Michael's Point Of View ~

Michael's Hotel Suite | New York

Frustration.

Anger. I'm-I . . I'm left just completely saddened.

My hands on my head, my fingers through my curls as all of these emotions are felt strongly within me. I'm not shocked, but still I'm left speechless. I was ready but from my reaction to this . . I suppose I never really was. I just can not believe what I'm reading about myself. But I can't say I'm too speechless - it's the media doing what they do best - telling stories that are the furthest from the truth. I have held off from reading this. But I shouldn't have read this. I shouldn't have even brought the newspaper this close to my presence. I exhale deeply as I know I just should never have opened it.

Damn it, Jackson.

How dare they. How could they?

They are seriously accusing me of bleaching my skin? And to go as far as stating that I don't want to be a black man anymore . . that I don't want to be who I am. Where was the part of them coming to me and asking me? Pft, who am I kidding? That is not what they want. They don't want the truth . . instead, spreading nothing but lies. I know I should look away but I just can't. My eyes glued completely onto the newspaper as picture after picture of me is shown from my 'Bad' short film that was released only hours ago.

I flip the page hoping to read about something different, just anything, but still, I see me. I knew it was going to be hurtful in some way shape or form . . but I didn't think they would write this. The coffee I had prepared upon not being able to sleep has now gone cold and my appetite too, is no longer. Although my insomnia has struck yet again - I wanted to have an optimistic and bright mood going into this reading but now . . well, it's gone dim. A rush of anger fills my stomach as I read the large text at the top of this page.

"What's wrong with Michael's skin"? . .

. . you don't know? Then ask me.

Disregard for another's life is thrown out the window when they choose to print such nonsense. What will people think? Will they believe them? I pray they don't . . because it's all lies. It's just not the truth. The feeling of my heart sinking to the bottom of my stomach causes my eyes to finally stop reading, turning the page of the newspaper yet again in a desperate attempt to read about anything else . . but it's to no prevail as still, I'm the topic of choice.

Well, Ariana and I.

I see scattered photos of Ariana and Lil Wayne - the featuring artist on her newest track 'Let Me Love You'. With the assumption, claim more like, that Ariana and I have broken up and she's with him now. Again, this isn't the case - it's not true. As Ariana and I are still very much together. My head falls down and my fingers rub at my temples as I try to understand why - why do they do this to us? My eyes back on the newspaper but not for long, as my hand comes down to scrunch up the newspaper before just holding it's now scrambled appearance tightly in my palm. I feel tears building . . I am so angry.

I see red.

I retreat, walking away from the newspaper and my seating spot on the lounge in its entirety. I storm into my bedroom - then into the bathroom. Karen isn't here as it's almost midnight . . so I'll do it myself. I apply the glue before sticking on a fake scruffy beard to my face. And like magic, it stays on. Karen taught me, but only the bare minimum - but taught my very well obviously. It's late so no one should be out . . right? I keep my known everyday ensemble on but cover it all up with a large trench coat. But as for my many fedora hats . . these must stay here to instead wear one that I have never worn in the prying eyes that is the public. I open the door of my suite but that's when the easy part ends.

"Mr Jackson. Where are you going at this hour? . . "

Arthur asks me with a sense of panic. Even with my disguise on, Arthur still can recognise me. He is amazing at his job after all. My response is a hint to him that I feel so blue but still, see such red after reading what was written in that damn newspaper. "I just need some air. I'm going for a little walk . . ". The chatter of Arthur's radio is never ending, even at this time of the morning. I didn't know that. He holds his hands out in front of me, hoping to halt me I would guess. But I can't stay here . . I need to breath. He switches his radio off with the simple flick of a button but not before announcing through it that he and I will be out, but safe.

"Let me come with you, Mr Jackson . . "

I say nothing, only nodding. I walk out of the safety of my hotel suite and into the streets of New York. It's Summer but yet, it's a little chilly. My arms wrap around myself, bringing the trench coat along with me of course as I try to warm up. I hear the distant honking of cars as it's a sign that some people are indeed still awake, not quite retreating to the comfort of their homes just yet. I look up at the sky . . the stars - wow, so beautiful and so many too. I could count them all but then I definitely will be here all night.

I walk, and I walk.

Down this street of New York.

It's bittersweet. Of the fact that I'm actually walking down a street without a mob forming around me and not to mention, the paparazzi getting wind of my midnight stroll and therefore, joining me. But in regards to why I'm even on this walk . . I'm hoping to calm down and to stop any tears that could possibly fall. That's the bitter side to all of this. My hands in my pockets and my head down, but to then lift it back up to see a couple walking towards me. Oh no. I pray they don't recognise me. Arthur still walks behind me but I know he won't intervene unless totally necessary. It's an elderly couple of all people. They both look at me before they smile.

"Good evening . . "

The elderly gentleman says to me. I don't speak, I can't as then they may very well know who I really am by the sound of my voice alone. So I just tip my hat to them as we pass by each other. I look behind me to see Arthur still there. I hear a noise - my phone ringing in my pocket. I take it out to then look at the caller ID - it's Ariana. She's seen it. She knows. I answer it without any thought as the sound of her voice makes me break down in itself.

"Hi. I saw the newspaper. I'm so sorry, baby . . "

Ariana says softly. As I hold the phone to my ear, I see that I have unintentionally come across an unoccupied park bench. I sit down with Arthur standing nearby. I put my head down, with my free hand coming up to cover my eyes. "I don't want to be who I am. That's what they are saying about me, Ari . . ". I wipe my tears away as they fall. Ugh. I knew it was going to happen one way or another.

"I'm angry. I'm so angry, Ari . . "

My mouth quivers, and my heart just aches. Because the cool night air isn't even an issue as it's the vision of what these horrid newspapers have said about me - first comments about my skin disorder, then to assume that Ariana and I aren't together anymore without even confirming it first. "I'm so sorry, baby . . " is all Ariana can say. I hate this. That I'm being such a baby and with her knowing about it. But, she knows about my insecurities when it comes to my skin. How I wanted to hide it - from her, more then the world. How I wanted to cover up and never, ever show myself.

"Your breaking my heart, babe . . "

Ariana says, hearing her voice break as I know she's getting chocked up too. "I'm sorry, Ari. I just- . . ". Immediately she cuts me off.

"Mr Jackson. Don't you dare apologise . . "

"Remember when you felt as if you couldn't tell me, when you felt as if you couldn't show me? I do. And I never want that again. I never want you to feel as if you can't truly express how your feeling about something . . "

What a women. She is amazing, simply amazing. That's how I know she loves me. When she allows me to cry even when I don't even want to myself. We sniffle and wipe our tears away before Ariana speaks again.

"So apparently we aren't together anymore . . "

I can't help but giggle as she once again jokes around. She fools around by 'believing' what the media has said about our relationship being over. It's an attempt to break the ice and bring smiles to such an upsetting phone call. We don't have many of those . . but we do have them. "Pft, fucking idiots . . " Ariana says making me full blown laugh out loud this time.

"That's what I wanted. To hear that laugh . . "

She says to me. I can already tell she's smiling so wide and I'm happy knowing she is. "How are you liking your hotel suite? . . ". Oh no. I feel as though I have been caught out. If she asks, I'll tell her the truth that I'm not actually in there at the moment. But she hasn't said anything in regards to that yet. "It's nice. Really nice . . ".

"I hope your in bed as we speak . . "

Yep. She's got there pretty much. "Well, I'm not in my suite right now . . " I sigh softly, scrunching up my face as I wait for her response. "What? Where are you then baby? . . ". It's silent for a few seconds.

"Out for a walk . . "

Ariana goes to speak but I politely cut her off before she can even get the chance. "I'm fine. And Arthur is with me . . ". As I say this, I look over in the direction where he still stands - nodding his head from the mention of his name. I hope by saying this, it puts Ariana at ease. The newspaper really upset me and if anything, made me angry. So I needed some fresh air and by getting it, going for a walk at midnight seems to be the only solution as the streets are much more bare. I wish they would leave me alone - ugh, it just makes me want to scream. Ariana is calm, soft spoken as she does understand.

"Take your time. Be safe out there and make sure Arthur doesn't leave your side . . "

She tells me. I nod my head.

"I will. I love you, my girl . . "

"I love you too, Michael . . "

to be continued.