Resentment

The Guesthouse

Neverland Ranch, Santa Barbara, CA, 2nd September 1997
12:45pm

The guesthouse had always been a beautiful extension of the main Neverland Ranch.
Most of the time, it was reserved for guests and family, and had been decorated in a particularly modern way compared to the main home.

Afia insisted, that if she couldn't decorate the main Ranch in the modern way she'd always envisioned, then the Guesthouse should be her muse.

Michael obliged reluctantly, and so in 1990, Afia made a big project out of the whole thing.

She'd bought the finest decor, and the most expensive oak wood flooring.

She'd spent hundreds of thousands of dollars on linen bed lining, curtains, and cushions.

She'd made the entire Guesthouse into somewhat of a retreat.

Even Michael had agreed, she had a knack for it.

The Guesthouse, sat comfortably between some green shrubbery, like a little fairy house.
It was snug, and cozy, and the huge marble fireplace was always raging during the winter.

Sometimes, Michael and Afia would sneak away, and hide there, to make love all evening, whilst the rest of the house slept.

There was no kitchen, but there was a huge living room space, that had been decorated with expensive fluffy couches and beanbags, and a huge oak coffee table.

Afia loved plants, and so she'd put red roses all over the Guesthouse in black marble vases.

Now though, as Afia sat at the edge of the huge bed, she felt no comfort in any of it.

The four huge oak posters holding up the bed frame, had beautiful linen drapes, and she so fondly remembered how Michael would loosen them, and close them, so they could have each other privately.

Back then, it all felt so loving.
It all felt so real.

Afia laid back on the bed, and pondered her life and her new reality.

After their argument the previous night, Michael had asked her, in a very unsettling tone, to leave him alone.

Usually, she'd argue that it was her home too.
Her bed too.

This time, she didn't have it in her.
She simply threw some clothing into a duffel, and stomped her way over to the Guesthouse.

"We need to talk.." Michaels voice was low, and empty.

He suddenly, like a shape shifter, had appeared in the doorway of the Guesthouse bedroom.

Afia remained silent.
Michaels footsteps padded closer, and then stopped as he reached the bed.

Afia continued to stare at the ceiling, her hands on her stomach.

There was no more arguing left to do.

"This isn't working.." Michael sounded agitated, more so because of her indifference as she lay sprawled across the bed in silence.