The year was 1988, and I was, obviously, going to a Michael Jackson concert. That man was absolutely beautiful, his curly, dark hair and gorgeous brown eyes, as well as sweet-naturedness. Of course I was in love with him. So, I got to my seat way before anoyone else did, and I was in the front, where I could see and hear Michael best.

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Half an hour later, the arena was packed full. Michael entered the stage, his eyes glassy with excitement. I screamed until my voice broke, and I got tons of glances frrom jealous girls as he looked straight at me , smiling and singing to me, not them.

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     Eventually, The Way You Make Me Feel was his next song, and Tatiana came onstage, making him chase her. Oh. My. God.

     I don't think I'd ever been so jealous of anyone in my entire life. I wanted to go up there and knock her off her stupid red high heels, and quite possibly beat the hell out of her. Dumb bitch... Ugh, how I didn't turn green I will never, ever know. She made me want to strangle her when she shook her hips.

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I was fuming by the end of the song, and honestly, I would have gone backstage if Michael hadn't pulled me out of the crowd and hugged me, singing Man In The Mirror.

    My heart beat so fast that I could have exploded, and then I melted where I stood.

     Michael's lips pressed themselves to mine, and his hands moved to the small of my back, pressing me closer to him gently.

     My heart beat so fast in my ears that the angry groans of the fans couldn't be heard. I grinned as he pulled away quickly to draw in a deep breath, and then pressed his full, beautiful mouth back to mine. His eyes closed in bliss, and his body pressed itself closer to mine. Michael had definitely forgotten he was in the middle of a concert. I beamed at his focus, and then kissed him one last time before he put me back into the crowd.

     I had barely been standing in my place in the crowd for a minute and a half, when my face was assaulted by an angry fan. She let out a feral growl, followed by a strangled sound that she made as her fist connected with my left eye. I was reeling, spinning around to find that I was surrounded by a swarm of Michael Jackson fans. Oh, shit.

     A tiny redhead screamed at me, then I felt something bludgeon the back of my head. I sank to my knees, resolving to not attempt to defend myself until the queasy feeling in my stomach went away. My face was clawed at, my clothes being yanked to and fro as I attempted to recover from my blow to the cranium. The room was spinning and tilting on its axis, my stomach threatening to drop out from under me. Suddenly, determiniation took over me, and there was no way I was losing this one. So I snarled ferally and launched forward at the blonde who'd gotten me in the eye. I had her pinned under me to the floor and was just about to teach her who was boss when Michael stopped the music and began making his way into the crowd.

     He pulled the thirteen other angry girls off of me, and told me that the blonde wasn't even worth my time. He was right, ultimately. I moved slightly, and attempted to stand, finding that I was incompetent.

     "Somebody get her an ambulance!" Michael yelled to the guards. "She's bleeding pretty badly." I found myself being carried onto the stage, my eye throbbing and my head spinning. "Oh my God, are you okay?" Michael's beautiful face hovered just inches from mine, looking very, very worried.

     "I am now," I gave him a feeble smile.

     "I'm so sorry..." His eyes filled with tears as he looked me over.

     "It's okay, Michael," I said, placing my arms around his neck. "You didn't know that was going to happen. I attempted another weak smile, then pressed my swollen mouth to his.

     "It's nice to have someone be so happy to be with me," he whispered against my lips.

     "Of course. I love you," I said frankly.

     "I love you, too," he smiled.

Then everything faded to black.

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      I woke up in a hospital bed, surrounded by gargantuan stuffed animals, and --I counted to myself-- at least twelve dozen roses. I turned my head to the right, looking down at my hand, only to be blinded by a dazzling sequined white glove.

      I looked up, and a pair of soft eyes the shade of molten chocolate met mine, making my heartbeat kick up a notch.

      "Hi, babe." He beamed down at me from his position over my head.

      "Hi, Michael." I grinned back at him.

      "You're finally awake... I can't believe it." 

      "How long was I out?" I slurred.

      "Three days. You lost a lot of blood, and you have twenty-three stitches in your back, thirty-three in your left hand, and twelve in your lower lip," he exlpained.

      "Wow..." I didn't know what else to say.

      He smiled at me, and pressed his soft, full lips to mine, gently, so as not to make my stitches bleed.

      "I love you," I said.

      "I love you, too," he whispered against my mouth. "And I will never, ever, ever, ever, EVER put you back into a crowd of my fans ever again."

      "Okay," I smiled.

      And with that, his lips molded to mine again.