Sex&Drugs&Rock&Roll ✭ Michael Jackson (18+)

One

——— One　———

In the crowd of screaming rock fans, a woman caught his eye. Long honey blonde hair, brown skin, glossed lips, and curious brown eyes. She was in a white floral top with tie bow straps, white denim jeans, and pink knee-high boots. He found her presence interesting. She clearly wasn't meant for this scene. She was quite tame compared to the screaming fans around her jumping to his set. He couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her.

He had her captivated as well. This appearance enchanted her: midnight ringlets that clung to the sweat on his brown skin, smudged eyeliner around his eyes, unbuttoned white long sleeve over tshirt tucked into black high waisted fitted jeans with silver zipper details and two long silver chains latched onto his front and back belt loops, and studded combat boots with buckles on the sides.

In an attempt to make the woman go into hysterics like the rest, he grabbed his black V-shaped electric guitar for an impromptu solo. She jolted at the sharp sound after he began to strum the metal strings and slide his other hand up and down the finger board. She was astonished at the whines and squeals of the electric guitar. He grew smug and wanted to push her even further.

He didn't break eye contact as he walked down the stairs from the stage and to her portion of the crowd. Fans screamed even louder at his close presence, but he was too focused on her to be phased by them. She held in her breath when he stood directly in front of her, playing his electrifying solo. She had so much excitement in her eyes and a smile on her face as she watched his guitar pick strum his guitar. She switched her eyes back at him, astonished at his impeccable guitar playing. He gave her a half-smile and turned around to return back to the stage.

Sometime after the concert, he stepped out of the stadium and into the cold weather to smoke a Marlboro cigarette. He leaned against the building and gazed at the night sky decorated with tiny stars and a full moon. Halfway into his cigarette, the woman stepped out of the stadium wearing an infinity chunky white scarf and an open beige trench coat. She shivered at the sudden coldness and began to look for the keys to her car in her coat's pocket.

"You." He called out, which made her turn around to look at him. "Come here, Doll. I wanna talk to you."

Crossing her arms to keep herself warm, she headed over to him, wondering what he could possibly want from her.

"Yeah?" She asked, leaning against the building.

He took a few steps to stand closely to her and put one hand on the wall next to her head.

"What's a sweet girl like you doing at a concert like this?" He asked, curiously. "You look too innocent to be into rock and roll."

His closeness and piercing brown eyes made her breathe shallowly. She felt as if he was staring pass her eyes and into her soul.

"I won a free ticket from a raffle at my job. I've never been to a rock concert, so I decided to come." She explained, slightly flustered. "What do you mean too innocent? Rock and roll is just a music genre."

He laughed. "Just a music genre? You couldn't be any more wrong, Doll. Ever heard of the phrase sex & drugs & rock & roll?"

"Yeah, I have, but I never knew what it really meant."

"Oh, no? Come to our after-party on Friday to find out. It's at the Palace on 10th Avenue. It's at 9 p.m."

She was taken back at his invitation. "I am not a groupie."

"I can tell." He laughed again. "I like your sweet and innocent persona. It makes me want to show you some darkness, so come by."

"You're a rock star I haven't known more than an hour, but I'm going to take a leap of faith and go." She laughed. "I never caught your name."

"Oh, you don't know? I'm your worst nightmare."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, okay. My name's Dahlia."

"My Black Dahlia." He hummed, a half-smile on his face. "Okay, Doll. I'll see you then."