Loving You // Michael Jackson Fanfiction

7 - Opalescent Memory

It was the next morning in Michael's room. The curtains were once again shut tight. He sat patiently on the makeup chair in the living room as his makeup artist Karen, caked on some powder onto his face. His stare was fixed on the TV that was playing some Tom and Jerry cartoons.

"I heard from Bill that Camila Jensen visited yesterday," she spoke, swirling the powder puff in the plastic container. "Is it true?"

He fiddled with his fingers before he answered. "Yes."

Karen's eyes widened. "Wow, I really want to meet her. She's a beauty from what I see in magazines. I would really love to do her makeup one day, that would be cool, wouldn't it?"

He nodded. "That girl don't need no makeup though," Michael defended.

"I didn't mean it like that, she really doesn't. It's just that I really want to be up-close with her facial features. Have you seen how high those cheekbones are? And that profile? Stunning lady."

"Yes, I was just with her yesterday. Of course I noticed them," Michael answered, slightly annoyed at Karen's schmooze for no particular reason.

For a moment he shifted his focus back to the cartoons, but Karen just had to be nosy.

"What did you guys do together?"

Michael snapped at her gaze. His expression turned straight. "What do you mean?"

She smirked. "Yeah, like, did you guys do anything?"

"We watched a movie," he answered straightforwardly. Finally, Karen was able to detect his irritation at her nosiness, so she stopped talking and continued to do his makeup in silence.

Now all the sound audible was the minimum noises coming from the TV cartoons. The small and bright screen was really the only light source in the room besides the lamp that stood in front of the makeup chair. Michael tried to keep his focus on the show, but soon his eyes were no longer on the screen as now they were just aimlessly floating around the room.

His thoughts traced him back to the night before, when ­–

"Michael... Michael... Mike..." her soft cries escaped her nude-painted lips. He grasped on tightly to her bare hip.

The room was hot and dim-lit. The two of them were together, moving back and forth in unison at a steady pace, him entering in and out of her. The white bedsheets were thrown off the bed, and so was her lace beige brassiere.

She continued to moan in pleasure, "Mmm..." . Their breaths both smelled of expensive wine.

"Michael?" Karen snapped him out of his memory. He shook himself out of his opalescent, foggy recount of the night before. "You're done. The guys will come soon to get the bags. Have you packed everything already?"

"I think so. I forgot," he replied lowly, looking down.

Karen gave him a look. She wanted to question him of his unusual behavior but decided to let him be. "I'll finish it for you." With that, she went into his bedroom to pack the rest of his belongings.

He stood up from the makeup chair and walked into the kitchen to fetch himself a glass of water. Whatever faded memory that was left in his mind of last night had to be forgotten in order to keep him calm and tell himself that no such thing happened. He's rarely done anything like what he had done. He always kept things innocent and playful for the first time with a girl, but it seemed that they were both unconsciously craving for it. And he feels – to say the least, weird.

"Mike, the plane's leaving in an hour and a half, better fasten your pace," Bill informed, who just entered the suite. "Said goodbye to Camila yet?"