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( CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE: INDECENT PROPOSALS ) May, 1993
❝ what do you want from me, Hil?❞
◯
Devon pinched the bridge of his nose, pressing his ear to the phone holder as he listened intently to Janet's worried tone. The connection was fuzzy, and her voice was coming out in fractured paragraphs, restricting him to respond with heartfelt phrases like 'Mhm', 'I know' and 'don't worry'. They were mainly reassurances that he was whispering to himself, trying his best to remain positive, despite the fact that possible sex photos were floating around, probably being examined by every tabloid in the country.
Luckily, it wasn't released yet, but threats were being made, demanding money in exchange for the confidentiality of the raunchy photos. Naturally, Janet was pissed, scared and burning with anxiety. She was forced to fly back to LA to undergo strict legal discussions with her lawyer and her team, cutting short her long-awaited trip to bond with Devon's family.
Devon decided that he should stay in New York, at least until Arkell's birthday. The dancer figured that his presence in LA would only intensify the situation, and that was something that neither of them needed. Right now, he had to forget about being Janet Jackson's thugged out boyfriend, and focus on just being Devon Emmet, the dancer from Harlem.
"We'll get through this, I promise," Devon tried his best to sound strong, his deep voice softening with comfort. "This shouldn't have happened, Dev," Janet pleaded on the other end of the line, and Devon's jaw tensed in anger, recounting the moment when she first told him the scandalous news. Janet nearly burst into tears upon revealing the truth, and the thought of her horrified cries made him want to go crazy.
But he couldn't lose himself, he needed to be strong for her—because, unfortunately, she was blaming this on herself. "But it did, and the bastard who filmed it will get what's comin' to him," Devon responded, pacing across the local, outdoor basketball courts. His sneakers pranced along the painted white lines on the rocky, cement court, sprouts of overgrown grass clawing from underneath the chained fence.
"Janet, trust me, this shit will blow over," Devon repeated, and in all honesty, he didn't entirely know if shit, will in fact, blow over. He just needed to say the right things, he could feel the burning frustration from across the line. "You're right," Janet meekly responded, but he heard her breath hitch, a moment of hesitation delaying her words.
He already knew what she was thinking. "This ain't your fault, Jan," he stated, and the minute the words exited his mouth, Janet exhaled. "It could be worse," Devon stated, the silence that followed after his last sentence made his chest cramp with worry.
"How could it be any worse?!" Janet breathed out.
Devon shrugged, tilting down his cap so that it lowered over his eye sockets, "I dunno, we could've been in the hot tub," the male dryly said, but his humour wasn't appreciated by his angered girlfriend, who was in no type of mood for jokes. "Devon!" She screeched, causing for him to jerk away from the phone, already knowing that he was about to receive an earful.
