michael

"tatiana, i'm so curious about you." i begin. i feel the need to whisper. my hand rests over hers and i think about her career again. "about a lot of things. i looked at your talent profile, many times. why did you quit dancing if you loved it so much?"

"is this another interview?" she sniped, arching an accusing eyebrow.

i grinned. after a long stretch of my timid silence, she continued. "i started modelling at nineteen. i had been in ballet since i was eight. sometimes, when you find another new part of yourself, you don't realize that your going in a completely different path than you had planned.

"i started to make real money, you know--i could get nice things, go real places. when you...grow up in the bronx, you can really appreciate real money."

i nodded empathetically. "of course." the smoky, country town where i was raised had little difference from the inner city: it was abandoned by opportunity. tatiana was someone i could understand completely.

she paused. "someday i want to pick it up again. maybe even become a principal dancer back in new york. i could be a first, like you. you changed history."

i gushed. "i was just doing what i loved, what felt right." i mumbled with a silly smile. i felt that we landed somewhere on a plane of mutual understanding.

at this moment, the only thing that felt right was being here with tatiana. i didn't want to talk anymore.

tatiana

michael falls quiet and then he advances towards me once more, slow, politely.

i've seen that same look before when he floated into the trailer, removed his glasses and looked into my eyes. i indulge him for a long while, imagining the chase is over, and the fire hydrants are spraying softly and he's captured me, like we both wanted.

the hot sensation on my neck surprises me before i realize it's his mouth. my arms slip around michael's neck, smothering in his warmth.

cold sofa cushions press into my back, and i can see my high heels sprawled on the ground, already forgotten about. i pause when he looms over me.

no matter how much i also deny it, i'm a complete cliché right now: a model making out with her own boss in a club. i survived my entire career avoiding situations just like this, but being this close against michael jackson, the king of pop, feels like a dream that i never want to wake up from. i pull gently on his shirt to close the last space between us.

michael's moans warm my ear. the sound of them, needing and helpless, turns me on so much that i almost forget how to breathe. michael finds my mouth again. it continues sweetly.i caress those lips that inspire the world, make grown men and women cry, and make me realize that---with a smile---he's what i've been missing.

my hands were suddenly pulled his pants. his groin began to roll against my palms.

i squeaked. his grip on my wrist tightened, and it was really starting to hurt. i tried pulling my hands away, but michael wouldn't let go. i shoved him backwards.

"stop!!" i shout for the second time, in case he didn't hear me.

what in the hell was his problem?!!

when michael drew back, his eyes were squeezed shut. he spits out an angry curse that cuts through the quiet between us. he's fuming at himself.

in seconds, the feeling was gone.

i felt hot tears beginning to leak from my eyes. oh, my god. oh, my god.

i don't look at michael. i feel sick. i'm going to throw up. my hand is shaking.

sheryl was right.

i was only another one of them.

michael stumbles on an apology. he swears that he didn't mean anything by it--it just happened. he says it again, louder and rougher, so he starts to believe it.

i snap on my heels, peel away from the couch and rummage for my clutch in the darkness of the room. he tails after me, begging, but i am quick enough to slam the door behind me. glass explodes in the room.

my legs are shaking so badly that i have to wilt to my feet.

my hand flies to my mouth, and i let out a heartbroken sob.