Resentment

90212

1997, August 31st, Santa Monica BLVD, CA

1:45pm

Being back in California was a blessing.
Afia loved the pace of the city, and life in Europe hadn't lived up to her expectations.

Touring with Michael allowed her to see parts of the world that some people could only dream of, but the loneliness crept in when he wasn't around.

The loneliness crept in even when he was around, these days.

The half hour drive from Santa Monica to Beverly Hills was usually hassle free if Santa Monica Boulevard wasn't too congested.

Since landing back on American soil two days ago, things between Afia and Michael hadn't changed for the better.

Though Michael had agreed to couple counselling, which, if it was any constellation was actually today at 2:45, Michael had become even more distant.

He'd shut himself away with Ro'Lee sometimes, for hours, singing to her, or letting her sleep in a cradle as he quietly wrote lyrics.

The greenery of Santa Monica was disappearing, as the huge dark Escalade that Michael had many of, drove out of their huge estate.

Neverland used to be a dream come true.
Afia was so deeply in love, that she agreed without question to every single demand and vision Michael had for their new marital home.

He bought the property in 1988, not long after they married, when it was called Sycamore Valley.

Afia liked the name Sycamore Valley, but Michael told her with a convincing smile that it was boring, and lacklustre.

It's surprising what a young girl will believe and agree to when she's three months pregnant, and desperate to be a model wife.

She loved Michael. She fell in love with a paradox, and she knew that.

She wasn't angry at him for changing, because in truth he hadn't changed.

Michael had been honest with who he was from the start.
There was no secret that his career came first.
It wasn't even a secret that in the case of his career and her, she'd been gone first if he ever had to choose.

Michael often denied that music meant more to him than a real relationship with a woman.

He'd give her that frown with a huge smile, which was his attempt at a face of confusion, but came off as guilt.

Afia never understood that about him.
How he could smile and frown at the same time.
It was his way of conveying disbelief, she guessed.

"... Truth is, I can't. I'd love to, but I can't" Michaels voice was light and soft, like the one you hear on TV.

He was sat back in the leather seats of the car, his aviators covering his eyes, a single braid at the back of his head keeping his hair out of the way.

Afia tilted her head and watched.
She loved how he sat. How he conducted himself as the centre of whatever universe he was in.

His legs were spread apart, and his free hand lay lightly on his thigh.

Just a light black shirt, with a red armband, and his usual black slacks.