You and Michael have been married for 3 years with two children; Paris and Prince. Paris (7), Prince (8). Recently rumors had spread about Michael and Lisa Marie Presley and Michael had become nasty, vindictive and manipulative; putting you down a lot. Depression had slowly taken over you.
*************************************
"Michael?" You called, pinching the bridge of your nose. Paris was watching you carefully with wide eyes and Prince was in his room. "Go join Prince Sweetheart." Paris nodded; luckily scurrying away quickly for she could sense this wasn't going to end well (as usual). Michael's slender figure stomped down the stairs, eyebrows furrowed and Jaw set in stone. "What?" He snapped.
Silence.
"Y/N, I asked you a question. I'm halfway through an important phone call, so hurry up." Michael informed snappily; brushing his brown curls behind his ears. "That's all you ever do nowadays. Too busy talking on the phone to spend time with family, I see." You huffed in annoyance. With his brown eyes narrowed into slits, Michael began again.
"Here we go again, making me sound like the bad one, AGAIN." He raised his voice loudly, bringing a foot closer to your panting body. "What. Do. You. Want?" Michael spat into your face, his hot breath hitting your cheeks. "WHAT I WANTED WAS TO ASK IF YOU WANTED TO TAKE YOUR DAMN FUCKING CHILDREN TO SCHOOL AND ACTUALLY GET TO SPEND A LITTLE BIT OF TIME WITH THEM, INSTEAD OF SCREWING SOME BITCH YOU BARELY KNOW!." You practically screamed; not caring anymore. Michael makes you feel so crap about yourself, constantly.
*SLAP*
You fell to the floor loudly, holding your red cheek with shaking hands. "You know Y/N, it's times like this that make me wish I'd never married you, and that me and Lisa were actually screwing." Michael hissed, turning on his heel and starting to walk back upstairs to his study. But he paused.
Perhaps he felt guilty. Maybe-
"Oh, and yes, I will take MY children to school, but only to get them away from the bitch that is their mother." And with that he was done.
Loretta, your housemaid ran over to you, helping you up kindly. "Oh Mrs Jackson, I heard everything. Is there anything I can do?" Her blue eyes sparkled with tears; contrasting her blond hair. "Please; call me Y/N. I'm not that bastards wife anymore. The second he laid his hands on me, he lost me. Please get Prince and Paris for me; perhaps get them to make pizza with you or something." You faced her with gratefulness in your heart. She nodded and was away; generous as ever. She really needs a pay rise.
Once she was gone, you decided to see what Michael was doing, ready to tell him you wanted a divorce. How could he? After everything... how stupid could a woman get? He promised during his vows that he could never hurt you.
He lied.
He put those big, manly hands on you; the hands which once pleasured you countless times; one time lasting for 12 hours. But this time, they abused you. The big wooden doors to his study, his private space, were closed- as always. No one was allowed to disturb him from his 'business affairs." You heard his voice faintly buzzing, proving that he was finishing the phone call he mentioned earlier. His voice, the sexy low version that you detested right now, was only just audible.
"I know Lisa, I'm trying to. Listen, darling just stop, ok. It's going to be fine." Michael groaned slightly, making your spine tingle unpleasantly. That was enough for you.
Rushing into the bedroom, you grabbed a suitcase and begun to pack everything visible, no matter what or who's it was. His shirt ended up in your hands, the enticing sent of your ex husband causing you to well up. That was enough for you. This relationship was toxic; for everyone.
"Y/N?" Michael stood at the door confused. "What's going on?" He asked hoarsely, licking his lips nervously. "I'm leaving you and this house. I heard it Michael, I heard it all. Not only did you slap me, say you regret Marrying me and called me a bitch, but you run straight to your side bitch for comfort and pleasure. Don't deny it Michael, don't you fucking dare." More belongings were shoved into the suitcase. Tears fell as Michael suddenly grabbed your arm tensely.
"Don't touch me Michael. You really think and believe that because your Michael fucking Jackson, you can do anything you please?" He paused, scoffing at your words. "Y/N, stop being ridiculous and get a grip." Michael breathed heavily, making you loose control.
"I FUCKING HATE YOU!" You grabbed perfume bottles, clothes and shoes from the suitcase, chucking them at his worried face and watching him duck as the bottles smashed against the walls. "Fuck!" He cried out in pain as a heel hit him in the area it hurts the most. "TAKE IT LIKE A FUCKING MAN!" You continued to scream, throwing old books, cds and films you could find towards him. You had broken down in emotions. "FEEL THE PAIN YOU CAUSED. THEN MULTIPLY THAT BY 100 AND IMAGINE YOU ARE ME, WATCHING YOUR IMMORTAL HUSBAND GET TAKEN AWAY BY SOME BITCH AND ADMITS HE REGRETS MARRYING YOU MICHAEL." After one final scream of pain, you sunk to the floor like a child, sobbing so heavily that your shoulders were heaving. Everything had built up to this moment.
The bed above you was simply there in your breakdown and having finished throwing at Michael, you grabbed sheets from the bed and screwing them up, howling, you slammed them to the floor, grabbing handfuls of your hair and pulling as hard as you could. Suddenly, Michael's strong arms were around you, restraining any further movements. "I fucking hate you." You cried, hitting his back, like a child throwing a tantrum, crying weakly.
"I know." Was his low reply. Michael simply held you on the floor, in his arms until you gave up. "I can't take this any longer Michael, the arguing and fighting is to much. I'm done." You whispered, limp in his comforting arms, arms which haven't touched you in months.
"Shhh." His voice broke and a tear escaped down his smooth, pale skin. Gently, he carried you like a child (arms and legs wrapped around his torso) into the bathroom. Softly, his fingers touched your skin as he lifted up your shirt and pulled your skirt away, leaving you undressed in front of him. Water trickled solemnly into the luxurious bath as Michael too undressed, reminding you of his beauty.
Yet he was evil on the inside.
Kindly and silently, he lifted you into the warm bath, him joining right behind, legs open and placed around your torso. The warmth made you sigh and feel relaxed, your muscles aching from before. "Lean back baby girl." Michael stroked your damp hair as you slowly reclined into his toned torso, feeling instantly calmed. His arms snaked around you waist, pulling you even closer, until you could feel him on your lower back. "Baby girl, listen. Don't say anything. Just listen. I'm a fucking idiot. I should never have laid my hands on you like that, I don't know what happened to me. I'm stressed too baby, I know it's no excuse to take it out on you but that's where Lisa comes in. She is a colleague, nothing more. Recently, the paps have been stalking her; so she has been needing advice from somebody experienced, someone who knows how to deal with them. Hence all the phone calls. I tried to comfort her and stop her feeling worried, you know how scary they can be." He paused, swallowing loudly. "I'm so sorry. I could never regret marrying you, that was a dick move, wasn't it? I was insecure, thinking that you were going to leave because of how much we argue, I wanted to say it first so I was hurt less. Obviously, it backfired. You're the best fucking thing to ever happen to me Y/N and I love you. I'm so sorry that I made you feel depressed or I constantly put you down. I was only thinking of myself and how stressed and annoyed I was, never once thinking how I was affecting you, and the kids too." Michael was fully sobbing now. "And I'm not immortal, Y/N, not in the slightest. I'm paranoid, I hurt and bleed, just the same as you. I cut and bruise. Sometime I wish I wasn't me, that there was some other Michael Jackson so that people wouldn't expect me to be perfect or to not make mistakes. I'm fucked up Y/N." he finished, clutching the skin around your torso desperately.
"I'm fucked up for hurting you. God Y/N, you make me mad in so many different ways. You're stubborn, hot headed but sexy and you turn me on from a single look. I married you for one reason. You make me feel special. I'm weak for you Y/N. I don't want nobody else. Screw Lisa, she could never amount to you, not now and not ever." His breath felt ragged on your neck as a bead of sweat dripped from your forehead.
"Can I make sweet, sweet love to you Y/N?" He whispered sensually and desperately into your ear.
