Book I Of the 'Not Vanilla' Imagine Series.
𝚃𝚆: includes strong language, Sexual content, Explicit content.
Readers discretion is Advised
Imagines Between you & Michael Jackson.
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♡ 1983 Los Angeles Word count:8k
It was a quiet August evening , the sun creating warm glow over the Los Angeles suburbs. The air was a mix of the fresh scent of blooming flowers and the faint aroma of smog drifting from the city. Michael and his mother, Katherine, moved slowly through the neighborhood, their purpose clear and resolute. They were speaking about their Lord and Savior, Jehovah, going door to door with a mission.
Michael carried a black leather messenger bag slung over his shoulder, its weight a constant reminder of the Watchtower booklets inside. Each booklet was meticulously prepared for distribution, a part of the punishment his mother had imposed on him. Katherine had discovered him sneaking home in the early hours of the morning, his excuse of being at the studio unraveling when she smelled the lingering scent of perfume on his clothes.
As they walked down the quiet street, the tension between them was palpable. Katherine couldn't shake off the feeling of disappointment and worry. She glanced up at Michael, her eyes filled with a mix of anger and sorrow, before looking away. "I don't need you turning out like your brothers, Michael," she said, her voice breaking the silence.
Michael glanced over at her, his heart heavy with guilt and a desire to defend his actions. He knew she was right, but he was also yearning for something more in his life. "Mother, I won't. I'm not like them," he insisted, his voice a blend of determination and desperation.
Katherine shook her head, her lips pressed into a thin line. "I'm just telling you, don't end up like them. You're better than that. But lying to your own mother about where you were is ridiculous. What if something had happened to you, Michael? It was three in the morning when you came back home, smelling like... Jehovah forgive me, like some tramp," she said, her voice rising in frustration.
Michael's face flushed with anger. "She isn't a tramp, Mother. I love her," he retorted, his voice sharp.
Katherine stopped in her tracks and turned to face him. "You love her? Where is she now? Hmm? It's been over a year, and I haven't seen any girl coming around for you," she challenged, her skepticism evident.
"Mother, I-" Michael started, but Katherine cut him off.
"I don't want to hear it, Michael," she snapped, resuming her stride up the driveway of a well-kept house. A sleek black BMW was parked in front, its polished surface reflecting the morning light.
"Get a booklet out," Katherine instructed, her tone brooking no argument. Michael sighed and reached into his messenger bag, pulling out a Watchtower booklet. He helped her up the front steps, the wooden planks creaking under their weight, and stood behind her as she rang the doorbell.
Michael knew this house all too well even after a year of not being here. The memories of your touch, your voice, and the time you spent together came rushing back to him with vivid clarity. Every detail of that house, every shared moment, felt as fresh as if it had just happened.
