The closer they got, the harder it was to keep the two apart. Whitney spent mornings, evenings, and nights with the King of Pop on a regular. They cooked,
laughed, watched movies, and everything else, while they were together. And when they weren't together they spent all of their time on the phone, talking until the sun came up. It wasn't hard to hide this from Bobby since he was never home on a regular.
They sat next to each other, on Michael's couch, eating popcorn and watching a movie.
"Okay because Rose knows good and well it's enough damn room on the damn door for the both of them."
Michael snickered, "Well he didn't get on. What can she do?"
Whitney shook her head, "If that was my man, I'd drag his ass up on that damn door. He ain't dying on me. No sir."
"Would you pull me up?" Michael asked.
"Of course," Whitney said as she snatched the popcorn out of Michael's hand since he'd been hoarding it.
"I don't believe you. I feel like you'd let me die of hypothermia just because."
"Oh shut up you know I'd save you."
Michael chuckled, "I know."
Michael turned to Whitney and smiled. He snatched the popcorn out of her hands and before she had a chance to retaliate he crashed his lips onto hers. Whitney didn't hesitate to kiss back. She wrapped her arms around Michael's neck and pulled him in between her legs.
He pulled away from her lips and set his lips on her neck and began kissing down her neck.
"I've been feeling you for a while..."
"Michael... I'm in a relationship," she moaned.
"So? I want you, Whitney," he said as he bit her neck.
Whitney grabbed on the button of Michael's pants and pulled down his zipper slowly.
"And I know you want me too," he groaned as his he lifted her shirt. He pulled her bra down to expose her breasts. He kissed and sucked on her left nipple while pinching and squeezing the right one.
"Can I make love to you, baby?"
"I— I, mhmm," she moaned as she struggled to speak.
"Hmm? Can I, baby?"
"Michael I can't... we can't," Whitney sat up and Michael backed away from her.
"How come?"
"Michael," Whitney stood as she fixed her shirt and Michael fixed his pants, "you know good and well."
"You know good and well you want me just as much as I want you."
"That ain't got nothing to do with nothing. I'm with somebody."
"Then why are you here?"
"Everything is moving so fast— I just... I'm not interested in someone who isn't the person I go home too."
"Really Whitney? When's the last time you went home to him, you spend all your fucking time here!" And it was true. She spent at least a week at a time away from her own home to be with Michael.
"Don't raise your damn voice. Are you really angry because I won't let you fuck me?" Whitney scoffed.
"No, I'm fucking disappointed you run from your feelings."
What he said took Whitney off guard. Running from her feelings was her specialty.
"Hmph, I'll let myself out."
"Yeah, you do that," Michael replied slyly.
"Screw you, Jackson," Whitney diverted her fiery eyes towards his, making eye contact. Michael stared back, the anger in his eyes subsiding as he realized that he was in fact, in the wrong. How can he get mad that she wanted to stay loyal to her boyfriend?
"Look Whit, I apologize... I was out of line. I know you have somebody yet, I still tried to make a move on you and I'm really sorry for that."
"It alright Michael, I kissed you back and I unzipped your pants... I'm at fault here too. I just— I'll see you later, okay?" Whitney gave him a quick hug and peck on the cheek before she hurried out of the pop star's beloved home.
Whitney ran out to her white Mercedes-Benz and quickly unlocked and hopped in the car. As soon as she took her seat, a melancholy mood took over. The model sighed as she leaned back and let tears slip from her eyes. What started off as a light cry quickly became a heavy sob. After sitting and crying for at least five minutes, Whitney regained her composure, wiped her eyes and her nose, and started on her drive home.
"Where the hell have you been?" A drunk and angry Bobby spat as Whitney came through the door.
She grimaced, her home reeked of alcohol, "Babe lets not start, please."
"Start what? Whit I ain't doing shit. See, that's your fucking problem, accusing me of bullshit."
"Babe, I didn't accuse you of anything," Whitney sighed tiredly as she migrated to the living room and took a seat on the couch. Bobby followed close behind but instead of sitting, he continued to stand and pace the living room.
"Baby, come sit down," Whitney sighed.
"Why you always trynna tell me what the fuck to do?"
"You're drunk and you're riled up, please babe, just come sit with me," she pleaded.
Bobby rolled his eyes as he sat next to Whitney. His eyes narrowed as he spotted multiple bruises on her neck, "What the fuck is that on your neck?"
"It's nothing... it's nothing babe."
"Nothing? Bitch, are you cheating on me?" He argued.
Whitney hopped off the couch and started on her way up the stairs, "Bitch?! Oh please, Bobby, these are probably fucking bruises from when you choked me the other freaking day. Don't come into my room tonight... I wanna be alone."
