Whatever Happens (M.J)

Seventeen

The wool was itchy and it was driving him to distraction; Michael officially hated photo shoots and everything that went with them.

"Mike, stop it; you're being a pain in the ass." Jackie scolded him.

Michael was on his last nerve. Where did his brothers get off dictating to him? He wasn't a child anymore, not to mention his recent achievements made him the breadwinner of the family...

He shook himself mentally; he wasn't that kind of person. He wouldn't rub his achievements into his brother's faces, no matter how annoying they were.

"Mike, you're still doing it!" Tito complained, swatting Michael's hands away from his wrist. "If you're not careful, you'll make yourself bleed, especially with how hard you're scratching!" 

"What did I just tell you...?" Jackie added.

"Jesus, leave me alone! If I want to scratch my own damn wrists because the sweater is itchy as fuck then I damn well will, okay?" Michael yelled.

All five of his brothers looked at him in shock; it wasn't like him to lose his temper. But he was exhausted, irritated and sexually frustrated. They'd been on the road for close to 4 months and the strain was beginning to show.

The brothers weren't getting along in private; Michael wanted out and everyone knew it. He didn't need his brothers anymore, so why should he stick around to be part of a band that was clearly on its way out. No one wanted to say it but people had only bought their latest LP, Victory, because Michael had two songs on it. Even then, it hadn't sold anywhere near their last LP as a band, and to compare its sales to Thriller was a joke. The Jacksons were over and everyone knew it.

Michael took a deep breath, rubbing his temples and closing his eyes. "Just back off, okay; today is not a good day."

"When is it ever a good day for you, Mike?" Jermaine asked.

"I said back off, man; you of all people can't talk shit to me."

His brothers looked at one another, the same thought running through their minds.

"Mike, if you want out, all you gotta do is say so." Randy said at last.

Michael sighed, opening his eyes at last. "I'm just frustrated. I feel constricted and caged; I was forced to do this tour. You all damn well knew I didn't want to."

"But the fans, Mike..."

"Don't, Marlon; this isn't about them. I was ready to take a break but no, you all had to jump on my coat tail."

"Michael, we get that Thriller was a big success but c'mon: do you really think we'd stoop so low as to ride on that?" Jermaine asked.

Michael met his gaze. "You, no: Joseph, yes. But you all agreed to this without me so you're just as bad as he is."

"Mike..." Jackie began to speak, only to be stopped by Michael's raised hand.

"Stop; after this tour is over, we're over: the Jacksons are done."

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November 1984

"I love you more!"

The audience was on fire that night. They were screaming; screaming his name, more precisely.

"Michael! Michael! Michael!" His name over and over again, until the chant blurred into a jumble of nonsense.

It was December 8th and Michael had decided enough was enough. He loved his brothers, but this wasn't right anymore.