Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Fifty-six - What's Wrong With Me

Chapter fifty-six — What's Wrong With Me

Note: self-harm is mentioned in this chapter briefly, so be advised not to read Michael's point of view if you are sensitive to this subject. Thank you. <3

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January 16th, 1988

-Citria's Point of View-

Just over two weeks into the new year, and what a mixed bag of emotions it's been. To summarise, myself and Michael have both been either on top form, or very much the opposite. I've observed Michael's eating and sleeping patterns, and thankfully they both seem to be improving rather than declining. So that's one less thing for me to worry about, which is always a bonus considering the circumstances we are both currently in.

It's very chilly today, so we've decided to wrap up warm for this rather important day. We aren't sure why it didn't occur sooner, but today Clover is going to be moving into mine and Michael's place. We've been discussing it for a few days now, but even that is delayed when you realise how long it's been since my dad and Reiss were killed. I suppose we just have to put it down to stress and trying to get our heads back into a reasonable place mentally.

Having had breakfast and washed the dishes from it; and having gotten dressed in thick, woolly and long-sleeved winter clothing, we head towards my dad's home. Even after quite a while of him being gone, it's still a strange and unnerving feeling, returning there. At least it isn't considered a crime scene; I mean, how can it be when there's zero evidence there of any use to the police? My dad's body was, sadly, the only evidence required. And that was obviously taken away after only a mere couple of hours of me saying goodbye to him.

"So, Michael." I'm desperate to get an insight into how he's feeling, because I've still received nothing from him despite wanting so badly to know. "Talk to me."

"About?" He glances at me as we walk, his mittened hands stuffed into his pockets to conserve heat. The tip of his nose is bright pink from the cold, his cheeks a sickly shade of white despite how olive-coloured they normally are.

"Your feelings. You've got to have them, surely. How are you feeling about Clover moving in with us?"

"Just fine," he responds as briefly as possible. Something gives me the impression he's not really into this talking business.

"And would you say you're doing okay with eating and sleeping; that kind of thing?"

He only nods in response, but I'll accept it seeing as he didn't ignore me completely. I'm not sure why it's so difficult for him to talk to me about how he feels with certain elements of his life. Aren't I supposed to be the one person he truly trusts and cares about? It's confusing to me, but at the end of the day I can't control what he says and what he doesn't. It hurts my heart though.

After a brief walk, we arrive at dad's house. Clover is peering out the front window, obviously looking for us and waiting for our arrival. She gives a smile as she spots us, before heading to the front door to open it for us.

"Hi," she greets, her voice sounding breathless due to the coldness she's suddenly experiencing after being cooped up in a warm building.

"Hey Clover," I reply, stepping inside with Michael following behind.

"So, today's the day, huh?" she adds, looking around the house, which now seems a lot emptier than before.