This is the Final Chapter of Love Symbol. It is really long, but... You'll see why. Enjoy, my lovelies ^_^

I reach across the ruffled sheets, still half asleep, to feel for my certified other half. Michael.

Last night was by far the best of my life, there's nothing that comes close. My face heats at the memories, the dirty words he whispered in my ear, his hands on my skin, the way we laughed together. I was so nervous at first, but he was gentle and almost loving. I've never felt closer to him, and it's the best feeling in the world.

Instead of Michael's warm body, I find cold sheets. Confused, I open my eyes, and sit up quickly, looking around the room. It's empty, sunlight pouring through the window, shining down on a notebook and camera on the dresser.

I slip out of bed, wrapping the sheet around my naked body, and poking my head into the bathroom. "Michael?" I call softly. Maybe he rose before I did, and took a shower, but that's not it. The bathroom is empty, and the shower isn't even wet.

I walk silently back to the room, and sigh, opening the drawer to find something to wear. I don't want to re-wear last night's snow-soaked outfit, so I pull one of his t-shirts over my head.

Walking out into the hallway, I giggle. "Michael, this isn't funny. Where are you?" My voice echoes through the foyer, receiving no answer. I step slowly down the staircase, and search the kitchen, living room, and even the backyard. "Michael?" I ask, genuinely confused now, and a little bit scared.

The house... is completely empty, and a peek out the front window tells me that his car is gone. Where the hell is he?

I finally give in and put my clothes back on after a hot shower, and sit in the living room to wait. Surely he went out for some errand, and forgot to leave me a note telling me where he went. That must be what's going on.

The silence creeps me out, so I turn on the TV and discover that it's Christmas Eve. A thick blanket of snow covers the ground, and an even more severe chill has fallen. Hours pass, while I sit here, staring at my hands. I find myself something to eat, and as more time passes, the more convinced I am that Michael will not return.

Then it comes to me-- I know most people have already left campus to go home for the holiday, but... maybe he got tied up with something at school? Exams were a few days ago, but maybe he had a class with a late scheduled test.

I decide I should go back to school and meet him, even though the only way I could get there would be to walk, or call Ana.

Biting my lip, I pick up the phone, and slowly dial her number. She picks up on the second ring, singing into the telephone. "Hello?" "Ana?" She pauses, clearing her throat. "Skipper?" She asks skeptically, giggling slightly. "Yeah... it's me." "What's up? I feel like I haven't talked to you in ages." That's because you haven't.

"Well... we can catch up later, but right now I need you and your car." "Wait... unless I'm mistaken, your rich and famous boy-toy bought you a ferrari." Vegetable has been sitting unused in the parking lot for a while, ever since I took up running. "Yeah... I don't have it here with me... I'm kinda at Michael's place." "Why?" "I'll explain in the car, just come get me."

Half an hour later, I open the passenger door of Ana's car, and hop inside. She stares at me expectantly, chomping hard on a wad of gum. I roll my eyes, sighing. "Um... you gonna drive, or...?" "Details, hello?" She quips with a smile, backing out of the driveway.

I sigh, chewing my lip and trying to determine what the best way to tell her about this would be. "So, um... me and Michael had been having some problems, of course..." "Yeah... you two are a roller coaster ride of problems."

"So, um... we kinda solved our problems... physically? If you know what I mean?" She slams on the brakes, and the whole car jolts to a halt in the middle of the empty neighborhood streets. "What? Skipper Joanne Nelson! You had sex with Michael Jackson!?" My face heats, and I swallow hard a few times. "Yes?" I squeak quietly.

She reaches over, and hugs me tightly to her chest. "Oh, my retarded social butterfly lost her virginity! I'm so proud!" She cries, and I laugh. "Wait... retarded?" "Was it great? Tell me, what kind of lover is Michael Jackson?" "Just drive," I groan into my hands, and she laughs.

"Fine, but you're not getting off that easy. You will tell me, Nelson." I guess it feels good to have her back again, but nagging worry about Michael being gone today distracts me from the pleasant feeling of having a girlfriend. I'm sure nothing's wrong... right?

****

I feel like crying as I watch fat white snowflakes fall in mass amounts past my window, settling on the already huge drifts of snow below my window.

I've never spent Christmas alone. I do remember the best holiday seasons of my life, when I was really young with Moonsie and my Dad. They always showered me with gifts, and even though money was tight, they always found a way. Moonsie continued this practice even after he was gone; when I was certain there was absolutely no way she could afford a Christmas present, she would surprise me with a new medical book to add to my collection.

I'm depressed for two reasons: One, it's Christmas and I have nobody to talk to, and Two, I haven't seen Michael since we... spent the night together. It scares me, I never wanted to be that stereotypical girl in the movies who wakes up alone after giving away the most sacred thing a young girl possesses. I'm starting to think, as enjoyable as the night was... was it a mistake?

I tried to make my dorm feel as cozy as possible, turning up the heat and playing some christmas music from my boom box. It only made me feel worse, so I went and watched some TV in the empty lobby downstairs. You'd think I would've at least gotten a call from Michael.

I treat myself to a glass of lemonade for my Christmas dinner, and then curl up in bed at 7:30. What else is there to do? My head is pounding from the stress Michael created, so I can't read or do anything productive. I want nothing more than for this day to end.

I allow myself to release two fat tears, which crawl down my cheeks and land on my pillow. An ache in my chest keeps me from sleeping long after I turn off the light and Christmas music, and I find myself daydreaming about when the pain will stop, and my life will seem livable again.

****

Some would say that St. Mary's is pretty irrational for ending winter break on New Year's eve, but I am so greatful. I spent the long and lonely days staring out of my dorm room window, dreaming about the boy with black curls and a beautiful smile, tall women who forget things, and faceless fathers.

Michael still hasn't returned, and every time my alarm goes off to start a new day without him, the pain gets worse. I slap at my alarm this morning, and rise, doing my best to swallow past the agonizing lump in my throat at the loss of Michael. Where could he be? What is he doing now? Why hasn't he returned from school?

Every day, I call his house, hoping he will pick up the phone. Tell me some miraculous story about where he was, and beg for my forgiveness. But everyday, I get his voicemail, and more accumulating pain.

Crawling out of bed, I pull my school uniform on, and run a brush through my curls. They seem lifeless where they're usually spunky.

Stretching my arms over my head, I walk into the lobby to grab a cup of coffee before class. As I enter, I notice how the room completely silences, every head turns in my direction, at least a hundred pairs of eyes trained on me. Furrowing my eyebrows, I look around the room, utterly confused. Why is everyone staring at me?
I notice how they huddle in bunches holding newspapers in their hands. They all seem too interested in them, straining and crawling over each other to read it. The pressure of people staring at me becomes too much extremely quickly, so I ditch the coffee idea and bolt out of the building.
My breath fogs in front of me as I walk quickly across the quad. Everyone again seems to stare at me, some people laughing and giggling, pointing at me, some look away, some have pity written all over their faces. All three reactions puzzle me, and make me feel extremely uneasy. What's going on that I don't know about?

Ana hurries up to me, a newspaper folded under her arms, calling my name. I walk over to her, looking from side to side. "Ana? What the heck's going on, why's everyone staring at me?" Her face falls, and she studies the snow beneath our feet. "You mean... you haven't seen?" I cock my head. "Seen what?"

She sighs, and grabs my arm, pulling me back toward the dorm. "What're you doing?" I hiss. "What about class?" "You won't care after you read this." We hurry to her dorm, before she shoves me onto the bed, and forces the newspaper into my hands. "You need to read this now."

"'Love Symbol,' A memoir of Princess 'Skipper' Joanne Nelson? By... Michael Jackson?" Ana's face has gone pale as she sits at her burea. "Read on."
I open the newspaper, and take a breath, beginning to read the 10-page long article on the first page.

****

Every detail. Every single moment we spent together, from the day I opened my dorm room door to find him sitting on Becky's bed, to the night we spent together. All brutally described in detail, and published for the whole entire world to read.

My heart turned to stone the minute he recounted our first kiss, my blood turned to ice when he spilled my feelings about my father. My entire being morphed into embarassment when he talked about Moonsie. Everything I ever told him, he published into this newspaper. I think of the binders in his bedroom, and wonder. Was he really a journalist the whole time? Why would he do this?

As I stare at Ana, my first reaction to all of this is denial. I see tears swimming in her eyes, but I don't know why. "I'm so sorry, Skip," She sniffles, wiping at her eyes. "What? This can't be real, this isn't... this is some sort of joke, right? There's no way he... dated me for a newspaper article." "Did you read the last section?" I shake my head, tossing the newspaper aside. I couldn't bear to read anymore.

"This isn't happening." "It is... I'm so sorry." "How do you know and why are you apologizing?" Her eyes are filled with shame as they drift to rest on the floor. "He told us." I stand straight up, and stare at her with daggers in my eyes. "What?" "He told us what he was doing. All of his friends knew... Me, Becky, Carleigh, Jay, everyone!"

"You, my best friend, knew he was exploiting me, and thought it wise to never tell me?" Tears rush down her cheeks as she looks up at me. "I'm so sorry! Please, Skip, listen, I wanted to tell you, so many times, I wanted to tell you that he only ever talked to you for a project, but-" "Shut the fuck up!" I scream at her, before leaving the room and slamming the door behind me. It does nothing to muffle her loud sobs.

As I storm down the quad, my fists clenched at my sides, it occurs to me that I should be the one crying, but I will not let myself. I know now I am officially done with Ana, she's broken my trust two too many times. My denial turns into pure rage, and I know... I know I have to see him now.

Jay runs up to me, his shoulders sagging. "Skipper... I know things never really ended right with us, but... I wanted to say I'm sorry-" I grip his collar, forcing him down to my level. "Where the hell is that bastard?" I spit venom. I don't even recognize my own voice. "He's... He's-" "Spit it out!"

"He's gonna be in Time's Square tonight, for the ball drop! He's been gone this whole time at the publisher's in Los Angeles, but he'll be back tonight for the ball drop."

I release his collar, and throw him backwards. "Fuck you, Jay!" "I'm so sorry!" He calls after me from his spot, laid out in the snow.

****

I want to believe it's all a joke, that this is all a dream as I drive like a mad woman towards Times Square.

I want to believe that the notebook he kept wasn't recording all the secrets I ever told him, I want to believe that the cameras he always had weren't taking pictures of me when I wasn't paying attention. Or sleeping.

It's 11:45, which means I have 15 minutes to find Michael before it's too late, before he rushes from the area to avoid me.

The newspaper clenched in my fist, I slam the door of Vegetable, and attempt to penetrate the crowd of people. While wishing I wasn't so short, I search the crowd for a glimpse of black curls and smouldering eyes. There's a stage up front, I assume that's where he'll be.

The minutes come and go, ticking quickly as I make my way towards the stage. When I'm almost at the edge, I spot him, standing there with his hands in his pockets. His foot kicks at the dust littering the floor, his mouth pulled downward into a frown.

"Michael!" I scream, and his head snaps up immediately. I notice his eyes are red, his face blotchy. Was he crying? I shake the thought from my head, crawling up the side of the stage and storming over to him. "Skipper... you're here!" He says, holding his arms out for me. Instead, I blindside him with a backhand slap across the cheek. One he's deserved ever since the first time he sneered at me. His management made a mistake leaving him exposed up here on this stage, without security to protect him.

He stumbles backwards for a second, and I notice the crowd quiet. Why is eveyone so quiet?

"Skipper, please, let me explain to you-" I grab his collar and drag him off the stage into the crowd. They think it wise to make a circle around us, staring with wide eyes. It's Times Square, but you could still hear a pin drop. "Skipper." He says simply, rubbing his already bruising cheek.

"Explain this!" I scream, shaking the newspaper. "Please. I'm sorry." I laugh wildly, running a hand through my hair and pacing back and forth. "You must really think I'm an idiot, Michael! I feel so... stupid! So used! Did you mean all those things you said to me Michael?" "Yes, every word!"

"You are a terrible person! You are by far the worst person I've met in my life! I trusted you! I told you things I promised I'd never tell a living soul, I put up with your bullshit, I gave myself to you, only for you to turn around and stab me in the back? What the hell is wrong with you? You are messed up in the fucking head, Michael! Why have you done this to me? What the hell is wrong with you!?" He looks at he ground, breathing hard. "I never wanted to hurt you."

"Yes, you did! That was your mission!" "When I started this, I wasn't trying to catch feelings, but I did, and-" "Yes, I know! I was your project!" "I didn't mean that, I... Did you read the last section?"

"No!" "Read it... please." I stare at him hard, and if looks could kill, Michael would've been dead minutes ago. "Please." I don't know why, but I turn the paper over in my hand, and begin to read aloud.

"All of you readers must think I'm some sort of psychopath by exploiting an underaged girl for my own personal gain as a writer-" "Not that part... the very last paragraph."

Sighing, I suck breath in. "All of you readers must also be wondering, if this is an exploitation of a young girl, why did I name it 'Love Symbol?' Before I met Skipper Nelson, I was convinced that I would never be able to care for another being other than myself for the rest of my life. After spending time with her, I realised all I could think about was this girl with wild hair and an even more wild personality. I could go into all of my mushy feelings for her right now, but it's a waste of time, because I threw her trust away for this article, but... I named this Love Symbol because Skipper is a symbol that love can exist inside of me. She is my Love Symbol."

His eyes are wide, as he studies me. My body is a raging tidal wave of emotions, and I don't think I can keep my head above water anymore. Everything I thought I knew was false, everything I thought was real was an illusion, all part of Michael's sick game. Everything was a game.

I look over to one of the big screens, and realise that the count down has started, and there's 15 seconds left. Michael fights for my attention, taking a step towards me. I step back like he is on fire, and he sighs. "Please, Skip, listen. All of my feelings were real!" 10, 9, 8... "I started out with terrible intentions, and I guess I ended with them, but I feel for you!" "That's bull!" 8, 7, 6...

"Please, I know you have no reason to, but you have to trust me!" He yells over the sound of people counting. 6, 5, 4... "Please, Skipper, I... I..." 4, 3, 2...

"I love you!"

The crowd goes up in cheers as I watch the rubble that was my life catch on fire, and turn to ashes.

1984 so far: My life is a lie, and Michael 'loves' me.

Happy Fucking New Year.

THE END

Read on...