Wait For You - 'Look After You' Sequel - A Michael Jackson Fanfiction

Chapter 8

Michael
-

The rain hadn't stopped all night. I could hear it through the windows, steady and cold, tapping against the glass like it was trying to get in.

The club had gone silent hours ago, the lights dimmed, the laughter and noise long gone.

But I stayed.

I didn't know why. Maybe because walking out meant facing the fact that what I'd seen tonight was real.

Evelyn.

Her name kept looping in my head like a song I couldn't turn off.

She was alive.

It didn't make sense. It still didn't.

Every time I closed my eyes, I saw that night. I remembered begging her to wake up. I remembered the silence after.

And now, she had stood in front of me, breathing. Talking. Looking at me like she couldn't believe I was real.

I leaned forward in the chair, elbows on my knees, staring at the floor until the grain in the wood started to blur.

The air was heavy. My chest hurt from holding everything in.

I reached for the bottle on my desk, but the sound of footsteps in the hall stopped me. A knock followed.

"Yeah," I muttered.

The door opened and Ramon stepped in. He scanned the room without saying anything at first, papers scattered, glass on the floor, my blood on the edge of the desk from punching it.

His eyes landed on me, but he didn't ask the questions I could see forming in his head.

"Hey," he said carefully. "You good?"

"No."

The word came out flat, unguarded.

I didn't bother hiding it.

Ramon nodded once, like that was enough of an answer. "Didn't think so," he said quietly. "It's late. Everyone's cleared out. You've been up here awhile."

"Yeah," I muttered, rubbing the back of my hand against my jaw. "I know."

He shifted his weight, cleared his throat. "I just got word. The couple from earlier, they're still in California. You want someone watching them, or do we let it go?"

My stomach tightened. I didn't even look up. "Leave them alone."

"Alright," he said after a second.

He didn't press it. Ramon was smart enough to know better.

But I could feel his eyes on me curiously, cautious, probably wondering what the hell happened upstairs tonight to turn me inside out.

"Go home," I said.

He lingered a moment longer, just long enough to glance at my hand.

The skin was split and raw, blood caked along my knuckles.

He didn't comment on it. Just gave a small nod. "You got it, boss."

When the door clicked shut, the silence came back thicker than before.

I exhaled slowly and stared at the closed door, my jaw tight.

For a few minutes, I didn't move. The room felt too small. The air was too heavy. I could feel the anger sitting in my chest.

Before I even realized what I was doing, my fist connected with the wall. Once. Twice. Hard enough to split the skin again.

The sound echoed through the office, dull and hollow. I pressed my forehead against the drywall, breathing through the pain.