Forever and a Half || Michael Jackson

Chapter Two - Make You Feel Better

"See, I told you. Try get some sleep now though, okay?"

"Okay. Thanks again."

"It's nothing," I reply, "Night."

"Goodnight Citria."

I head to my room, and get into bed. I knew he'd dream an unpleasant dream tonight – it's normal for someone in his situation.

My eyes close slowly, and after a few minutes, I fall into a deep sleep.

*  *  *

"Morning, Michael."

He enters the kitchen, where I'm busy making breakfast. He's wearing the brown dressing gown I packed for him, and, I hate to seem cheesy but ... it looks kind of cute on him.

"Morning Citria. How are you this morning?"

He almost seems happy right now. I'm going to try and keep it that way.

"I'm good, thank you. And you?"

"Better than I was last night. It still hurts as if it only happened a second ago, but ... at least I got yesterday out of the way. Th-Thank you."

"No worries, it's normal to feel that way. Do you have any plans today?"

"No, nothing. What am I meant to do?" he asks sadly.

"I know, I know. But you know you've got me to be friends with."

"You? I mean ... you want to be friends with me?" he asks with uncertainty.

"Well ... yes. You need someone to look out for you, Michael. It isn't easy for me; being without my mother, too—"

"Why? Where is she?"

"She passed away a few months back, but we're focusing on you right now."

"And you're only just telling me your mother died, now? Citria, I'm so sorry."

"It's okay ... you really don't need to apologise. I've been used to it for about ... seven months now."

"But you've been so strong for me these past twelve hours! You've felt the exact same pain, and yet you're here seven months on, helping me?"

I nod. "Yes. It's because I know how you're feeling, so I can relate to you ... you know?"

"Well," he places his hand atop mine. "I'm here for you, just as much as you're here for me. For forever and a half."

I smile at him, and for the first time, he returns a proper smile. He needs to show that smile more often, as it really makes him look better than the Michael that's constantly covered eyes-to-chin in tears.

"Th-Thank you," I reply, feeling a shiver run down my spine at his touch.

I've only just noticed how large his hands are. His hand – which is on top of mine – has the fingers bent just to allow my hand to be visible under it.

"Um, do you want any breakfast?" I ask, feeling the sudden urge to clear my throat.

"No, no, thank you."

"You should eat, Michael. It's been almost twenty-four hours since you last ate anything."

"I'm not hungry, but thank you."

"At least sit at the table with something in front of you, just in case you change your mind."

He raises his arms in surrender, before drawing out a chair and sitting on it. He tucks the chair in, and watches me as I make breakfast.