Chapter 19:

I stared blithely at the stark ceiling above me. I heard people coming in and out. I heard the words that they spoke to me, but I didn’t feel much like responding. I didn’t want to eat, I didn’t want to drink, I just wanted to die.

I wasn’t even sure if I’d been medicated or if the way I felt was due to what had happened to me. I was tired of letting one person systematically destroy and terrorise me. I wouldn’t let it happen anymore.

I was sick of the unceasing apologies that meant absolutely nothing to me in the moment. I wasn’t even hurt because quite frankly I wasn’t even surprised.

I kept going over it all in my head trying to make some sense of it, trying to figure out what exactly it was that triggered the reaction that was inflicted upon me.

I arrived home late the following afternoon. Michael had insisted that I use one of his cars, promising that if I left in my Honda, that the media would immediately follow me given that they would have already figured out who I was if any of the fans worded them up. I took home a double-tinted black Mercedes that he told me to use as if it were my own car.

There were hoards of fans outside of Neverland again, but thanks to the heavy tinted windows, nobody could have seen inside.

Waiting at home was a car that I recognised as my sister’s and both of my parents were home. I grabbed my bag from the car and let myself in the front door. I decided to play it cool unless anyone mentioned otherwise.

Once inside, I dropped my keys down on the mantle piece and heard all the voices in the kitchen. I smiled to see my 3 year old niece run from the kitchen and down the hall to the foyer to greet me. 

“Hiiii Dani!” I greeted her with all of the enthusiasm I could muster after dealing with a moody adult all night.

“Auntie!” she greeted me with a big grin as I swept her up from the ground and balanced her on my hip.

“Malania?” I heard a voice call out. It was Anica. I followed the source, putting my hand bag down. “Where’s Mommy and Daddy?” I asked my neice rhetorically. She pointed to the family room.

It was just Anica and my parents. I smiled, I didn’t want them to think anything was wrong. “Hi Anica, Hi Mama, hi Daddy.”

Anica rose an eyebrow and exchanged terse expressions with my father. Mama and Anica sat side by side while my Dad sat on an armchair. I was pretty sure I was about to get a lecture.

“Did you enjoy your jaunt last night?” Anica asked me, speaking first.

“Dani, why don’t you go and play?” I asked her, not wanting her to witness words between my sister and I.

“Her name is Danijela.”

“Go play, Danijela,” I repeated, kissing the temple of my niece who looked exactly like Anica did. There was not a bit of kindness in my sisters voice. I waited til I was satisfied that Dani had scooted off before I turned back to them.

“Yes, I thoroughly enjoyed my jaunt last night,” I replied in an unmoved tone, “why do I feel like I’ve just walked in to an intervention?”

“We’re worried about you, Malania,” my father said quietly. I winced, he didn’t extend my name which made me realise he meant business.

“I got phone, Malania, at work from random people and media stations asking if my sister was holed up with Michael Jackson at his fucking paedophile ranch!”

I could have launched myself at her but I didn’t. I inhaled deeply. My sister knew I travelled to see him but it was always an ignored fact about my life. She always pretended it wasn’t happening which was fine by me.

“And let me guess, you’re here to find out if it were true, because God knows you never give a toss what I’m up to at any other time…” I threw back, giving her the same attitude.

So many years I had felt like the little girl that I let everyone boss around, including my parents even if their intentions weren’t the best for me.

“Don’t be a little smart ass, Malania, you disappear for weeks at a time and you let Mom and Dad worry like crazy, you don’t give a shit about anyone but yourself.”

“Girls, girls, please… stop.”

“Oh cram-it, Anica, you have no idea. I’m an adult, I don’t have to answer to you or to Mom and Dad if I don’t want to.”

“You do when Mom and Dad are funding your fucking stalking adventures.”

I just shook my head and looked to my father for help. “Are you just going to sit there?” I looked to my mother, “you?”

I tried not to let my emotions get a hold of me because the second that I did, I knew it would have lost the fight for me.

I turned to my Mom, “I help you with your work when your back is playing up, I help you cook and clean and keep the house and even when you are alone when Dad is away, you beg me to stay and keep you company and I do…” I turned to my Dad, “and you, you promised me that you would stop letting this happen—“ he knew exactly what I was getting at. He stared at me apologetically.

“Anica, I don’t care what you think of me. Why should I care about you when you’ve never given a shit about me?”

“Oh right,” she replied, standing up, “I’ve never given a shit about you… I was the one who scraped your fucking cold, lifeless body up out of the fucking bathtub when I was barely out of high school… you’re the one who shut me out, you’re the one who never explained yourself and left us all thinking it was our fault.”

It was your fault I wanted to scream.

I was losing control. I felt the tears welling up in my eyes. “Well, maybe you should have just left me there and neither of us would be arguing about it now, would we?” I snapped back.

She reached over and slapped me hard across the cheek. I grabbed my face in shock. It immediately began to sting. My mother and father quickly rose up to intervene in case I struck her back, but I was furious neither of them intervened sooner.

I didn’t say anything else. I went up to my bedroom and refused to come out even after my sister left.

Round two began a short while after. I was at my desk looking through the newspaper for jobs, determined to find something closer to L.A so I could get a place and get the hell out of home. I was calming down slightly listening to some classical music that Michael had loaned me.

He promised it sounded a thousand times better with earphones and insisted that I take his wildly expensive set with me. He was extremely generous, probably too much so.

I didn’t exactly remember much of what happened. I remembered being hit from behind. When I spun around, I was hit again. The force and the sheer surprise and shock of the attack knocked me instantly to the ground. I felt blood and heard yelling and screaming but all I could focus on was the broken headphones beside me.

I remembered flashes of insults being thrown at me; the words ‘paedophile, reputation, embarrassment, slut, whore, nigga lover, shame’. I knew that the source of the voice and the continual blows were Samuel, there was no one else in my family who could be so violent, brutal and terrifying.

I felt every single kick to the flank, I felt myself being dragged across the carpet by the hair. I feebly begged him to stop, though the first blow had all but knocked me out.

Right before I blacked out I heard his voice close to my ear, “You are a shameless piece of shit, you are an embarrassing little whore. Whoring yourself to a paedophile now, are you? No one is off-limits to you, are they? I’d know…”

As a result, I was in the hospital. My father had told me that Samuel was arrested, that he would probably spend time in jail. Too little, too late.

I wasn’t speaking to them. In fact, I wasn’t speaking to anyone. I had fleeting thoughts about Michael and hoped that in the five days since seeing him, that he was doing okay.

The doctors kept telling me that my facial fracture was healing nicely, but I didn’t care. I had internal bruising but my continued stay in hospital was due to the psych hold. Given my history with suicide and cutting and the fact that I refused to speak to anyone; family, doctors, nurses, police – they had placed me back in the psychiatric unit.

It was probably for the best. I knew at the first opportunity I’d have attempted to take my own life – laying for so long without any interaction gave me more than enough time to romanticise the idea of getting it done.

I had never felt more alone or more like nobody loved me. I knew my parents loved me but I felt like love should have been unconditional – whereas so far it was only ever unconditional for my brothers and sister. They didn’t care for me, they didn’t protect me; they were continually letting others hurt me and harm me and terrorise me.

A psychologist tried to speak with me but gave up after too long and instead made some observations.

I was certainly surprised to hear a faint knock at the door of the room I was staying in. I didn’t look up, I half-expected it to be my mother. I did a double take as Michael appeared by my bedside.

His face was full of concern and tension but still, he smiled a loving, unflinching smile despite the mess that was my face. He dragged the chair up and behind him was a large, bald, security officer who shut the door and allowed us privacy.

“Malania…” his voice trailed off, “I’m so sorry.” I knew he felt guilty, I didn’t know how he knew that he was the reason for my brother losing his mind, but he obviously figured it out.

I couldn’t speak. His sheer presence, after all that he was going through himself, rendered me emotional. I felt the tears slide from my eyes down the sides of my face, disappearing in to my hair. I still had a lot of trouble moving.

He took my hand. I could barely stand to look at him. I was embarrassed and ashamed of how I looked and that he was visiting me in a fucking psychiatric unit.

“They said you aren’t speaking to anyone; that you’re not eating or drinking or assisting the police with your own case…”

“What’s the point…” I spoke in a hoarse whisper.

He smiled, “I told them I’d get you speaking in no time…” he joked, giving my hand a little squeeze. He smoothed my hand softly within his. He said nothing, but rather surveyed me for a moment. I knew he was trying to be cheerful, but he was worried about me. I hadn’t seen my face yet, I was sure I looked awful.

“Are you comfortable?” he asked kindly, standing, “can I help prop you up? You must be getting a sore back from laying down.”

Before I had a chance to respond he was fussing around, trying to figure out how to make the bed move up. Before I knew it, I was being elevated up in to a 45 degree sitting position.

“I don’t want you to see me like this…” I murmured, feeling all of my tears falling down my face.

“I’d completely respect that generally speaking,” he replied, “but its too late.”

“How did you know I was here?” I asked him, reaching up gingerly to wipe my eyes.

“I thought it was strange that you never called like you said you would. So, I called twice and each time your mother said you were away and that she’d get you to call back… and on the third time, I got concerned and told her exactly who I was.”

I tried not to feel furious about my mother lying to save the family reputation – or at least Samuels. “She said you had an accident and that you were in the hospital. I wasn’t sure if you caused your own accident or if something happened as a result of the press seeing you – so I did some research and found you and now I’m here.”

I was grateful that he’d gone to an effort to see me. My mother knew that I didn’t want a bar of her in that moment. She barely turned up and when she did, she just cried because I refused to speak to her.

“How are you?” I asked him, wondering if anything had changed in the almost week that I’d been within the confines of the stinky white walls.

“I’m fine, I’m fine, don’t worry about me, let’s worry about you. What actually happened?”

I shrugged and then shook my head. My mouth and lips were dry, but each time I licked them it was like pouring citric juice on a mouth ulcer. “Did your brother do this?” he wondered.

I just nodded. It was shameful and embarrassing.

“God, he could have killed you…” Michael murmured as he let his eyes study the bruises and abrasions on the entire left side of my face. He reached over and ran his fingers along my cheekbone that spent much of the day throbbing. His touch made me flinch, but he didn’t pull his hand away.

“I wish he did…” I mumbled.

He drew away for a moment and stared at me. “I don’t like hearing that from you, you will be okay from this, Malania, I promise.”

“Yeah?” I asked, “how? I’m 22 and my brother is responsible for two of this psych stays. He’s responsible for beating the shit out of me goodness knows how many times. My parents?” I shook my head as I tried to steady the sobs that wanted to break free, “they could have protected me, but they didn’t. They’re all talk, no one can protect me from him, they never have and they never will.”

“I’ll protect you,” he vowed, “I promise. I won’t let anyone harm you. Your brother won’t even be allowed near you.”

“I’ve heard that before…” I replied bitingly even though I was pretty sure Michael could more easily keep his word.

He circled my bed and sat down on the mattress beside me. For whatever reason, he cared and I was so happy to have that.

“We made a pact, Malania,” he reminded me, grabbing my hand again and smoothing my hair gently with his other. I could only imagine what a mess I looked, “we promised we wouldn’t do anything stupid.”

“I know…” I agreed, letting the tears flow from my eyes, “but its so hard, you don’t understand…”

“I do understand,” he insisted. He scooped me forward and held me close to him and let me cry, “I do… I get it, you’re scared… I’m scared too,” he kissed the side of my temple and gingerly wrapped his arms around me, afraid to hurt me.

I reciprocated his embrace. Frankly, this was the only genuine person left in my life since my family were a write-off.

It was nice to be around someone who didn’t require me to say much, but rather was just happy to keep me company.

I began to tell me him what happened when I arrived home – about my sister and our fight, about being slapped, my parents not bothering to step in. When I’d confronted my mother she had held up her hands and said that it was between us, that it was our choice to become violent. It was Anica’s choice, I was the least confrontational person that existed.

I knew deep down inside my mother probably agreed with Anica and sided with her over my choices and hated what I’d said in reply that set her off. I understood that it probably wasn’t kind, but I was tired of being pushed.

After a short few minutes, I managed to compose myself. I felt Michael’s lips against my forehead as I sank back against the bed wincing in pain.

“Can you do me a favour and eat something or drink something?”

“I don’t feel like it.”

He breathed in deeply and chuckled with a shake of his head, “Jeez you’re like me some days…  Alright you wanna know a secret?”

I didn’t say anything, but waited til he was ready to speak. “I haven’t really eaten since the allegations. I eat a little here and there but I can’t remember the last time I ate an entire meal.”

“You’ve eaten with me.”

“I know… but it hasn’t been a meal and I really have had issues holding anything down. But if you eat a meal, I’ll eat a meal with you, a proper one.” I knew he was bargaining with me because he either felt responsible for what happened or because he was desperate for me to feel better.

I had already gathered that he was the kind of person who couldn’t stand for others to feel bad.

“I don’t want to eat. How can I even eat when it hurts to move my fucking mouth,” I snapped.

He had all the patience in the world for me, I was incredibly grateful for that, even if I was being difficult.

“Well, what can I do?” he asked, “what will make you feel better—and right now it can be a temporary happiness, focus on day by day – can I bring you something?”

I shook my head. “Can I be honest?”

He nodded, “Of course…”

“I don’t want anything. I don’t want food, drink, visitors, doctors, I just want to lay here and I want to waste away and I want to die and I don’t want anyone to pretend they care or to feel guilty or to do anything…”

I felt awful when I saw his face fall. He looked a little heartbroken for the second. He shook his head and looked back at me. I avoided his eyes. “Malania, right now you’re the only person in this world that understands me and I am not going to let you lay down and die… And I don’t even care if that’s selfish.”

I couldn’t even speak. I didn’t know what to say. The whole time he’d spent with me was spent with me crying.

“I’m going to bring you some things next time I visit you. I’m going to bring you some books and some things that have worked in cheering me up when I’ve been feeling really low.”

“Okay,” I responded.

He sat with me for well over a few hours. I was pretty sure he hated being alone too. His security guard told him it was time to go. He told me it was because he had a meeting with his lawyers but didn’t want to tell me the details. He gave me a hug and a kiss and promised to be back.

I didn’t expect him to come back for days.

Almost immediately after he left, my father and mother arrived together. It was almost as though they were putting on a united front. Their presence alone was enough to infuriate me.

“Have you eaten yet my sweetheart?” my Mama questioned me. I glared at her and said nothing. I turned to my Dad and noticed he was staring dumbly around the room.

“Malania, please, please speak to me, šećeru, this is very hard for us…”

I gaped at her selfishness. I knew my father saw the moment the blinding hatred filled my heart. “You?” I choked on the words, “Its hard for you?” I could barely breathe.

“You let my brother beat the absolute living god out of me and its hard for you! Not only did you let him beat me but you let him spend his fucking entire days brutalising me, terrorising me, he almost killed my one and only friend and then he raped me, and raped me and fucking raped me!” I yelled feeling my voice getting louder and louder until I was screaming.

“And the two of you did nothing!” my mother was shaking her head, holding her hands over her ears, my Dad was trying to get me to lower my voice and was telling me to calm down but I think it was only in an effort to drown out the things that they didn’t want to hear.

“STOP!” I yelled, “just STOP!” my father put an arm around my mother and told her to sit. There was some quiet in the room for a moment and two people; nurses, I think, had rushed in to see what the commotion was about.

“What’s going on?” the woman asked in a tone that demanded an explanation.

“My parents were just leaving.”

“No,” my father replied, “we weren’t. We are having a family discussion, I’d appreciate some privacy.”

Wow, I thought, now suddenly you want to speak up with authority.

The nurse looked at me for my permission. I shrugged. It felt good to see my mother suffering.

“You can hit that buzzer any time you need us, Malania,” the man with the nurse told me. He gestured to the buzzer that was beside my bed. I just nodded.

My mother was whimpering and crying and making me angrier.

Once they left I turned to my father, “you both kept Samuel out of trouble when he should have spent time making reparations for what he did to Luke. Instead, you protected him and that turned him in to an even bigger monster and for the past 6 or 7 yrs I have lived in fear of him—no one gave a shit about me and I’m done.”

“That’s not true, we were here every day for you when you hurt yourself, I sat by your side, I cancelled trips, your mother stopped working,” he told me, seeming to ignore the accusations I made against my brother. I wasn’t particularly surprised.

“So fucking what!” I exploded, “you should have cancelled trips, she should have stopped working. I almost died because of what Samuel drove me to. And you knew you fucking knew it was because of something he done but you still didn’t try to keep him away from me.”

“Why do you say these things about him? Please, šećeru, hasn’t this family suffered enough?”

I laughed through my rage. “You,” I pointed at my mother, “are the most pathetic excuse for a woman. Your son rapes your daughter and terrorises her with it, drives her to suicide and you’re still trying to protect him? I hope Samuel rots away in a jail cell. I am not keeping this secret anymore. I’m going to tell the police the truth. I’m going to also tell them the truth about Luke. I am going to make sure he rots, it’ll be the best thing I can do for his family.”

Even Samuel’s own family were frightened of him. I was pretty certain the only reason why his wife stayed was because she was too scared to leave.

My mother got up and left. My father hung back and stared at me in disbelief. “That was the most hurtful thing and hateful thing that has ever come from your mouth.”

“I’m sorry for that,” I told him, calmly. “But really, what have you both done to protect me? Nothing. That’s why I’m here. And I truly wished he had of killed me, Papa, because maybe then you both would have felt bad… right now you still think I’m the one in the wrong.”

“I don’t think you’re in the wrong,” he replied, surprising me, “but I don’t believe you had to hurt your mother in order to tell her the truth.”

My mother wasn’t going to believe it anyway. I didn’t even care.

“I think you should go.”

He didn’t say goodbye, he left and I felt a strange sense of satisfaction that was coupled with a heavy wave of sobs that encumbered me until the early morning where it all turned to relief—a kind of weight off my shoulders.