... And There She Was

Chapter 20

Michael clutched the small piece of curled paper in his hand and watched the numbers on the digital clock click by. A small pile of documents lay on his bedside table, held down by one of his American Music Awards, acting as a paperweight. They had arrived to the Hayvenhurst estate the day after Zoey left. He had remembered how excited she was to be able to hold one, but first they were to be engraved with the winner's information before being shipped to them. Seemed like a lifetime ago.

He picked up the award and read it again.

American Music Awards 1984Favorite Soul/R&B Male ArtistMichael JacksonA chilly gust of wind seeped into his bedroom from the open window, blowing the papers that were no longer held in place by the heavy, pointed award, onto the floor. He didn't care.The papers were important. Hugely important. But his lawyer Branca had a copy, so if the wind wanted to blow them away, so be it. She was gone.He remembered seeing her eyes looking at him through the reflection in the sideview mirror of...whomever's car she had climbed into. After his mind unwillingly traveled to dark places on the possibilities of what could happen to her taking off with a stranger, he found she had made it home safe and sound, because after stumbling back into Hayvenhurst and explaining to the Elders that they had exactly 90 seconds to get "the hell" off of his property, and to expect his formal withdrawl from the Jehovah's Witnesses within the next 24 hours, he had screamed off in Zoey's Jeep, heading to her house.It looked like a bomb had gone off.Clothes had been yanked out of the closet, hangers lay all over the floor. Drawers had been opened and emptied but not pushed back in. Her suitcase was gone, the indentation on her hastily stuffing it with items imprinted on the otherwise meticulously made-up bed. Shower items. Gone. Make-up. Gone. Toiletries. Gone.Sophie.Gone.She had packed her life into one suitcase, grabbed her pink piglet, and left.He wouldn't accept it. He foolishly dashed into every room on the top floor. The guest bedroom, the hall closet. He scrambled back to the stairs, tripped, and slid down the majority of them on his backside, tweaking his ankle. He hobbled out the back patio door, hoping to see her lounging in the hammock, or building a cozy fire in the pit they liked to come out and roast marshmallows in. Downstairs bathroom. Downstairs closet. Nothing.He stayed the night in her place, burrowing deeply into the covers on the bed, inhaling and sadly relishing her scent that still lingered on the sheets and pillows. He sobbed. He cursed. He apologized to no one that was listening. Every creaking tree branch, every whimper of wind, he thought for sure was her, sneaking in the front door.It never was.The dull, throbbing pain of his head was unbearable. He gingerly placed the pads of his fingers against the injury, feeling his own heartbeat pulsate through the round of exposed skin. In the middle of the night, he had shuffled to the medicine cabinet, stared at the taunting orange vial for probably a good ten minutes, before twisting off the cap, intent on drowning his misery, physical and emotional, with disorientation.In it, a note, curled up like—what else. A message in a bottle.M, please only take one if you REALLY need it.Come to me instead, I'll make you feel better. xoxo love, your ZShe had worried about the pills from the start. From that first time she had come home to see him drugged out on the couch. He faintly recalls their conversation, butdistinctly remembers both asking her to make love, and letting slip that during one of his routine, harmless snoops, had found a box of condoms stuffed into the catacombs of her sock drawer. All she wanted was the best for him, for him to be safe. And he took her love, her trust, and betrayed it—even though at the time he ignorantly thought he was doing the right thing for everyone involved.

Played for a fool.

Again.

He chucked the bottle into the shower, the plastic hitting the tiled wall with a crack, sending its contents splaying up into the air and around the entire bathroom. He leaned against the wall, sliding down to the floor as his whole body heaved with tears. Some minutes later, on his knees, he traveled around the cool floor and picked up the pills one by one, deposited them in the toilet and watched them swirl down the drain with a conclusive gurgle.

True to his word, the next day, (after meeting with John Branca briefly) he marched into the Kingdom Hall, with a piece of paper he had nearly illegibly scrawled on, stating his desire to officially withdraw from the Jehovah's Witnesses. Errol, who was the only elder present at the time, practically groveled at Michael's feet, apologizing profusely for their intrusion into his home, and for verbally accosting Zoey. Michael wasn't having any of it.

'What were you expecting to happen, exactly? You barge into my home and defy my trust and degrade my girlfriend? I mean—how did you expect me to react?'

'We thought that if we put everything out on the table, she might've understood herself that being with you wasn't right for you, and let you go out of respect for your faith, and you'd have come back willingly. Obviously that didn't happen. If it's companionship you seek, Brother Michael, we have several lovely girls right here in the church!'

'You just don't get it, do you. I only want ONE girl, and because of you, she may not want ME anymore. This was never about my soul, or your desire to see me lead a holy life. This is about me and my big fat wallet. You're a disgrace to the hundreds of other Elders throughout the country that truly follow God's word and respect this church and what it stands for. You've ruined everything for me.'

Errol reluctantly typed up Michael's documents right then and there, which Michael signed with an angry signature, raking his pen so hard through his name that on the last 'n', he ripped a whole through the paper. Branca had also typed up a quick disclosure statement, basically saying that if the elders were to ever put forth to the public information regarding Zoey Jansen, OR the reasoning behind Michael Jackson's disassociation with the church, charges of defemation and/or harassment were imminent. If they kept quiet, Michael would peacefully go his way and they would go the other.

'You can't make me sign something like that, Michael.'

'Wanna bet? You all have loved throwing into my face the fact that I'm Michael Jackson. What will the public think of you and your branch of the church if I tell them exactly WHY I'm no longer a Witness? I'll SHOW you how powerful Michael Jackson can be.'

Michael walked out of there that day with two documents that ensured he would never again find himself sitting in front of that group of men acting as his authority.

That, however, didn't solve his biggest problem.

He went back to Zoey's and cleaned the house from top to bottom. Straightened up the closet she had torn apart, the dresser, the bathroom. He vacuumed, dusted, tidied, scrubbed and laundered every inch, every nook and cranny. When he felt she would have been satisfied with it, he turned off every lamp, every light and left, locking the door behind him. Even though he felt he lived at her house, that it was his home, it was, technically, her space. He left out of respect, sulking back to his bedroom at Hayvenhurst. He drove by the shop, looking for her old Jeep in her usual parking spot behind the building. No Jeep. He put on one of many disguises and even went into the storefront of the shop, craning his neck around the privacy wall, attempting to peek into the work room. The sales girl behind the counter found him peculiar, and yanked the curtain shut, like an airplane stewardess cutting off a coach passenger from the secretive, enchanting world of First Class. He bought some chocolate bon bons and left.

He drove by her house several times a day, looking for something, anything that was a sign of life inside.

Dark.

Empty.

Quiet.

The days and nights grew longer, as sleep evaded him. His head quit hurting. Everything quit hurting. He felt no more. She had no family to call. He called Maddie once, but he barely got the words "hi, this is micha--" out of his mouth when she slammed the receiver down on him. He didn't dare go to her house. Zoey wouldn't have gone there anyway, that'd be the first place he would look. He didn't know any of her other friend's numbers. She didn't have an aunt's house, or a cousin's house to run off to.

She had wanted to vanish, and vanish she had.

He had led a life of loneliness prior to meeting Zoey, but these past 5 days were quite simply, the loneliest of his life.

6:15 pm

He blinked at the alarm clock. The official time keeper of his solitude and misery. If Michael was eating, it would be time for dinner. But, he wasn't. Instead, he rolled out of the bed, sheets rumpled and sour from its occupant spending most hours of the day curled up in them, watching television, listening to music and ignoring anyone who dared to knock on his locked door. Zoey's note, which Michael had read probably 500 times, was put back in its safe spot: his pocket. He had her note, on his person, 24 hours a day.

It was, sometimes he felt, all he had left of her.

He slowly lumbered towards the car, pretending not to notice the 3 sets of sympathetic eyes that watched him walked off towards the garage. His mother was really the one person he had spoken to since "The Fight", but it was briefly, just enough time for her to say that she supported any decision he made in regards to his official placement in the church. To be honest, she would admit to being relieved when he came home with his "walking papers" that evening.

The drive to her house had always been familiar, but now he felt he could do it with his eyes closed. He knew every stoplight, every turn, every hill on the way there.

He crawled down her street in the Jeep, taking in the familiar area. The neighbor three units down from her that was physically incapable of pulling in his trash barrels once they had been dumped and discarded in his driveway, letting them sit there for days. The old man that took evening walks, pushing his elderly cocker spaniel in a baby stroller. The small children across the street that could turn a cardboard box into a pirate ship, using only their imaginations. He was so distracted by taking in the world around him, that when he robotically came to a stop at her driveway, he didn't notice that the bedroom light was on.

"Oh my God," he whispered, hurling his body out of the car and to the back entrance, his trembling hands fumbling with the house key, unable to make the jangling metal fit into the hole. He fell inside the house, panting, taking the steps to the upstairs two at a time.

"Zoey?! Zoey?!" He called out, hearing a rustling coming from the closet. "Zoey, I'm here," he exhaled, his body filling the door frame. A startled pair of eyes locked onto his, as the two stared each other down for several seconds, before she moved back to the closet, grabbing more items to stuff into the open suitcase.

"I'm not telling you where she is," Maddie said coolly, folding up a sweater and a pair of red corduroys. "So don't even ask."

"Is she okay?" He asked meekly.

"Okay, in terms of...." she pressed, looking at Michael out of the top of her eyes, widening them and raising her eyebrows as if he was supposed to finish her thought. "She's fine in the physical sense, if that's what you mean," she finally said, brushing past him to grab more items out of the armoire.

"Please, Maddie. If you could just—"

"Look Michael. I'm not here to play the middle man. Truth be told, I don't even really care what you have to say. Obviously I know what happened, and I don't want to get into it. I'm here to get her some more clean clothes, and that's it," she said, suddenly feeling like the biggest b*tch in the world, seeing the sadness etched on the poor guy's face. He looked so helpless, so innocent. Not a man with a mean bone in his body. She literally shook these 'benefit of the doubt' thoughts from her mind, and returned to packing, though now flustered. "She....she....why are you here?"

"I was driving by," he said to the floor. "I drive by a lot."

"Well, get used to it. She doesn't know when she'll be back. You do realize that what you did is, like...undefendable?"

"I hurt her." Michael mumbled.

"No sh*t."

"It wasn't on purpose. I---I got caught up in wanting to please everyone. Wanting to make everything...good. I guess." He let out a heavy sigh as his eyes were still fixed upon his toes. He hadn't noticed that Maddie had stopped packing, turning her full attention to the broken man at the bedroom threshold. "Does she really hate me?"

How was she supposed to answer that?

"I think I might die if she does," he warbled, a single tear making its way down his cheek.

"She doesn't hate you, Michael. She just...doesn't... like you much right now. And is really confused and angry and hurt. Can't say I blame her." Her voice was much gentler now. Even though this person was responsible for hurting her best friend in an imaginable way, a part of Maddie couldn't help but feel bad for the guy. He looked downright pitiful, in his dirty jeans, raggedy loafers and frayed yellow sweater. If someone had told her this was the same guy who just last week stood on stage in 10,000 sequins while breaking records left and right and had millions of women offering their uterus to him, she'd shove 'em in a lake with a cinder block strapped to their ankles, Witch Trials style. One thing was certain. No matter how severely he had just screwed up, it couldn't be denied how much he obviously loved Zoey. She wouldn't be having this conversation with him right now if he didn't, because...well, he wouldn't be here if he didn't. Again, this wasn't a mean man. A malicious person. Maddie reckoned he'd burst into tears if he ran over a squirrel with his car. Maybe he really didn't....know any better.

"I can't say I really like you much right now, either."

"Please tell me where she is," he whispered. "I have to talk to her, see her, anything."

"No can do, dude. Under strict orders." She zipped up the bag and heaved it off the bed. She inched towards the door, stopping in front of him. "Anything you'd like for me to pass along?" She offered, neutrally.

"Yes," he croaked, licking his dry lips. "Tell her---tell her that..." he searched for something meaningful, something profound. Poetic. Damn near Shakespearean. "Tell her I love her. Desperately. And that I know I hurt her, and I was wrong. And that I'm sorry. More sorry than I can even....say."

Or...the simple approach will work, too.

Maddie's lips formed a tight line, as she tenderly reached up to place her palm upon his chest. "I will." With a gentle couple of pats, a quick nod and slight smile, she lugged the bag down the hallway.

"Wait! One more thing!" he said, chasing after her.

"Yeah?"

"Can you tell her I said 'Zoey give me your hand'? And hold you hand out to her. Like this," Michael extended his palm out. "And when she does, say...'I will take care of you'."

A shiver ran up Maddie's spine, indicating that there was a ton of weight behind this exchange. She didn't know what it meant, but she could feel it.

"Say it just like that, okay? Please?"

"O—okay," Maddie said, completely rattled. "I—I gotta go."

"Oh, and!!" He said, stopping her again.

"Yeess?" She asked, her annoyance starting to show.

"I left the church. Officially. I have the paperwork and everything."

Maddie stared up at the man, obviously doing everything in his human power to make right with his girlfriend.

Not saying anything, just giving him acknowledging nod, she scuffled down the stairs and out the front door, leaving Michael all alone, once again.

The house was cold and empty, once again. So he left.

Once again.

_____________________________

She sat alone in the darkness on the patio, staring out into the loneliness of the evening. The only light that illuminated the area was a small bedside lamp, and even that had a scarf thrown over it, muffling the bright umber rays and dissolving them into a subtle glow. She curled up in her comfy chaise chair, bundled up underneath 3 heavy blankets. Two more than what she was provided with, so the front desk made a special trip up to give the sad girl more upon her request. They didn't ask why. The cool wind stung her face and nipped at her earlobes, as the rhythmic crashing waves of the ocean along the shore lulled her into a trance. Seagulls squawked in the distant, singing along to the sounds of their watery home.

He had made up a song to them, that one night. Right there. On the spot.

She loved it when he did things like that.

She was barely eating. A club sandwich with extra fries with extra salt had been ordered for her, but she had barely nibbled on the crust and a piece of bacon before giving up on what she would have inhaled under normal circumstances. Even their homestyle breakfasts with biscuits and gravy, bacon, eggs and cornbread with apple butter couldn't get her to budge. Again—any other day and she'd give little Sophie a run for her money in the overeater category.

She wasn't doing much.

She slept. She got up and sat on the patio. She watched tv. Slept some more. Wandered up and down the beach barefooted, picking up shells in between her toes in that way that always made him laugh. Calling her a "chimpanzee" and threatening to get one as a pet so she could have "one of her own kind" to be around.

She thought. A lot. And relieved the moment. What she could remember of it, anyways.

Her toes dug deeper into the plush fabric of the chair, hre knees curled in tighter to her chest. She had been with him, this way. This exact position. Instead of the impersonal chair fabric and solitude against the planes of her backside, she had him, and his chest, and his arms. His lips kissing that spot just below her ear that both sent her into a fit of giggles and a fit of lust at the same time. Her legs, instead of butting up against each other for warmth, were tangled up with his long ones, as she inspected and doted over his charmingly imperfect gangly flipper feet. When he spoke, the rumbling in his chest would vibrate against her back, and a few times she had nearly fallen asleep in the middle of a conversation, simply because she was so...at peace with the moment. The life. Everything.

That's all changed now.

"Zo? I ordered more food," Maddie said, easing herself onto the edge of the chaise lounge. "You gotta eat."

"I'm not hungry," she whispered with a shrug.

"Then get hungry, cause you've got meatloaf on its way up, and you're going to eat every last bite of it."

Zoey didn't argue, didn't protest, she just stared into her lap and sighed heavily. "That's fine. Alright."

Maddie look upon the shell of a person that was....is one of the most spirited, liveliest persons she had ever know. Life seemed to hand her bad hand after bad hand, and she just smiled and kept on chugging along, making the best out of the plethora of crappy situations she was always finding herself in.

Parents die. Become ward of the state because you literally have no blood relatives in the entire world, and the godparents listed in your parents will send an impersonal letter to your lawyer saying that although they feel sorry for little Zoey's situation, for undisclosed reasons they cannot care for her. Go into foster care. Get put with two crap families who ignore you and treat you like a nuisance before sending you back to the orphanage because foster parenting just "isn't for us anymore". Get picked on and bullied and one time actually severely beat up for no other reason than being the quintessential "red headed orphan child". Day after day, you play by yourself on the playground and eat alone in a bathroom stall. Finally get adopted by a decent family, a former employee of your father's, though you suspect they're just doing it because word has gotten around the company that Liddie and Kazik's orphaned daughter can't find a permanent home, and feel obligated. Are immediately uprooted across the country to California due to a work transfer, where you know no one but the two pre-school aged children of your new adoptive "parents". Turn 18, inherit father's company and the truckloads of money that accompany it, but would give it all away in a heartbeat if it meant getting your life back the way it was. Family wants to move back home. You decide to stay by yourself in California and start up a business. You had found a friend, you tell them. A girl named Maddie, who is loud and brash and cusses like a sailor and has already slept with far too many boys, but is sweet and kind and honest, and loyal to a fault. She's an artist too, you tell them, and thinks she could learn to use those abilities on cakes. Art is art, no matter the canvas you work on.

You meet a boy. You fall in love. He hurts you.

"I saw on the news tonight. He's in New York, getting some big Guinness World Records award."

"I know," Zoey said softly. "I was supposed to go."

"Sorry," Maddie winced. "Hey! For what it's worth, he looked kinda sad."

"Yeah...."

"I always get a kick of out seeing him and Brooke together, she makes him look like such a shrimp! But he's what...five ten? Five eleven? She's just humongous."

Zoey shrugged, not nipping at her laughter bait.

Maddie scooched up closer to her. "You know he's sorry. You know he is."

"I'm sure he is. He had better be."

"Zo? I'm not..." she searched for the right words. "...condoning what he did. I'm not saying he wasn't totally, completely, shockingly wrong for keeping all of that from you, and then for blabbing to the Olders that he loves to lick the kitty.."

"...oh God. So vulgar," Zoey groaned, though with the tiniest, most microscopic hint of a smirk.

"...and you enjoy giving his banana a good spit-shine. BUT...Zo.."

"How is there a 'but' in all of this?"

"Yes, if you'd let me get to it. BUT...are you going to punish him forever? He f*cked up. I'm not denying it. You're obviously not denying it."

"How am I punishing him?"

"By running away. By not even wanting him to know where you are. By cutting him off."

"He humiliated me! And I want to be alone!"

"Have you ever asked yourself why?" Maddie stared hard at her. "Hmm?"

"Are you suggesting he did it intentionally?"

"No. Quite the opposite."

"I'm not following..."

"Michael has led a very...sheltered life. Has he not?"

"Of course he has."

"Didn't go to regular school, didn't go to regular college...doesn't really have regular friends."

"No."

"Has it occurred to you that...maybe in a lot of social situations, he just simply...doesn't know better? Throw in an extremely strict religion that he's followed word for word since he was a little boy, allegiances to his faith, allegiances to his mother, allegiances to his career, his fans...you. I'm not suggesting I know him as well as you do. I don't think anyone in the world does, but what I am saying, is that all of this...betrayal...all of the lies, the sneakiness. Zoey, I think he was doing it because he didn't know how to handle all of it. It's not as if he has had a normal social education. I'm not saying this very eloquently, but are you understanding? Somewhat?"

"Yes," she mumbled, pouting.

"You two primarily hole up in your house. I'm not saying there's anything wrong with that, but it's almost like you're creating this little world that only contains the two of you, and as soon as a third party gets introduced, Michael flips out and doesn't know how to handle it. You have a few places here and there that are safe for you to go to, but other than that you've got a very sheltered person in a very sheltered relationship. He doesn't....'get' stuff. The way we 'get' stuff. That doesn't mean he's stupid, nor does it slight your relationship in any way, but.."

"...but that still doesn't excuse him from hiding stuff from me. And then telling the Elders...you know. Those things."

"What if he didn't have a choice?! You told me yourself, that HE told you that he thought he was confessing everything for the better. Starting from scratch! I grew up Catholic! I went to Catholic school! We HAD to go to confession ALL THE TIME. I had to tell Father Brian that I gave Barry O'Shanahan a blow job on the kitchen countertop in the school cafeteria!"

"Yes, but Father Brian didn't come up to you and Barry later on in front of his MOTHER and repeat it. There's a difference!" She spat, the angry tears threatening to resurface.

"And what makes you think Michael had any control over that?" She said calmly. "Huh? You think he isn't just as embarrassed and livid as you are? How do you know he didn't march right back into the house and tell them to f*ck off? How do you know he isn't a sick mess over wondering where you are? Huh?" She hesitated. "I saw him," she shyly admitted.

"What?" Her eyes narrowed at her. This was new information. "When?"

"The other night. When I went to your place to grab you fresh clothes. He was there. Well, I was there first, then he barged in because I'm sure he saw the light was on, thinking it was you. I think he's just been driving by the house day and night," she added with a slight chuckle.

Zoey swirled around, tucking her knees underneath her, the blankets falling off of her now sweltering body. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't know if you were ready to confront it. Are you?"

"Yes," she warbled, curling her hands in the hem of her...his red Temple sweatshirt.

"Well, he's desperate. Begged me to tell him where you were, and I was this close. To doing it. But I didn't, only because I knew you didn't want him to know. WHICH, by the way, I find it odd that you came and checked into the very same bed and breakfast you guys came to before Christmas," Maddie scolded, looking around the room.

"I liked it. It's pretty. Right on the beach. That's all," she said guilty, knowing damn well why she picked this exact place to run away to.

"And it reminds you of him, and even though you're mad at him, you still need a piece of him around to feel him with you, because you're desperately in love with him, and know deep down that no matter how agitated and furious he makes you, you can't live without him."

Holy sh*t. Talk about ripping your guts out.

"..and I honestly don't know how you guys didn't have sex here. It's like the perfect little inn where perfect couples come to have perfect sex and make perfect babies. But, I digress."

"Did he, um...look okay?" Her voice was broken and squeaky, raising higher and higher in octave with each fresh wave of tears. "Sometimes...when he is really busy or stressed out...he doesn't eat well...and his skin gets real ashy, and um, he loses weight, and he's already skinny...I just want to know..if, um..." it was useless now. Only dogs could hear this.

"Slow down, Beaker," Maddie teased, reaching over to wipe the tears off her cheek. "And I'm sorry, but he looks like hell."

"Really?" She croaked.

"Unfortunately."

Zoey stared silently into her lap, watching her fingers curl and uncurl up into the sweatshirt that smelled like him. That subtle, spicy scent that was exclusively his. "I said I hated him," she whispered, ashamed.

"You don't," Maddie coaxed gently.

"No. I could never. I was mad and—and, I...I knew it would hurt."

"Zo, you have got to talk to him."

"Do you think I overreacted? Do you think I was wrong?"

"Maybe a little, yeah. Honestly. I think you were right to be upset and humiliated, but from what you've told me, from what you can remember, you may have gone overboard. A bit."

"I don't know," she wailed, flopping back into the chair. "I'm afraid I'll see him, see his face, and want to punch his lights out. What if that happened? What if I see him, and...don't like what I see?"

"He left the church," Maddie offered up as yet another reason why she should go back home. She was digging deep into her bag of information, using everything.

"WHAT!?"

"He left. Officially. He told me so."

"What if he's...not telling the truth."

"You'll never know until you talk to him. He said he had 'paperwork and everything'," she said, using air quotes. "He's a wreck, Zo. He knows he hurt you, he knows he was wrong. He's doing everything he can to make this right. Doesn't that matter?"

She'd done nothing but think about him these past...seven days. What is he doing. Who is he talking to. Is he sad? Does he hate her? Does he never want to see her again?

"You think he really had the best intentions?" Zoey whispered. "You think he was really...trying to protect me? But just doesn't understand why what he did was wrong?"

"Absolutely. 100%. He was trapped. And you feel like you were lied to and betrayed by Michael, but he was too. He was lied to and betrayed by those men."

Zoey let out a hefty sigh and once against stared out into the neverending horizon of the ocean.

'When we get married, we'll take a honeymoon to someplace with the warmest water in the world. Would you like that?'

His low seductive voice, even when being relived through her memory, made her heart beat faster.

"There was one last thing he wanted me to say," Maddie interrupted. "I'm only repeating what he told me, so here goes." She took a deep breath, wanting to make sure she got it right. "Zoey, give me your hand." She extended her palm upwards towards her friend.

Zoey, knowing those five words, knowing what they meant the second she had said them, let the flood gates loose, blubbering like an idiot as she put her trembling hand into Maddie's.

"I will take care of you," they said at the same time, as Maddie reached out and tugged her friend close, letting her release the first bit of emotion she'd witnessed in the past week of her holing herself up in this place, cutting herself off from the rest of the world.

"You're right. I'll go home," Zoey sniffled. "I'll go home tomorrow. I'll see him."

"Good. The hotel staff here is getting upset with Sophie anyways," Maddie said, glaring at the fat pig asleep on her back on the bed. "She's chewed through 5 or 6 pillowcases already."

"Maddie? What...what if he hates me? For talking to him like that."

"He doesn't. Believe me. I promise. He's a disaster."

"I love him so much, Maddie," she snarfled. "I can't lose him."

_________________________________

"MICHAEL. OPEN UP THIS DAMN DOOR."

The pounding on his bedroom door, he didn't care about. Marlon could pound on it all day long. Michael just burrowed further into his bed, smashing his face into a pillow in a meager attempt to drown out all the noise his brother was making.

"I'MA GONNA BREAK DOWN THIS DOOR."

He followed through on his word, evident by the resounding 'crack' of the still-engaged lock splintering through the wood door frame.

"MARLON! LOOK WHAT YOU DID—" Michael began to scream, though only a split second after unearthing himself from his fabric cavern, Marlon had leapfrogged onto his back, pinning him to the bed..

"How you like me now? Huh? How you like me now?" Marlon grumbled, twisting Michael's arm behind his back in an 'uncle' hold. "Try'n lock me out!"

"GE'ROF ME! GE'ROF ME!" Michael grunted into his pillow, as Marlon dug his knee into his back. With one hefty heave, he managed to hurl his brother off of him, and they both went tumbling to the floor, fists flying.

"Whatcha gonna do? Huh? Whatcha gonna do?" Marlon jabbed Michael body all over in non-threatening punches.

"GET OUT!" He tried to shield his body the best he could, getting in his own licks here and there.

"Make me, baby boy. Make me." He continued to taunt, as the pummeling continued. The brothers had each other in heads locks by now, as long arms and legs thrashed in every direction, knocking over chairs and lamps. One of his AMAs fell to the floor, the mere shape of it a weapon in and of itself.

"MOMMM!!! MOMMM!!!"

"Mom can't save you now!" Marlon grunted, trapping Michael's body in a scissor hold between his legs. "Can we talk?"

"GERROF ME! LEMME GO YOU PUNK!!" Michael was quick and crafty, but he was sorely losing this fight.

"Nope. Not until we talk. Jesus Mike. It f*ckin' stinks in here," he whined with a pinched nose. The room did have a somewhat stale scent to it. That's what happens when you live in your bed and can't be bothered to shower.

"TRUCE!!"

"FINE, TRUCE!!"

The men quit struggling, as their bodies lay in a heap on the floor of Michael's disheveled bedroom, his body still in a pinched hold between his brother's locked legs. "Now let me go."

"Are you gonna promise to talk about this like a man, or go back to sulking like a baby?"

"There's nothing to talk about."

"Can I let you go now?"

"I would love that, yes," he scoffed sarcastically.

"Promise you won't run?"

"Yes. Now let me up."

Reluctantly, Marlon released his legs. Huffing, Michael scooted away from Marlon and pulled his white cotton t-shirt down, which had bunched up into his armpits from their impromptu wrestling match. He got in one last sock to Marlon's shoulder before moving out of arm's length.

"You run, and I'ma start all over again. Got it?"

"Yes," Michael sneered, one pair of crossed arms and a foot stamp away from actually pouting.

"Good. Now. Why are you here?"

"I live here."

"No. I mean...why aren't you at Zoey's?"

"Because we broke up," he whispered.

"No you didn't. You had a fight."

"She said she hated me, Marlon. Ran away from me. Got in a car with a total stranger, she had to get away from me so badly."

"Jesus H. Christ. I swear. Michael. You know squat about the ladies." Marlon scraped himself up off the floor and adjusted his own clothing, then flopped onto Michael's bed, before recoiling in horror. "You have got to change these sheets, man. Pfewww!" He instead settled into a cushy armchair, as Michael still sat cross-legged on the cool floor. All he wanted to do was sleep for the rest of his life, and Marlon was interrupting that.

"Look, Michael. I understand that you're new to all of this relationship stuff, but I'm about to give you some advice that is priceless. Are you listening?"

"Yes."

"Are you sure? Cause this some heavy sh*t."

"I am. Tell me. I'll do anything."

"Alright. Here goes. Pay close attention."

Michael leaned in closer as Marlon's gaze became firm and steady, as though he were about to tell his brother the secret of life.

"Women?" He began.

"Yes...what about them?"

"They crazy." His eyebrows arched highly as a smug look of satisfaction befell his features. "They crraaazy."

Michael could only look at him with a befuddled expression. "That's it? That's your priceless advice? Women are crazy?"

"Sure are. You've met LaToya, have you not?"

"What do you mean by that? Explain."

"Zoey said she hated you?"

"Yes."

"Was she mad?"

"Furious."

"Then she didn't mean it. You know why?"

"No. Why?"

"Cause she crazy! AND mad, which is like...crazy with a side of crazy."

"Zoey is not crazy," Michael scoffed.

Michael rolled his eyes and was about to get up and leave when Marlon's tone softened. "Look. I'm sorry. For real, hear me out. I've been married....8 years now? And if there's one thing I've learned, it's that when women get mad...not like pissed off mad, or irritated mad, but the kind of mad where they turn red, and get a certain look in their eye and you know you should probably go hide all the kitchen knives...they lose their minds. For real. Like, their brains go away."

"Oh, please."

"I'm not lying. Carol and I had a fight so bad one time, I swear to God, she turned me not putting a plate in the dishwasher, into a full blown argument about whether or not the earth was round or flat. I sh*t you not." He did the Scouts Honor sign across his chest.

"What does this have to do with Zoey?"

"I'm saying...she was mad. Crazy mad. And if she said she hated you, that's not your Zoey talking. That's crazy, scorned Zoey talking."

"You don't understand what I did. She's...pretty justified in hating me."

"Right. But she said she hated you when she was mad. And she was.....all together now....crazy."

"No. No. I've never seen her like that," Michael opposed. "This was different."

"Have you spoken to her about it?"

"I've tried. I've...driven by her house I don't know how many times. She left. She's gone." He sank to the floor, staring up and ceiling, wondering once again how he had managed to mess up the best thing in his life.

"She can't be gone for forever. Zoey was mad. I know what happened Michael. I know." He shuffled over to his brother and crouched down to his crumpled level. "But you can't just give up on getting her back. You left the church. You made sure they'll never bother you again. You've been away from her for days. You cannot give up. You cannot live here in yo' stanky-ass bedroom and not eat and not shower and just sit around feeling sorry for yourself. Go to her."

"What...what if—"

"Go to her."

"What if she sends me away? What if what you say is true, and she was just saying those things out of crazy anger, but then I show up and she's totally calm and rational...and still tells me to go away. Doesn't want me anymore."

"You'll never know until you find out, Michael. At least if she tells you to go to hell, you can have peace of mind...knowing that. I guess."

"I love her so much, Marlon," Michael croaked. "I can't lose her."
_____________________


The television glowed in the distance as Zoey tried to choke down a bowl of cereal. She had returned three days ago. No phone call. No drive by. No knock on the door.

No nothing.

She dragged herself to work in the mornings, telling her worried employees she had just taken a quick, impromptu vacation to catch up with some old friends, but was back and ready to work in getting ready for the many Valentine's Day orders that were stacking up higher and higher. Everytime she read through a contract that had the word "engagement" or "proposal" on it, she had to choke back the tears.

She had been proposed to once. Twice, technically. And engaged. Now she didn't even know if he wanted her anymore.

Milk dribbled down the front of her shirt as she half-heartedly raised another spoonful to her mouth. She didn't care.

Three days. Three long days. On top of the 6 she'd already spent at the hotel. Nothing.

Back at Hayvenhurst, Michael had just finished thoroughly showering his sour body. It felt good, he had to admit, not being covered in layers of stale bed sweat, wearing raggedy sweats that smelled as bad, if not worse than his actual body.

"Patsy?" He asked politely to one of the house maids. "Would you mind turning over my room, please? It's....pretty bad."

"Absolutely, Michael," she had said with a gentle smile. She had been dying to get in there for days and clean up that pig-sty from top the bottom. Just to be safe, from the kitchen she grabbed rubber gloves and a pair of tongs. Boys were dirty, especially if they've kept you out of their room for well over a week.

Shuffling out to the car, he glanced back towards the house to see Marlon standing in the front foyer window, holding little 2 year old Marlon Jr., waving goodbye to Uncle Michael.

"Bye little buddy," Michael whispered. "Hopefully next time you see me, I'll have Aunt Zoey back."

Sliding into her Jeep, he began the long, painfully familiar journey to her house. Once again, his autopilot navigated himself and the car, as for some reason, he felt the urgent need to plan what it was he wanted to say, if by chance, she were home. Three days ago, he had stopped driving by, the feeling of hopelessness of despair convincing him that it wasn't worth it anymore. It had taken Marlon's fists first, then his brotherly advice to make him give it one more shot. He had put on her favorite blue sweater, jeans and a ballcap. Since his fedora had quickly become somewhat of a trademark for him, anytime he was out and about with Zoey, he left it at home. This time was no exception.

Rolling down her back street, he braced himself for the familiar sight of a carless driveway, a lightless house. His heart began to thump wildly in his chest, when once the shrubs of her neighbor's driveway were passed, her Jeep, her father's Jeep, came into view.

She was home.

The kitchen light glowed softly in the early evening dimness. Then, he saw her. The shades on the window above the kitchen sink had been raised, allowing him to peer into the house to see her standing over the sink, likely doing dishes. She didn't look up and out the window before moving away, for surely she would have seen him sitting there, plain as day.

Michael said a quick prayer, looking to God for strength, looking to God and pleading for Him to let him be forgiven by his one true love. Grabbing the envelope of papers off the passenger seat, he eased himself out of the car, clumsily smoothed out his clothes, and pottered along the side of the house to the front door.

He had his keys, it would be easy to just let himself in. Though, he didn't feel comfortable doing that. It wouldn't feel right. The floorboards of her cozy wood porch creaked under his feet that were adorned in a pair of grey tennis shoes, as he pressed his trembling finger upon her doorbell.

The chiming startled Zoey, who had been upstairs folding laundry. Not much laundry, since she was once again only cleaning for one. Though to admit, a couple days ago she had found herself washing his clean clothes, just to give her an excuse to touch them. Not expecting anyone, and since there were few people who rang her doorbell as opposed to just letting themselves in, she crept down the stairs. Even from a distance, through the frosted panes of glass on the door, she knew who it was.

A tall, dark silhouette. The broad shoulders. The way he rocked back and forth on his feet.

It was him.

Her foot slipped on the last stair, and her butt went crashing to the staircase, landing on that one perfect spot on the tailbone that nearly paralyzes the whole body in ridiculous pain. Scrambling towards the hallway mirror, rubbing her backside, she gave her appearance a one over.

"Oh, crap," she grumbled, seeing the milk dribble down the front of her shirt. Rushing back upstairs to the laundry, she threw on a simple while blouse, then raced back downstairs, mindful of not falling on her ass again. Her heart was pounding, and the butterflies in her stomach fluttered around, making her knees numb and week.

A part of her wanted to throw open the door and leap into his arms. Another part, didn't know why he was coming here. Though she still felt that she was totally justified in being upset with him and his actions that had led to their argument, the way she had handled it was completely revolting. Maybe he had realized that, and was coming to officially dump her. Who wants to marry a crazy girl who tells you they hate you and runs off with a stranger, just because you had a fight?

"Oh, God. Oh, God...."

Michael could see her shuffling around through the glass, her red hair flying. He wanted to burst through the doors and take her in his arms and beg for forgiveness again. What if she didn't want him anymore? What if she was still upset? Or worse, was completely calm and came to the rational decision that what he had done was unforgivable, and would give him a sweet kiss on the cheek and a 'nice knowing ya'?

"Oh, God. Oh, God...."

Zoey placed her shaking hand on the antique door knob and slowly opened it. The second the door cracked open, her senses became imbibed with his scent being carried in by the wind. Her knees automatically went weak. There he was. Standing before her, looking so casually handsome, it hurt to look at him.

Michael watched at she slowly came into view through the door opening. Cautiously, she kept half the door blocking her body, not totally allowing him access to her or her home, yet not shutting him out either.

She looked so beautiful, so perfect, and yet he sensed a weariness in her eyes that made his nerves tremble. Their eyes locked, and in that moment, time stood still.

They stood there, staring at each other, neither being the first one to talk. Zoey leaned on the door for support. She realized that it may look like she was still being standoffish by not letting him fully into the house, but the truth was, she feared if she let the door open, she'd have nothing to hold her body upright and would go crashing to the floor. That's the sort of magic he held over her.

"Hello," they both said at the same time, after what felt like ten minutes of just staring each other down.

"Sorry—" they said again, simultaneously. They shared an awkward chuckle before becoming serious again.

Michael reached up and snatched off his hat and glasses out of respect, shyly clutching them in front of his body. He needed to hide behind nothing. He reluctantly broke her gaze and stared down at his shoes. It was just too intense for him. He felt emotionally naked. Still, he could see her red hair, the way it rustled across her breast in the breeze. The same wind lifted up her scent and thrust it at him, the flowery scent of her shampoo. The sweetness of her.

"How are you?" Her gentle voice gave him to courage to face her.

"Not so great. You?"

"Me neither," she said with a sad shrug.

Michael desperately searched for the words he had, quite luckily, been practicing on the way over. "Zoey. I came by today because I want to...apologize for the way I hurt you. I was...wrong. Horribly, horribly wrong." He reached into his back pocket, pulling out the envelope. "I left," he declared, plain and simple. "I left the church. Officially. These are the papers. I brought them in case....well, in case you wanted to see them for yourself."

She stood in stunned silence. He had given up his church. For good. For her. She hadn't ever asked him to do that. And yet, he had. On his own. To make things right.

"I did an undefendable thing to you. I violated your trust and hurt you in a way that you'd be completely right for never forgiving me for."

"Mike, I—" she warbled, on the brink of tears.

"Please! Please just...I have to say all of this. Before—anything."

She clammed up, pursing her lips together and listened to him intently.

"Zoey, sometimes---no, most times, I have no idea what I'm doing. I feel that if I've ever been a good boyfriend to you and treated you right, or was...you know, romantic, it was something I lucked into, because I'm just...so lost. In everything around me. I—you deserve so much more than the relationship I can give to you. I didn't know how to handle the way the church was coming at me. Every decision I made was the wrong one. And every one of those decisions came back to hurt you, when in fact that was theone thing I was most concerned about. You. The entire time. I failed, obviously." A single, lonely tear ran down his smooth, caramel cheek.

"But--," he began. "I still hurt you. I hate myself for that. I hate myself for making you doubt yourself. I hate myself for even getting us into the situation to where the Elders could say those despicable things to you. To your face. I was wrong, and I am sorry. More sorry than you can imagine, because I can lose them. I can lose the church, but losing you isn't an option for me. Selfishly, because I know you need better than me."

"Mike..." she squeaked, her knuckles now white from clutching the door so forcefully, the only thing stopping her from hurling her body into his arms.

"They'll never bother us again, Zoey. I've made sure of that. And..." his suppressed crying was now muffling his speech, and he struggled to keep it together. "And...even though I'm...I hurt you, I came today...asking if—if maybe...you might be able to...love me? Again?"

Two steps.

A lot can happen in two steps.

In two steps, you can round the corner and bump into someone who spills their coffee down your front side, but ends up turning out to be your soulmate. In two steps, you can make it past a rain puddle just before a bus drives by, splashing muddy water up onto the sidewalk where you just were. In two steps, two men, only 14 years ago, stepped out of a tiny, ridiculous spider-looking contraption and on to the surface of the moon. In two steps, you could leave dinner two seconds later, and not be in the exact spot, at the exact moment, when a drunk driver swerves into your lane and takes you away from your little girl.

And two steps was all it took for Zoey to bridge the gap between her and the love of her life. With an ease that could only come from that kind of connection, she slipped into his arms, which immediately wrapped around her with a want and thankfulness that cannot be put into words.

"I love you, Mike," she wailed into the crook of his neck, as the entire length of her body pressed up against his. "I'm sorry, too!"

"Oh, God. Zoey," he exhaled, holding her tiny body close, her tippy toes barely touching the ground. "I love you. I love you. I love you. I'm sorry. I'm sorry." His arms molded around the expanse of her back, as his lips awkwardly found their way to hers, kissing her with a fervent need.

He had had countless nightmares, about this moment never happening. Never seeing her look at him again in that way that made his insides melt. The way she batted her eyelashes and sucked on her lower lip in her own shy and innocent, yet teasing way. Never feeling the tenderness of her loving mouth pressed against his. Never feeling her tiny body wrapped up in his arms, as he held her every time like it was the last time. Like tomorrow might not ever come.

She broke away only long enough to pull him inside the house, where they embraced again in the comfort of privacy of the four walls. Their bodies melted to the ground in a sitting position, intertwining as they contently held onto each other, rocking back and forth. Each of them repeated 'I'm sorry', and 'I love you' over and over again, as they placed delicate kisses upon every inch of the other's face, their hands grabbing onto the other's arms and clothes, afraid to ever let go again.

The road hadn't been easy, and would probably never be easy again. But that evening, they made a vow to each other that no matter how tough things became, how many forces were working against them, how many fights they had, nothing...nothing could ever make them let go. They would never let go.

Michael was home.

This was home.