An Unexpected Turn| Michael Jackson

Chapter Four: The Visit

POV: Michael January 22, 1992 1:00 pm

I am not crazy. I am NOT crazy. I recited to myself, as I relaxed in the hot bath, and let it flow over my aching body. I know I'm not crazy. The bubbles that engulfed me smelled of roses with a hint of strawberry, and the heat of the bath was gradually edging the pain of the continuous nightmares, and muscle tension out of me. The water was removing the sour perspiration of night off of my skin.

I felt my mind unraveling slowly, and focusing as it did so. I'm not crazy. I'm really not, I felt it deep within me, I really did. I felt something... when I touched his hand. It was real, it was pure, and I was 99.9% sure he felt it too. What troubled me was, I wasn't sure what it was supposed to be exactly. Romance? Sexual? It couldn't be that, no. Spiritual? That sounded more reasonable, but I never felt that way before, ever. I had no type of reference for it except for cliche romance novels, and a few phony science self-help books I'd skimmed through in the past. I'm not really certain what it was, I felt it make itself known throughout my entire being, and I knew more than anything else, that I wanted to see Nicholas Bright again. I needed to see him, to feel his comforting presence, and today would be the day. I would see him, talk to him. Pose for him.

Because, he thought I was beautiful. Me, beautiful. As strange as that sounded I left it alone, and accepted his offer. I know I'm not beautiful. As many times as people say it, I know they must be blinded by my success, my existence, my purpose to entertain.

I heard my bathroom door creak open, and Oliver's soft footsteps on the marble floor echoed as he came to check on me. "You good Mike?" His voice sounded fuzzy, and a little far away which reminded me of the medication I had taken earlier.

My God... How can I keep taking this stuff? I thought. I'm an artist, a musician. I have to be able to function and hear things properly. "I'm OK" I murmured, releasing a sigh and moving so Oliver could see that I didn't die in the bathtub or something.

"Feeling any better?" I felt him standing next to the tub, I could hear the smile in his voice.

"Yes" I stated. Last night was rough, extremely rough. The medication brought nightmares, ones that horror movie directors would pay good money to see. It struck me as ironic for some reason; anxiety was my major issue, As a result my doctor prescribed me pills to make me dream about being devoured by creatures? It was a very implausible strategy, to say the least.

"The water's getting cold." Oliver said quietly "Let's get you out and into some warmth OK?"

I nodded, "I'm supposed to go for that modeling meeting anyways." I tried to refer to the meeting with Nicholas as casual as possible, no one needed to know how important this was, and how desperate I was to see him again.

Unfortunately, as I carefully sat up taking Oliver's outstretched hand, I realized I wasn't fooling anyone but myself.

Oliver smirked, "Yes Michael, that's the third time you mentioned it. You must be pretty excited." He gave a small chuckle, and I felt a warm towel enclosing me.

Oliver was the one who contacted Rayna Bright, and set up the appointment. He even did me the favor of not giving any information to my record label people about it. He also changed hotels with me, so they wouldn't find out where I was, and couldn't forbid me to go. I made a cloudy mental note to thank him for preventing what I knew would be an endless quantity of angry, demanding voicemails, nagging to know where I am and why. Oliver was keeping me safe from everyone. Maybe even keeping me alive and sane, honestly. And he deserved a thank you.