{A Michael Jackson Story}
He was broken glass, and she was untouchable. She thought she could read people, but he was a book without words. She held him in her hands, but she could not trust his actions, or even her own perceptions. After all, some...
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{M A U R A}
My legs shot up toward the sky, straight as a pole.
I could feel my core starting to burn and ache with exertion but I didn't care. Sweat beads rolled down my body, I could feel the floured surface of the balance beam becoming too wet for comfort. I still didn't care.
The imbalance of emotions inside of me was tearing my composure to shreds. But, as long as I held my upside-down stance on the beam, nothing could reach me.
"Such focus. It can only be admired, since you didn't get it from me. Or your mother."
I opened my eyes and the breath whooshed from my body. The sight of my father, looking so out of place in his pressed suit and tie in the middle of a sweaty gym definitely threw me off my game. I sighed with frustration and flipped back onto my feet, crossing my arms.
"It's an acquired skill," I responded lowly. "What are you doing here, dad? Don't you have a... meeting, or a merger to oversee?"
"Oh come now," he said with his version of a half smile. "Are you not happy to see me?"
I shrugged, leaning against the beam and looking away.
He frowned a little. "Well, your mom told me a little something about how you seem to be acting different lately. She says you seem upset, but you refuse to talk to her about it. Does that ring a bell?"
"Nothing's wrong," I said aggressively.
"I may not be hovering around you much, but I know my little Maura." He stood beside me and wrapped his gold-clad arm around me. "Talk to me."
"This couldn't wait until I got home?"
"Maura," he said sternly.
I sighed for the thousandth time and let my shoulders sag. I leaned against him and closed my eyes, which relieved some of the pain in and of itself.
"It's nothing. And everything. And it's really stressing me out," I whined and buried my face in his chest, breathing in his fatherly smell. It was a mixture of laundry detergent and Drakkar Noir.
"Come on."
I looked at the ground and admitted a hard truth.
"Guy troubles."
"It isn't that Williams boy giving you a hard time is it? If so, I'd be glad to bar him from our home until the end of time."
He gave me another dad smile. I tried one in return, but it turned out to be more like a sad grimace.
