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

Four

——— Four　———

The following week, the band met Dahlia in San Diego and took their tour bus to San Francisco. She was in deep thought as she walked around to explore the bus. She couldn't help but think of the worst possible outcomes that could happen during this month. She wondered if she was out of her mind for agreeing to live with a group of people she didn't know well.

"Come here, Doll," Michael called from a room she was passing by.

Michael was dressed in a white t-shirt, black denim jeans, and black heeled booties sitting in a brown arm chair. He had a lit marijuana joint in his hand and a glass of whiskey in the chair's cup holder. Once she met him at the chair, took her hand and pulled her to sit on his lap. The ferocity in his brown eyes left Dahlia flustered like always.

With his usual half-smile on his face, Michael rested his hand on her thigh and looked at her with dazed eyes. "My sweet Black Dahlia. Sweeter than the cherries on your dress. I'd love to know how sweet you actually taste."

"Jesus, you just say anything, don't you?" Dahlia asked, disbelieved.

"Only for shock value." He smiled. "Why don't you come down here and give me a kiss?"

All of their intimate touches and kisses were initiated by him, so she was quite surprised at his request. She watched him take a long drag from the blunt and waited for her to kiss him.

Dahlia leaned back down and gave him a kiss. During their kiss, she shivered at the feeling of his hand sliding to her bare hip and rested on her thigh. He pulled back slightly and blew the marijuana smoke swiveling in his mouth into hers. She inhaled sharply and started to have a coughing fit. She hated the intense burn that didn't seem to subside. This was the closest she'd ever gotten to smoking and she thought it was horrible.

Michael laughed loudly. "Jesus, Dahlia. I didn't know you'd have this severe of a reaction."

She wiped her teary brown eyes and scowled at him. "Fuck off."

He laughed even louder, surprised. "My Dahlia has a foul mouth? Oh, what else don't I know about you?"

"If you weren't too busy making out with me or drugging me up, you'd have an idea." She sourly said.

"Oh, don't be so dramatic. All I did was give you a shot gun from my joint. You'll be fine." He replied. "Now, tell me what I don't know about you. What does your entire life look like?"

"Don't be dramatic? I should punch you for pulling that with me." She said, irritated. "My life story isn't a blockbuster. I lived in a small apartment in Brooklyn with my parents and younger twin sisters, Gabriella and Isabella. My mother died of heart failure when I was sixteen. My sisters went into a rebellious phase after that. They were sneaking into clubs, shoplifting, doing drugs, drinking alcohol, and going to frat parties when they were fourteen and I had to get them out of trouble every single time. My father became depressed and I had to take care of him. I was looking after my whole family while attending high school and working at a small boutique downtown. The only escape I had was art and piano, though I sounded awful. After I graduated, I left and never went back. I talk to them once a month to make sure they're alive, though."

Michael nodded and pulled from his blunt before responding. "You're angry at her for dying?"

Dahlia was surprised at his accuracy. "Yes, actually. Well, I was. How did you gather that?"

"Her death turned you into a teen mom. You had to keep your family together because she wasn't there to. You couldn't fall apart when you needed to. You couldn't explore what you wanted."