Perspective (MJ)

His Promise

His Promise.

"Michael...Michael please. Open your eyes, just open your eyes...for me Michael. Please," I beg through an almost lost voice, waterfall of tears streaming down both cheeks, not wanting to believe the fact that he is completely unresponsive. I press his body close to mine; his arms slump around my shoulders leaving my legs buckling in shock and fear, unable to move. It seems that he is in a tranquil sleep-and I can't help but think the saddening reason why. His breathing is too slow and weak.

I reach for the phone by the dressing table and with a solitaire hand, I take a shaky breath and hover my thumb over the first button that needs to be pressed. I run my palm over his curls and press his face gently onto my shoulder. I don't want to believe that he is harmed; somehow, I cannot allow myself to press the first button.

My heart races when the sound of the front door echoes soundly in the still silence. Heart shattering into thousands of unmendable pieces, I lay his body down onto the bed and with all of my passionate strength, my destination is already reached at the end of the stairs where a Jackson is stood, a confused expression on his face.

"You've got to help me...please help me. You've got to call the ambulance, please!" I tell Jermaine, eyes clouded with too many shedding tears, my hands gripped onto his shirt.

"Nadia, what are you talking about? What's wrong?" he says, his chest rising upwards, searching my eyes for an answer as I cannot give him one through speech seeing that words cannot be formed out of unbelievable sadness.

"It's Michael," I choke out, feeling tearful at the way his name is forced out of my mouth. Alarmed, which is shown in his widening eyes, he races upstairs without any notice or direction and leaves me hobbling after him.

The first thing he does, when his eyes set on Michael, is place two fingers at the side of his neck. Jermaine sighs in pure relief as there is a pulse but there is a hint of panic in his exasperation when he realises it is weak and there is a feeling for it to come to an end. He picks up the phone and gestures it towards me causing me to shake my head. Jermaine exhales knowingly with a little irritation and at a rapid speed he dialls the three numbers. As he presses the phone against his ear, words tumble out of his mouth whilst tears stream down his cheeks. Hands covering a tear stained face, I constantly tell myself that this is all an illusion; tricks have been skillfully played on me.

I can't lose Michael.

I am nothing without him.

-
Loud pounds and high pitched rings sound in my aching, tiring mind like an endless alarm which is in my dearest, strongest wishes to come to a satisfying end. I hug my knees securely, shifting on the uncomfortable blue plastic seat. I could not allow myself to wait outside of the room he was in-I didn't want to witness, by hearing, a tragic event occurring. Shame washed over me but I believe sadness was found to have more of an effect. Though at the far end of the corridor, I can hear the small cries along with whimpers of anticipations and pleads from the Jacksons. I pray that soon we will no longer need to shed tears of pain.

I constantly wonder what was the cause of Michael being led into unconsciousness? Had he not been getting enough sleep? Something secret he has kept from me for a while that has to do with something that is part of him? A severe injury that was concealed well? Although deep, intense contemplation took place I could not bring my mind to think of an explanation which reasonably links to how Michael has acted recently or ever.

I breathe in the strong aroma of the hospital and force tears to disappear. Slow, quiet steps become more audible as they near towards me. I don't take one glance upwards. Somehow, I have a feeling of who it is already.