Whatever Happens (M.J)

Prologue

September, 1977

The ceiling had intricate designs all over it; swirls and flowers, all carved carefully into the stone. Michael had to admire people who dedicated their time to doing something so time consuming. Making albums was hard enough; carving complicated, three dimensional designs into stone had to be a bitch.

She sighed beside him, and Michael smiled. Diana: the love of his life since the age of 11. And now here he was: in bed beside her. He was 19-years-old and he'd let her take the most precious thing in the natural world from him. No, scratch that: he'd given it to her. It wasn't like she'd forced herself on him; if anything, he'd offered himself up for the taking willingly.

But something bothered him, and that's why he'd been looking at the ceiling for the last hour and a half since waking up. They made passionate love for hours, only to have Diana roll over afterwards and fall asleep when she'd had her fill.

Was sex always like that, Michael wondered? Once the deed was done, did you just roll off one another and snooze? Surely not; there had to be more to it than that.

He thought there was supposed to be some big proclamation; a declaration, a confession, an honest statement of love. Maybe he was naïve? It was his first time and he was, by nature, a hopeless romantic.

Then again, maybe he was expecting too much? Or was he just reading this all wrong? Had Diana used him? Was he just an itch she needed to scratch? He shook his head, trying to get rid of the thoughts. She loved him.

He rolled over and kissed her shoulder blade. Diana stirred; she reached around and rubbed his kiss off of her skin.

"Sleep, Michael; we have work in a few hours."

Michael rolled back onto his back; he bit his bottom lip, desperately trying not to cry.