I can feel myself coming to, the warmth of the sheets trying to pull me back down into drowsiness.

I reach for Michael in my half-unconscious state, my fingers sliding over the bed in search of his warm body. When I don't find him, my eyes shoot open, my senses suddenly shaking the dullness sleep gave them.

I sit up not so slowly, holding my head as the memories of last night come to my mind. First they're jumbled, but the most important event becomes clear quickly: The kiss. I feel my cheeks heat as I lay my eyes on him, his back rather. He's seated in a desk across the room, curled over his notebook and writing furiously by the dim light of the lamp propped next to him.

I open my mouth, and quickly realize I have no idea what to say to him now. My heart swells at the way he was last night, so sweet and considerate. I hope he stays that way. I clear my throat, my eyes drifting to the nightstand. I notice a film camera there, and wonder what the heck he could've been doing with that. What pictures could he take in his bedroom?

"Michael?" I ask softly, and he doesn't respond, barely grunting to acknowledge the fact that I spoke. I rub my arms. "Did you sleep well?" I call, trying to draw some sort of conversation out of him. He turns his head slightly in my direction, fingering the pen in his hand. "Yeah, very well actually." He says weirdly, his voice seeming distant compared to the warm and rich tone it upheld last night.

"That's good to hear." Radio silence. Again and again I try to draw conversation, but it doesn't work. "I think Kate made breakfast. I would appreciate it if you'd shut up." He interrupts one of my continuous questions, sounding irritated with me. Of course, I guess I shouldn't have expected the good times to last. I stand, sighing. "Hint taken." I mutter, walking across the hall to shower and change clothes. I slam my room door behind me.

Michael decides to join the chattering table for breakfast, 'gracing' us with his presence. I frown deeply, staring at the pork bacon his mother put in front of me. I'm not hungry anyways, my stomach is sick, lurching with shame. I can't believe I let myself get sucked into him. I look up from my plate to meet two wide brown eyes examining me, filled with curiosity. I don't understand what he could possibly be wondering about, so I scowl at him and look away.

For moment I think I notice a glimmer of hurt, maybe confusion behind his eyes, but the signature Michael Jackson wall goes up in them before I can decide.

"Michael! Why don't you take Skipper out with your brothers today, show her the town? Maybe you could go to Carol Park, or... visit the old School. I know! Why don't you take her down to Motown?" Michael is unreadable as his gaze falls on Kate. "Yes Kate, that's a good idea." At this moment, I'm unable to decide if he's being sarcastic or not.

"Do not call her 'Kate,' Boy." Joe grunts, almost growling at his own son. I notice Michael flinch ever so slightly, shooting a cold stare to his father. "Thanks, Joe." He smirks, earning a frown from his dad. "Yeah, Skipper. Would you like to come down to the recording booth, check out the place I used to record in?"

I guess I really can't say no, so I shrug, tired of staring at the dead pig on my plate. "Sure, why not?" I give him a deep sarcastic grin. Of course, he's the only one who notices my insincerity, because his brothers begin fighting over who will show me what. Instead, slightly alarmed, Michael studies me harder, narrowing his eyes. I stand quickly, simply telling him I'll wait in the limo.

I stare out of the black tinted windows as they pile in after me, counting the number of bricks it takes until I reach the roof of the house. Michael fortunately doesn't get the seat next to me, instead he sits across from me, staring at me with a slight frown. The limo pulls away, the house getting smaller and smaller in the back windshield. 

Jermaine, sitting next to me begins to excitedly describe the things he's gonna show me when we get to the recording place, but I can't focus on anything but Michael. He won't let up with me. The more time I spend with Michael, the more he spins my head around. He blurs my judgment, wiping away everything I thought I knew... I find myself continually thinking about him, like right now, even when I'm angry with him. He tugs at my heart and controls my actions, like some twisted and sexually attractive puppet master. But I love every single minute of it.

That doesn't mean I'm not mad as we walk up the concrete path to the recording booth. It's a tall building, not standing out from the rest of the buildings in Gary. The same gray-bricked and slightly eroded place as the one standing on the corner a few hundred yards away.

Michael walks near me. "What's wrong?" I frown. What's wrong? He practically kicked me out of his room earlier. I growl. "I'm so done Michael. So done." "But.. What about.. Skip." He breathes, stopping me. "You're so hot and cold! You're sweet, and then you're rude, all over again, it's never-ending!" I yell in a hissy whisper.

"Skip." He says simply, following me as I walk to the door. His brothers usher us towards the entrance, telling us we take to long. In the commotion of squeezing through the tight doorway, I feel his hand wrap around one of my unnaturally small fingers. I attempt to pull away in sheer irritation from before, but his grip is iron as his fingers lace through mine.

Nobody says anything about it as we walk down the hall, towards what Marlon describes as 'The room where the magic began.' I look up at Michael, and he glances at me, then looks away. I give myself a small smile as we walk into the recording booth.

A woman is sitting at the controls with headphones on and her back turned to us, focusing on some guy singing. The room is causal and old-style, with lots of couches and instruments. I really should stop letting myself fall into this cycle, but right now it seems like his hand was made to fit perfectly with mine.

The woman at the chair spins around, and her intensely dark eyes widen. Taking off the headphones, she sets them to the side. Immediately, Michael rips his hand away from mine, and I get the vibe that they know each other. She stands, revealing lusciously long legs barely hidden by her dress, her dark and dead-straight hair tumbling over her shoulders. Her skin is the color of copper, darker than mine. So what's with her hair?

She's incredibly beautiful. That's the only way I know how to describe her. "Michael!" She calls, holding her arms out. She really is tall, standing shoulder to shoulder with gangly Michael. "Diana," He almost chokes, his expression indecipherable. Blinking, he takes a step towards her, his back to me. I'm still dumbfounded, he dropped my hand like it was on fire.

And again, my mood goes south as he folds her into his chest. Her words are muffled by his neck as they speak, laughing softly and talking. I look wide eyed at Jackie beside me. His mouth is twisted into a disgusted expression, as he exchanged knowing glances with the rest of his brothers. "Who's that?" I whisper.

"The town whore." "Shut up Marlon. That's um.. Diana." Ok? That doesn't answer my question. I listen carefully to their muffled words, and find that they're reminiscing about the 'good old days.' Horror fills my gut, and my old feelings of anger that had just seemed to fade come rushing back with a vengeance. Why do I care? Michael is so shifty and unpredictable, and he treats me like crap half the time. So why do I care? It's obvious that they've known each other for a while. They must've been good friends... or more. The thought sickens me.

A while passes before they finally pull away from each other, and Michael turns to me, his demeanor completely changed. Diana touches his arm, smiling down at me like I'm a child. "Aw, who's this Mikey?" Mikey?

"Nobody..." He closes his eyes, taking a breath. Hurt and shame burns in the back of my throat. Nobody? I'm nobody. "This is an acquaintance from school." Ok, that hurts even more. She smiles deeply, even though I know immediately she doesn't like me in the least bit. It's the way she looks at me with hidden daggers in her eyes.

"Michael, it's been so long! Don't you wanna catch up, talk a little?" She almost purrs in an oily-smooth cat-like voice. She already disgusts me, the way her dress hugs her non-existent curves. He looks between her and me, almost seeming unsure. "Yeah, of course." He smiles at her. He smiled at her. My aspirations of whatever this is between Michael and I materializing sinks through the floor.

"Uh... I'll be back later guys," He calls over his shoulder, Diana leading him out of the room with his arm hugged to her bust. Giving a quivering sigh, I look back up at his brothers. Tito's eyes are filled with warm sympathy. "C-Could you guys just take me home?" I swallow, trying to rid my mouth of the bitter taste of rejection. The feeling of shame hasn't subsided, and I don't think it will. He brought me here just to leave me?

Tito nods once, and I follow them silently, tears brimming in my eyes. It's my own fault really, did I actually think Michael would ever be human to me?

****

After waiting around at his house all day, bored and uncomfortable, I finally hear Michael tiptoe down the hall. It's been long since sundown, and before I heard him I was lying in bed pondering whether or not I should cry.

Michael's steps are quiet and soft, like he's trying to avoid waking me. There's no point anymore. My heart rate picks up when his feet stop right outside my door. There's an excruciating pause, before his steps continue, and his shadow under the door disappears, his door shutting behind it. My hopes fall, for some reason, even though I'm mad, I wanted him to come in. To tell me he's sorry, and that she means nothing.

But of course, that's a stupid pipe dream. I close my eyes, and drift off.

"No! Please, stop!" Michael's voice sounds, shrill and fearful. I shoot up in bed, rubbing the sleep from my eyes. "Just stop!" He cries out again, as I tumble over my own feet to get out of bed. Falling on the floor, I untangle my legs from the sheets, scrambling out into the hallway.

I'm reluctant to open the door. The sound of tossing and turning comes from behind it, followed with more screaming. I look both ways in the dark hallway, confused. Is nobody else hearing him? I press my ear to the door, listening. The bed creaks, his heavy and strained breathing sounding. He's having a nightmare. My face burns, and I feel like I'm invading some private moment.

I want to go in and comfort him, to pull him into my arms and hold him until he stops shaking. Stroke his hair, and tell him that everything's gonna be ok. Why should I care for him this way? He would never do the same for me.

Before I come to a decision, the sound of seizing stops, replaced by the sound of him gulping down air. He woke up, that's good. He catches his breath, and turns over, and then there's no more sound. I back away, slipping back into my own room.

I feel bad, a stinging pain in my chest. My anger from earlier is somewhat stifled as I wonder how long these nightmares have gone on. It troubles me to think that he ever feels scared... or alone.

Hopefully tomorrow I can comfort him, and maybe he'll let me into his hiding place.

ILYSM to everyone reading. Comment what you think! Keep voting and reading as well, it makes my day. I will update soon :)