Michael Jackson and Whitney Houston

Attitude

Whitney POV

I walked downstairs into the basement where I heard a new song blasting. I had just finished eating. I slid my hands over his shoulders and down to his chest. He inched away from me a little and cut off the music.

"Baby, what's wrong?" I asked sitting in a chair in front of him.

"I'm just not in the mood today." He said.

"Well, it must be because I wasn't good last night. But I'll make it up to you some day." I chuckled.

"Whitney, I'm serious." He said rolling away from me.

"Don't be." I wheeled closer to him and grabbed his hand.

"Whitney-" he began.

"No!" I snapped. "It's my turn to talk. You always work. Always down in the studio or up in that tree writing lyrics. Sometimes you're riding rides or in the animal section or in the library."

"Speaking of the library, I haven't began to read the book that you distracted me from." He said.

"I'm serious." I cocked my head to the side.

"I have a lot of work to do." He said turning back to the panel. I knew something was bothering him.

"Michael, I wanna express." I said.

He sighed and turning to me. "Go on."

"I wasn't looking forward to coming home and make albums and watch my husband work."

"And your point is?" He looked at me nonchalantly.

"I want my husband."

"You have me."

"I need my husband."

"Not today."

"No I mean I want and need my husband to be having fun with me."

"Whitney, I'm Michael Jackson. I'm not saying it in a cocky way. I'm saying if my music isn't perfect then do you know how much the press and media will say. All my fans. You."

"Your music is always perfect." I said moving closer.

"I'm not satisfied." He rolled away from me. So far that he was on the other side of the room.

"You're never satisfied. With anything. I see why you're acting like this."

"Amaze me."

"You're not satisfied with me." I wheeled close to him.

"What?" He rolled his eyes.

"I mean you'd be excited if you were with Brooke or Diana. But not me right?"

"Nippy, you wanna know the truth." He looked at me.

"No I don't want to hear it, Michael." I was about to storm out the room but he grabbed my arm gently and kissed my hand.

He brung me in front of him and he rested his head against my stomach. I knew he knew when he placed his hand on it.

"Hi, buddy." He said softly. "I'm sorry for all the anger that is inside of your mom. But hopefully you would have some of you fathers humbleness."

"Michael, what the hell are you doing?" I asked.

"Don't lie, Whitney Houston." He said with anger.

"Michael, I...I..." I trailed off and took a seat.

"I knew since last night. I went to go take a shower and BAM!" He yelled causing me to jump. "It was on the sink."

"I know. But seriously is it necessary to be mad?"

"I'm not mad." He said. "I'm disappointed that you didn't tell me the second you knew."

"I was going to tell you, Michael. I just didn't know how. Let's say if you wanted a divorce would you tell me the second you decided it?"

He was quiet for a minute and smiled.

"Well, congratulations, baby." He said and all the attitude went away from his body.