1994

"Bye-bye!" My voice echoed through the hall of the apartment building, waving up stairs at my friends that were as wasted as I was. From down here, I could still hear the music - even though if was softer, one could still make up that we had a party, a wild one. Arriving at this coming-together from a few friends, I promised myself I would only have three glasses of wine, but as my friends told me there were no rules and strings attached tonight because, a broken heart could always be healed by red wine, I stopped counting at five. I heard the door slam against its frame, resulting in a deafening silence. A sigh escaped my lips, "Well, I'm alone again."
I managed to open the door of the apartment building, forgetting to shut it, and walked into the cold winter night. As drunk and reckless I was, I totally forgot I came here by car - but not mine. I looked around, as if I was looking for some kind of solution, but gave up seconds later and decided I could walk the few miles. The car drive only took half an hour anyways.

The streets of Los Angeles were brutally empty, no-one in sight except a poor dog that had lost his owner probably centuries ago and a couple of cars that passed by every minute.

I had wandered the dangerous streets of L.A. maybe fifteen minutes, maybe an hour, maybe seconds, when my eye caught a particular car that I recognized from across the streets. I didn't know from where, but I recognized it and I pinched my eyes to take a closer look. But cars passed by, and the snow flakes falling onto my eyelashes didn't help either. Foolish as I was, I crossed the street - not giving a damn about the cars that almost ran me over. A bus driver pressed the claxon and I threw my hands up in an exaggerating manner.
"Well, what do you want me to do?! I have to cross the streets some-how!" I helplessly shouted, trying to catch the attention of the bus driver that had already passed. The street was now quiet again. I had forgotten about the car on the other side of the road, and a miserable sigh escaped my lips. I slowly walked across the street.

Maybe it was because I was drunk, maybe because the driver didn't have it's headlights on - but it happened in seconds. As I walked, the only thing that warned me was the loud horn alarming my ears, and I turned my head to see a large jeep coming my way. I wanted to run, but it was as if my feet were glued to the ground, I couldn't think in such a short amount of time. Luckily, someone else did. I was pulled of the street, a split second before the jeep drove by, the driver angrily throwing a fist me. I let out a small sigh and regretfully closed my eyes.
"Thank you," I said soft, beyond embarrassed for my actions.
I carefully eyed my rescuer, and when I recognized him, my heart jumped out of joy and not out of anger like it should have.
It was my former lover, Michael Jackson himself with a mocking grin on his face, as if he knew this whole thing was going to happen and laughed about it afterwards.
"You're very drunk, Y/N," he stated and for a short second the grin fell of his face and a glimpse of responsibility brightened up in his eyes.
"Yeah." I awkwardly stood in front of him, playing with my silk gloves, pulling the tops and twisting them.
"Let's get in the car." His voice was now warm and I didn't dare to look in his eyes because I knew I'd fall in love with him again. I didn't protest and did what I was told. I didn't realize he was next to me, that his arms had wrapped around me, or that my head fell against his chest and when it raised a little when he told his driver where to go, home, because before I realized, I was in a deep sleep.

The next day, I had to carry the consequences of having drank too much alcohol; I had an immense head ache. When I opened my eyes, the bright morning sun made me squint and fall back into the soft sheets, that were more welcoming than ever.

Then I remembered, my sheets were blue, not white.

A deep, disappointed sigh escaped my lips when I tried to remember what had happened last night and failed. I was too tired to think and too lazy, but a knock on the door ("Breakfast is ready!" but I was too lazy to respond) mockingly in sync with the thuts in my head, brought me back into the realization of life and I grunted. I turned around, trying to get the sheets in the position that I liked, because in no way I was planning to leave this strange bed within the next three weeks, when I suddenly saw someone lying on the sheets next to me. A particular someone.

With the last amounts of alcohol running through my veins, and as schocked as I was, I let out a short scream, quickly muffled by my own hand but enough to wake Michael up. The man of the hour, my ex-boyfriend.

He was always prepared for everything, at all times, because when he raised his head he wasn't weary, confused, an overall mess like I was when I woke up. He wore that annoying little grin of his, a grin I had become so infatuated within seconds and I hated myself for doing so.
"Goodmorning, dear!" The voice from a man who knew everybody in the world looked up to him and knew it, spoke. I rubbed my eyes and decided to say something.
"Whatever happened last night - I can assure you, none of it was under my control and I can easily say I'm very disappointed with myself -, do not bring it up, ever, and I'm going to leave now."
His girly giggle echoed through the room and he could easily call me a dumb fool instead. I rolled my eyes.
"We didn't sleep together, if that's what you're wondering!"
"Of course not. You just happen to lay next to me, almost naked and I had an immense percentage of alcohol through my veins just hours ago."
Regret- and foolishly I laid my hands on the sheets and stared at his face, at his pink, slightly parted lips, his big kitten-like eyes staring in all innocence.
"And you're very handsome, of course."
He laughed and sat up straight, so that he was just inches away from my face.
"Yeah."
"Yeah," he mimicked. He bit his lip.
"I'm just gonna have a shower. See you."
I stood up, planning to walk wherever I thought the shower was but immediately fell on my stomach when my foot hurted like crazy.
"FUCK!" I shouted and stared at my right foot. "Where the hell did that came from?" I groaned.
"Oh gosh, what happened?!" Michael's face appeared next to the bed, his hands gripping on the edge of the mattres.
"I faked my fall, hoping you'd catch me while romantic music starts playing in the background. Damn, help me out here!"
He stepped over me and proceeded to pick me up like I was his bride. I wasn't sure if this was ok, for exes than.
"Yeah, this is not going to help my foot, is it?"
"Shut your mouth, for a second."
"No."
"Hm."
We walked down the staircase, and I was too fixed on his majestic jawline to focus on the immensity of his newest purchase. Seconds later, he set me atop of his kitchen island, and examined my foot like he was a doctor.
"You do remember you got almost hit by a car, tonight, do you?"
"What?!' My eyes widened in shock. "Hit by a car? Are you serious?"
He looked into my eyes while his fingers touched my heel. I flinched.
"Dead serious. However, I think this-" he gestured at my awkwardly positioned foot, "little accident is from when you were so eager to get me to dance with you on dancing in the rain, provided by your beautiful singing, but ended up getting your foot hit against the fench."
"Oh, cut it Michael!"
"And this little bruise right here," he pointed at my cheek, "is from when you wanted to kiss me when you thought I was the portrait against the wall."
Anger builded up inside me.
"I'm out! I don't wanna hear anything from this nonsense again!" I walked away, rather awkwardly, from the kitchen island. "Nor do I ever wanna speak with you again!" I turned around and angrily gestured at him in a hesitant manner. "How did I end up here anyways?! Huh? You saw me at the side of the road like a poor little deer and you thought if you'd bring me to your stupid new mansion everything would be alright? I could just forget about everything and say, oh, I forgive you Michael lets be best friends again, and they lived happily ever after?! Well, no!"
"SHUT UP!" he suddenly shouted, and when he walked towards me, he towered over me like some dark figure in a comic book.
"You," he pointed at me, "were always the one complaining! I had told you from the beginning that it's not peaches and moonlight when having a relationship with me. I am Michael Jackson, for heaven's sake!"
"Oh, so that's a reason to stay away for six weeks on end without saying a fucking word? What is your problem!"
He furrowed his brows and folded his arms. "Oh, my problem? Maybe it's my work that requires my attention 24/7! Or those lying pricks with there stupid accusations so that I can not live in peace for one god damn day! Or another interview, another conference, another country, another show, another liar, another tour! I'm not only yours, y/n!"
I was blind with anger at this point, blind to see how he didn't know how relationships worked, or how he didn't understand how to explain himself. I was angry and I wanted to hit him in his handsome, stupid face.
"And then you're gonna isolate yourself and tell the press that you're ever so lonely and that you are the loneliest person in the world. How do you think that makes me feel?! Hearing those words while I'm at home, waiting and praying for you to come home and to finally let me help you!"
His face turned more pale than it already was. He swallowed and rubbed his hands off on his pants.
"You can't help me."
"I can. I know I can."
"No."
"Why not?"
"Because you're not in the same position as me! I've met you in a damn subway station while you were on your way to your job as a lawyer, carrying your coffee around while I was trying to find the safest way for me to arrive to the ama's. Doesn't that explain itself?"
I widened my eyes.
"Than why, did you pick me up tonight? Why did you take care of my foot? And all that?1"
"That doesn't matter."
"It does. Why?"

His nostrils moved with frustration and he turned around. He slowly walked over to the kitchen counter and I found myself wishing desperately for him to turn around and tell me he loved me and that he'd never wanted to let me go in the first place. That he was a dumb fool for letting me slip through his fingers and for not taking enough care of me. I desperately wanted him to say it out loud, but now it was just a cloud hanging between us in the form of a thick tension.

Instead, he just plainly said;
"I think it's better for you to leave."
And so I did.

-

y can i only write depressing imagines omG