the opposite. All they tell him is that he's one step away from diabetes. Something he could argue against since you fed him more vegetables in these three years than he had ever eaten in his entire life but he keeps silent.

He has no other choice but to believe the people who worked for his interest, right?

Weren't they there for his interest?

Even now, as he stands in the mirror, he can see how they were a little right. He looked terrible. His face is paler than normal, and the dimple in his cheek is already gone. The black mullet that you loved to caress and tug on so much- something that he kept from the They Don't Care About Us video shoot after you begged him for hours- is now sticking up in every direction. The oversized shirt that you bought him in Italy when he was growing too big for his clothes now showed his collarbones and the patches covering his chest. The love handles that you loved to pinch were slowly going too. Even his stomach, which you used to rub in order for him to fall asleep and pat when you told him how proud you were when he ate all his food, was now smaller. Not completely flat, but small enough that the shirt now only had a slight bulge. All just another reminder of you and how empty it is without you here.

To tell the truth, Michael knew he was relapsing. Michael could feel it coming back, that terrible feeling of low energy when the adrenaline wore off, the avoidance of all reflections and foods, the slow sips of orange juice instead of the plates that were made especially for him. He just couldn't seem to tell them that he is fine the way he is. It didn’t help that no one noticed this silent battle; in fact, it felt encouraged. He hated that he was so compliant with everything, but the last thing he needed is to draw this tour thing out because he was fighting with the company. The sooner he could get this over with, the sooner he could be in your arms.

Last night, he couldn't even get the few hours of sleep he needed, so he walked around the room. Going in circles as he berated himself for the lies he told you. He stared blankly at the wall as he took out some rash cream to rub on his thighs, a simple action that broke his heart a little more, but it reaffirmed his determination to get back to you. He remembers how you used to do this for him, messaging his legs after a long day while poking fun at how thick he's gotten. He chuckled when he remembered how you used to catcall at him when he would pass by. Now, he missed the tightness. Now, the shorts that strained against his thighs had room to breathe, something he never knew he would be sad over.

His mind is constantly dark at night. Becoming plagued with the thought of you going about your day, thinking that he is fine when he’s suffering so much. He not only looked like shit. He felt it too.

Getting into the shower, he let the hot water scorch his body. He deserved the punishment for being so messed up. He scoffed when he thought about how long it's been.

20 days.

20 days of training.

20 days of starvation.

20 days of lying to you.

He's never lied this much in his life. But he knew that if he told the truth, you would throw a fit. Maybe it was for the best; maybe he needed to lose a little more weight. It would be like the time he got together with you. It was not long into your relationship that he realized that this was something intense. The feelings between you two were not those of a passionate fling. You have always valued stability and comfort, something you told Michael firmly after he tried to leave and come back one time too many.

He knew that you have never played when it came to giving away your heart. It was guarded but never locked up. Michael did try to treat you the same way he did with his past women. He constantly showered you with gifts and trips, you were treated like a princess and loved hard, and it was amazing. The downside was that he would shut down when things were tough and even disappear just so he didn’t have to confront the issues. That all stopped once you treated these moments as though you were single, and he saw that there were others who were willing to settle down and be more serious than he was. For months, Michael followed you around the world, showing up wherever he could so that you would look at him again. He even agreed to sit down and speak on what he needed in a relationship, about what he went through, and what he did with others. He listened to your needs and flaws; it felt as though he finally really looked at you. After, you both cried in each other's arms and have been together since. Tears streamed down his face as he thought about your lives together.

Michael's happy atmosphere quieted as soon as he sat in the backseat of the car. No one spoke to him unless there was something musical that they needed to know. His only noise was the quiet murmurs from his sides and the quiet rumble of the TV playing a random VHS tape. The feeling was maddening as he was pushed to move into his little corner with his sunglasses on, fighting tears, and ignoring the stare from Bill, his pseudo-father and longest-standing head bodyguard. The day did not get better as they walked onto the plane. Michael was immediately overwhelmed with tour outfit sketches, stage designs, setlist ideas, and a whole bunch of other stuff that he really didn't want to care about at this moment.

In the end, he knew that people were counting on this experience. Those who spent their lives wanting to work with him and fans who haven't seen him in years. For some of those fans, this may be the only time they ever see them. Sometimes situations like these made him feel as though his name was almost a curse; of course, he couldn't lie and say that he hated what he did. He lived for the magic, for the stage. Michael was grateful and prays every morning, thanking God for his gift and the ability to share it with the world. Michael is a channel for the sounds of the earth, and these sounds needed to be heard in order for him to give back. He was always excited for others to hear what he had been given and always ready to make a difference in one way or another. This was the only reason that he continued with this career instead of retiring and staying home to play with you.

A sigh was let out as he leaned back into his seat. The ride was smooth enough that he could relax, but he loathed flying so much that he definitely couldn't sleep. Fidgeting in his seat, Michael looked through papers upon papers and answered questions that had already been asked at least three times. It wasn’t until they were almost to Florida that everything seemed to have quieted down.

He finally had the chance to look at the time and was shocked that no one said anything about food, and now, he realized that he was actually pretty hungry. Michael made sure that it was okay to leave before he unbuckled his seat belt and made his way to the makeshift kitchen in the rear of the plane. His hand was reaching for a bag of Lays chips when someone grabbed his wrist. Michael looked up to see his manager, who gave him a weary smile and placed an apple in his hand.

"Here, Mike, eat this." He said, smiling as if he had saved the world.

Michael looked down at the apple before looking up at the manager with a confused face.

"Uh...no? If I wanted an apple, I would have grabbed one." He quipped, putting the apple back and grabbing the chips. He made his way back to his seat, finding it odd that his manager and assistant were sharing looks he couldn't read. Or that he didn't want to read.

The plane landed at 3 pm, giving Michael and the team enough time to go to the place that was booked just for him, so that he could rest for two hours before making their way over to the stadium, where the first day of practice is being held.

The rest was needed as Michael didn't notice how much the plane had his nerves on fire. His manager picked him up at 5, and they rode a tour bus over to the stadium. Michael snacked on a brown sugar Pop-Tarts and water on the way there. He sat in the very back of the bus, the main bedroom, so that no one could tell that he was eating. By now, Michael figured out what was happening, and he wanted to avoid that talk as much as possible.

To be honest, he needed you here. Michael could admit that he didn't have the courage to do this alone. He felt so isolated and looked down upon already, and it was only the very beginning. It's only been a few hours, and he just wanted to cry. To make matters worse, this was the first time he's ever been away from you this long, and he's only now realizing how attached he is to you.

Pulling out his phone, he dialed your number without thinking. Tapping his feet while waiting, he practiced in his head, over and over, about what he wanted to tell you. Michael was determined to stay focused so that he wouldn’t plead for you to come to him. It wasn’t always like this, but after the traveling and doing so much mental work, he was ready to crawl back into your arms and lay his head on your chest.

As if his needs radiated to you, the phone was picked up at the second ring. Your mood elevated and your voice soothing the crowded noises in his head, "Chubby bunny! How was your flight?"

Your voice was truly everything he needed.

"Stop calling me that," he giggled. "It was fine. I still very much hate flying and...” He trailed off before leaning into the phone to whisper, “I miss you."

"Aww, my baby loves me,” You tease, though your heart is fluttering. “I miss you too, Michael. I truly do. I waited so patiently for your call. So tell me, how was the flight? Did you eat?"

He looked down at the Pop-Tarts wrapper and sighed, "I just had a snack. I'll eat later, mama. We're headed to the stadium now. In fact," he looked out the window, craning his neck to see down the road where the stadium was peaking over the tops of trees, "we're here now."

“I just need you to be okay. ” You're a little disappointed at how tired he sounds and that the phone call is coming to an end. "Make sure you eat a full meal. I don't need my baby getting sick."

Michael smiles, biting his lip at how concerned you were for his well-being. Something he has always been weak to when it comes to you. "Okay, Mommy, whatever you say."

You shake your head even though he can't see you, "Boy, don't play with me like that."

His angelic laugh fills your ears before you hear some shuffling, then he's back, "I gotta go, mama, but I'll call you tonight. I love you."

Your heart a couple of more beats, "I love you too, Michael." You respond before hearing the phone click and then silence.

Michael places a hand over his heart because, damn, maybe he's a little whipped. He starts to think more about this, though he doesn’t get far, as he’s interrupted when his name is called for him to check out backstage.

Michael enters the backstage area to the sounds of screams and wolf howls. His name is chanted by the new and the old on his team. They respectfully stand back as he bows to them, smoothing the curls on the back of his head gently while trying, and losing, the fight on the growing blush that reddens his cheeks. This only makes the crew grow more wild as the weight of his cheeks gives way to deep dimples that, in the past, were hidden by his jawline and defined cheeks. Michael giggles his way to the front, where he would be able to see them all clearly.

Michael’s managers made quick work of gathering everyone into a circle before nodding at him to start a beginning ritual that Michael required to be present before every tour.

“I just want to say that I am grateful for everyone here. Rehearsals will be tough, they will be long, and they will be frustrating. At the same time, I believe in us, and I believe in our skills. We are professionals, and we have the passion and the drive to be great. We will be magical!” He rasped, hyping himself up. “Let’s all make this time a learning experience, and let’s all grow as a crew and as a family. Thank you, and I love you!”

A prayer was then led before the crew, and Michael let out a shout in unison to break the cloud of anxiety and begin to work.

He is blessed that the musicians who had played with him before are back, so it wasn't something brand new for them. They knew what he liked, how to hit, how to take notes, and how to bring the right amount of energy he needed to become the entertainer he was known to be. So the sound check was only a matter of tuning them up on old songs and quickly teaching them the couple of new songs that were added, so that what he hears in his head is what is played out. Though it was not the perfection he was seeking, it was enough for the very first day of rehearsals.

The choreography was a different matter altogether. There were some old dancers, but there were also faces he's never seen before. His lead dancer had greeted him with warmth and love. Even making light fun of his weight, telling him he looked good, almost glowing with the clear love that you were giving him. Michael teased him back, saying that he was just jealous that he now had someone waiting for him to come home. He and Michael talked for a while over different ideas before gathering the dancers for some stretches.

Michael still wasn't completely comfortable with how it moved. He did spend hours practicing moves at home- or at least he tried to make it hours. Even when he was in his zone, not thinking and just feeling, he couldn’t help but wonder where you were and what you were doing. Practices at home usually only lasted an hour before he was back at your side, begging you to come dance with him.

Now he felt the consequences of that. He noticed that the extra weight slowed his movements down. Not to say that it was bad, but he was the King of Pop, Rock, and Soul for a reason. His movements will always be twice as fluid as a hundred dancers put together. The issue was that Michael could see that he was awkward. It reminded him of when he was still trying to figure out what moves worked and what didn’t when he was in his twenties. Like back then, he knew it was only a matter of practice, so he wasn't too concerned with it. Believe it or not, although he wasn't comfortable showing it, he loved his look. He liked how healthy he was now and absolutely loved how you loved it too and made this love loud and known.

So Michael was crushed when, back at the hotel, his manager, assistant, and the executives over FaceTime teamed up on him.

"I-I don't understand." He said, panicked. “I look good! Healthier than I have been before. I like this look on me; everyone else seems like it as well.”

"To put it nicely, Michael, you're fat.” An executive sighed.

Another chimed in, “We have been discussing this since we saw you at the meeting. At first, it was okay because you were only doing studio sessions. However, this is going to affect the way fans view you. You have an image you need to keep, Michael. So we're putting you on a training plan and diet."

Michael looked at his manager with a look of betrayal, his mind immediately recalling the last words of Julius Caesar in the Shakespearean play.

‘Et Tu Brutus’

He couldn't believe that they were doing this to him. He knew that wasn't exactly fond of him, but he had hoped his manager and assistant would at least be on his side. Michael clenched his fist as hot tears of anger streamed down his face, "What the fuck." He whispered to himself.

"Now, Michael," one manager spoke, "this is for your own good. You don't want anyone to see you as this, do you?"

"Like this?" Michael repeated with disgust.

"You know... like that." The man motioned toward his stomach.

It was 3 a.m., and he was exhausted, angry, and hungry. He knew that he couldn't win this, at least not right now, when he was so emotionally compromised. But a tiny part of him felt like they were right. No one wanted to see an overweight Michael Jackson. That wasn't attractive. He already knew he wasn't the best looking, so why add to that by gaining all this weight? A part of him was angry at himself for letting you do this to him..... for Michael doing this to Michael.

So he gave in.

He told them that he would do the training and diet. They rejoiced in front of his face, telling him that he was a 'legend' for letting them do this. They pretended as if he were invisible once more as the executives ended the FaceTime call, and his manager and assistant went over the details of the plan that had already been curated by a nutritionist. He was to eat only 800 calories a day.

He scoffed at that. He was 5'9, there was no way he could survive like that. In the mornings, they added a time slot for a personal trainer to come to the rented mansion's gym and train him.

That next morning, Michael lay in his bed, the covers uncomfortable against his skin as he remembered the phone call he had had with you before he got in the shower. He tried his best to pretend that everything was fine, but you were too smart.

You knew there was something up with your man, but seeing as he had been running around all day, you chalked it up to him just being tired. When you asked him if he enjoyed his meal, Michael actually froze for a second, in an uncharacteristic moment of silence; he had lied. Stuttering through his words, he told you that it was delicious and that he wanted you to try it too. He then rambled and stuttered over fake menus and tastes for a while before rushing you off the phone.

It was the first time he'd ever lied to you. A fact that hurt him more than he thought it would.

He didn’t last a minute, breathing heavily at his reflection before he began picking up anything and everything he could to smash them into the mirror. The broken glass crashed on the floor, the sound covered by the screeching he was doing as he continued to trash the bathroom for the rest of the hour. Michael pulled all the courage he had to open the door to find another bathroom, where he forced himself to shower and go through his skincare routine. Another moment that caused him to burst into hiccuping tears as he remembered just how you did this for him the night before we left you. He did the very thing he hated the most, and he had done it to the most important person in his life

Michael didn't mind touring; he has spent his entire life touring. Of course, he wasn't a big fan of going through the entire process; however, the actual thought of touring didn't turn him off... until now.

Sitting in a worn rolling leather chair that's a little too tight for comfort, he takes a sip of orange juice just to hide his grimace. Clearing his throat, he swallows his pride as he's told that this was happening. He needed to go on the road, although it was more like a plane. With the dates they were throwing at him, Michael felt as though he might as well be getting prepared to move.

He protested as politely as he could, his voice having a hint of a defeated laugh, "I don't have to tour. The album did really well. Not ‘Thriller’ well, but enough for me. That should be enough for you guys, right? I don't understand why you guys love doing these things to me."

The executive tried to give him his best smile, but everyone has been sitting in this meeting for hours already. They clearly didn't try to cater to the legend any longer; they refused to anger the one who kept their lights on.

"Michael, please. The best thing for you to do is to tour. There are children and past fans who will be able to see you for the first time. Don't you want your new fans to see you?"

Michael hesitated, rubbing his hands on his thigh as those words turned over in his head. He was happy for once. He had gained a lot of weight, sitting pretty at 185 pounds, the most he's ever weighed.

Ever.

It wasn't exactly distasteful either; all he gained was a little ass, thick thighs, and love handles. He was still self-conscious about it, except he knew who he was, and he was comfortable. Plus, he has had a long-time girlfriend who saved him. He loved her and didn't want to add to her stress by being gone for six months to a year.

He didn't have a choice, though. The executives had already made their decision, only giving him the courtesy of trying to 'convince' him. They had already picked out the dates and begun using the old pictures of him to create prototype advertisements. He knew he didn't have much power besides his name, and he knew that they were growing more cautious of him in terms of his buying power and brand.

Michael may look gullible, but even so, he wasn't stupid.

His fame was a phenomenon, and his talents were as well. He knew that he needed to be careful around these men. Looking at them sitting around this table, they reminded him of government officials rather than music executives. Just soulless.

They even spoke to him like he was still a child and not a man in his late 30s. Even in his presence, they rarely spoke to him as a man, just a commodity like a toy they could wind up and collect coins from. Always speaking about him in the third person to his manager and anyone who was around him at that time.

All Michael was to them was pure cash. So he just nodded and asked quietly in his melodic voice, "So when can I start?"

In his heart, he knew that this was a decision that he would come to regret. Especially when he was in a long-term committed relationship. These thoughts immediately turned to you and how you would feel knowing he accepted a deal that he should have turned down.

Across the city, you spend the day in the office, wondering if Michael is okay. You wanted to phone him on your lunch break, but your assistant came in, waving her hands frantically about how one of the idols you were managing had shaved their head and refused to talk to their personal manager. By the time you had returned to the office and sat down at your desk, the emails and paperwork were piled too high for you to do anything else other than scream and get to work.

Michael stayed on your mind constantly as you worked. He was called to Sony early this morning. He didn't sound too happy about it, yet after being with him for 3 years, you noticed that he's never that happy about being called to the company. From what you understood, they weren't exactly the most civil with him. You offered to accompany him, only for Michael to brush you off, giving you his signature boyish smile with a promise that he would be fine. In his own words, "He was a big boy now."

A statement that made you chuckle even now that he wasn’t in your sight. Another laugh escapes as you remember how you patted his now protruding stomach, "Yes, you are, baby."

Laughing harder than ever when he covered his stomach and blushed before scurrying out the door like a shy deer.

You smile down at the paperwork on your desk at the thought of this morning's interaction.

Gods, he was cute. You loved that man with every fiber of your being. Which is why you couldn't shake the fact that something was wrong after not hearing from him.

It wasn’t until you got home after work that your suspicions were confirmed. Looking back, you should’ve insisted that you were going with him.

Now Michael has come home around 7. Slamming the door to the second story of the main bedroom open, only pausing to see you lying in bed with your book. He was almost shaking with anger and practically chewing his fingers off as he paced back and forth.

"They're making me go on tour! A TOUR! Baby, I can't do that. They didn't even ASK me. They TOLD me. Me. MICHAEL JACKSON! Someone who has been touring since before I even knew what touring was. I made that company millions!" His pacing became faster as he ran his hands through his fairy mullet.

You couldn’t help but notice that even when he's stressed, he looks perfect. His upper arms were now swollen with extra meat, and his tummy was straining in his button-up. His pale skin glowed and was blemish-free, reminding you of the beautiful patches that graced his chest, arms, and thighs.

Your man was a masterpiece.

"Michael," you call out softly.

Stopping his pacing momentarily, you set aside your book and move to the edge of the bed, "You're okay, love. I'm sure this will be a good experience. Your fans must miss you."

He whines, flopping down next to you, cringing when the soft bed gives a low moan. "But you-"

"I'll be fine, baby. I'll miss you, but it isn't like we're living in the dinosaur ages. You can call me every day, no matter the time. I'll wait for you."

Placing a kiss on his forehead and squeezing his thigh, you continue to watch him bite his lip before poking it out, still not convinced. Michael knows that this tour was nothing but bad news, just as you did in your heart.

A week later, he's packing to go off for rehearsals in Florida for 4 months before the first leg of the tour starts in Russia. You sit on his bed, listing out the things he might need and you know he was prone to forget, "You have your toothpaste?"

"Um… yes," he says, looking through his Louis Vuitton carry-on.

"Toothbrush?"

"Yep."

"Sunscreen? Your makeup? "

"Karen's gonna be there, but uh yeah."

You keep your eyes from rolling before continuing down the list, "Deodorant?… Rash cream?" You ask, knowing he would need it in Florida's humid weather, especially with how sensitive his skin is; now that he's bigger, the chafing can get a little bad, leading to him being in pain from the constant rubbing.

He blushes at the question before grabbing the cream off the nightstand. He turns to you sharply, "I got it, I promise. This isn't my first tour."

"I know, baby." You sigh, looking at him with a little sadness in your heart, "I just want to be sure that you’re never going without something. Make sure you eat lots. You'd better not lose one pound! Not after I spent all that time fattening you up so well!"

He giggles hesitantly, rubbing his stomach defensively, "I'm not fat."

"Okay, my pretty chubby baby." You laugh, leaning forward to kiss the hand that's still rubbing his stomach.

He pulls you off the bed, kissing you deeply. Your body relaxes naturally at the taste of him; the kiss was full of enviable longing. His lips are always soft, and the kisses are a little wet as he begins to get excited. Those large hands you love come to cup the back of your head, letting him take as much as he pleases.

You pull back first, his lips chasing yours before letting out a high whimper, then taking in a sharp inhale at the complete loss of you. A sequence of sounds that just proves that the Lord was too cruel to make Michael. Trying to refill your lungs with the air you occupy yourself by placing butterfly kisses all over his face, relishing in the smile and sighs it pulls from him.

Placing one last kiss on his Adam’s apple, you reach a hand to tug his hair behind his ear, "Have a safe trip, baby. Don't forget to call me when you land."

He nods, then moves quickly, shocking you by stealing another kiss before you both walk down the stairs.

You and your boyfriend had been together for a year. Then, one day, he came home, frantically packing his stuff, saying he was going to make it big. He told you that he was at work when he got a call saying someone wanted him on the East Coast and would pay for his stay and auditions for a Broadway show. It’s been 2 years since that, and now you’ve heard that he was missing.

The 70s weren't the safest, but that did not stop you from being questioned by the police. They were really nice about the conversation, knowing that he had told multiple people, including his family, about his plans.

The experience still left you with an odd feeling in your chest, something that you carried around so much that your friend, Latoya, was over your moody atmosphere. She made sure that you were going out with her tonight. You’d already been told that it was safe as long as you stayed close to the Jacksons. Encino was the home of legends; the homes were big, the grass was always green, and the streets were clear. There was never any danger here, especially when you were with Latoya.

Though you and Michael were not the closest, you saw each other frequently when you had just moved into the neighborhood. He was the type to watch. He never spoke much in your circle, but his big brown eyes saw everything. His presence seemed to grow stronger the more popular he got, but to you, it intensified once your ex went missing. Michael seemed to be everywhere and far more comfortable while around you.

Your relationship started with conversations. His fingers played with the ends of your curls as you spent hours speaking to him about any and everything. Next thing you know, he was showing you the soundboard in his studio. The hands that grabbed you to pull you into his lap were not hovering as if he lost courage.

It wasn't long before you both started dating, with Michael confessing to you one night. He made sure that your eyes were closed before he worked up the courage to say that he had loved you for a very long time. You could hear his feet shuffle side to side as he shifted his weight, no doubt nervous about your response. You never did understand why he was so nervous, not when you were clearly into him, so it was no hardship to say ‘yes’ to his confession.

Michael was perfect. He's so sweet, treating you to everything from spontaneous dates to small gifts. He loved holding you whenever he got the chance. The first thing he did after a studio session or a video recording was to call you or even show up at your doorstep, ready to lie on your chest to sleep. Michael was very protective, but he never made it uncomfortable. When someone had your attention for too long, he would try his hardest to bring your mind back to him. His lips would wander, followed by his hands, then little whimpers in your ear. It never failed to make you melt, leaving his face covered in your lipstick that he often refused to wipe off. He was just too easy to love and breathe around.

You were so blindsided by the look in his pretty doe eyes that it wasn’t until a year later that you noticed that Michael had some very strange habits.

Like when you would be around other people, Michael’s body would twitch. His hands would hold you so tight that it would start the beginnings of bruises. Michael has also been caught more than once stealing and sniffing your panties. The creepy moments were eclipsed by his most bizarre, yet semi-violent behavior: him muttering threats to others while you slept or when he thought you couldn’t hear.

It was not uncommon to hear him in your ear at night, speaking low and dark about how he would ‘get rid’ of anyone who looked at his girl. How hard he had to work to get you and how you’ll always be his. His breath fanned your cheek as his hands became more urgent, his hips rocking into your ass.

The longer your relationship seemed to be, the more of these instances became apparent. You ignored everything from his slight manipulation to the tantrums he would throw when you weren’t as close as he needed you to be. You just chalked it up to him being his adorable clingy self, as this was his first real relationship.

Michael had other thoughts about the matter. To him, you were his angel, and he was going to clip your wings so that you could never fly away from him. How could he not when you were practically made for him?

The street lamp guided him to you, and there you were wearing his varsity jacket that was clearly stolen from Latoya and somehow ended up with you. The skirt you wore was so short that you looked naked. It was then that it clicked in his mind: you were wearing his brand. You were always his, and by looking so heavenly, it was clear that he was made to worship you.

Michael was not worried that you had a boyfriend. That man was just a rock in his road to you, and getting rid of your loser boyfriend was nothing. He had the resources and the charm enough to make sure that he would never be in the picture.

It wasn’t long before you were in his orbit. Then “Off the Wall” took off and then Thriller exploded. He was needed everywhere that he didn’t want to be.

However, the new level of fame brought on privileges that he never had before with his family fame. So when he heard about your little boy toy that was not treating you right, he knew that he needed to get involved, and he did. Now, you were here. Letting him be who you needed and keeping you safe in his orbit.

Michael was sure that he had you wrapped up in such bliss that you never realized that he was now your only way out. So imagine his surprise when he saw you going through his diary. A secret place where he detailed every plan to get you.

“Michael…. What is this?” You whispered out. You couldn’t even look at him.

“Don’t worry about that.” his presence suddenly became closer. You flinched slightly when he snatched the book back and quickly hid it in another part of the desk that had a lock on it. “That’s not important…. D-did I scare you? I was going to tell you but I…”His voice trailed off when he saw the expression on your face.

You looked at him like you’ve never seen the real Michael.

He sighed heavily, putting on a charming smile and opening his arms to you. “Mama, come here. You’re scaring me.” He said while walking toward you.

You stepped back enough that you could put a hand up to his chest, not quite close enough to touch but enough for him to stop. “Don’t come near me.”

Your voice quivered. The implications of the situation were something that you never would have associated with your sweet boyfriend. “Michael… is that diary true? Did you kill my ex just to get together with me? Did you plan all this, including a way to lock me in your room?”

The question lingered in the air. It seemed as if your world had crashed, and the look in Michael’s eyes was enough to tell you that this life was ending. Drawing a deep breath, you shuffle enough to see the door to his room.

Michael’s smile strained as his fist closed and opened. “You’re not leaving me.”

"I did not say that."

"No, but you thought it. I can see it because I know you!"

You raised a placating hand, “Michael, this is serious. You're scaring me! I think this is too much. I think we both need to cool down.“

Michael rushed forward, wrapping a hand around your throat with tears streaking down his face. His lips quivered as he inhaled, as if air was new to his lungs. “Don’t you ever say that again.”

His hand tightened on your throat, and a sob left his chest. “Y-you love me. You told me you loved me. You can never stop loving me. I won’t let you. NO! YOU ARE NOT LEAVING ME! I WOULD LET YOU!” Michael let go of your throat and rushed to the dresser that was near the window of his room.

Your breath hitched as you saw what he grabbed from the top drawer. “Michael, this isn’t funny! Put the knife down!”

Tears flooded his face as he blinked rapidly; the knife was only inches from his throat. “You can’t leave… You can’t. I-I know I'm a monster, but PLEASE! I'M SORRY! I know I shouldn’t have hurt you, but please!”

“Michael,” you put your hands up while walking slowly to him, only for him to back himself up against the wall. “Baby, stop this.”

Michael shakes his head, making your heart lurch as the knife barely scrapes his sensitive skin. “NO! You’re gonna leave me. I need you! I-I love you…I lo-love you so much!” His hiccups only made the knife more and more unstable, causing you to freeze when you spotted the red of his blood rising out of a small cut.

“I’m not leaving. I wouldn’t leave, baby. Just put it down and come here.”

Michael’s grip on the handle loosened enough for you to rush forward and throw the knife away from both of you. Michael was shaking when he wrapped his arms around you, leaving a damp spot on your shirt as he cried into your neck. “I’m sorry. I’ll be better, just please don’t leave me.”

Your hand gripped his shirt tightly as the other one patted the base of his hair. “I’m here, Michael. Please don’t ever do that again. My heart cannot take you being hurt.”

You felt a nod before more sniffles sounded in your ear, “I won’t, mama. I’ll be better a-and treat better than anyone you’ve ever met. I’ll never do anything that you don’t like. Just stay with me.”

Michael locked eyes with the door standing behind you. There was no way you knew what was in there, but you would soon enough. He was just one step closer to having you forever, and now that he had tested your loyalty and your heart, he knew it was time for his plans to escalate. He knew that you loved him too much ever to allow him to hurt himself, and he also knew that this was the perfect way to keep you in this grasp. There was no way he would allow you to leave him, and he needed to make sure that the thought would never cross your mind again.

He’s going to make you so deep in love with him and only him that you would agree with the plans in his diary. Michael estimated that by the end of the year, the only place you’ll ever want to stay is the room that he built especially for you just on the side of his own. The plans were drawn up years ago with you in mind, and when he had Hayvenhurst remodeled, it was something that he took charge of personally. He collected every one of your likes and dislikes. He handpicked and put together every decoration and every piece of furniture. He made sure that the room was padded enough to be safe and bolted from the outside, but most of all, he was sure that you were going to love it, just as much as he loved you.

And Michael loved you to death.