Each Time The Wind Blows

Missing You

*Disclaimer, I am an avid reader and writer of fanfiction for numerous genres, but my music fanfics are housed here on Wattpad. If you like Fleetwood Mac, Stevie Nicks, and Lindsey Buckingham feel free to give my other works a read! That said this is a MJ/DR fic. I honestly didn't even know I shipped them until I watched the behind the scenes to "We Are the World" their interactions were so sweet, and being around her seemed to bring genuine happiness to Michael which was so out of reach for most of his life. I tend to write on the darker edges of fanfic, exploring human nature and human interactions as organically as I can. I love Michael but he was a man, he had faults, he had flaws, he didn't always make the right choices, and he definitely trusted some shady folks way too much. That said, I love happy endings in stories and very rarely do I write sad ones. The greater the struggle, the more beautiful the triumph. So, no copyright infringement is intended this is a FICTIONAL story based around highly FICTIONALIZED representations of real people. No disrespect is meant to any person or persons depicted herein, and in the case of MJ and DR quite the opposite. I'm making no money writing this, it's for personal enjoyment only. All copyrighted materials you may recognize belong to their respective creator, this story and any original characters however are all mine. This story will contain the following: Sex, drugs, rock and roll and the associated behaviors. There will also be a heavy component of child abuse because this is a story about Michael Jackson, and he was a survivor of physical and emotional abuse from his father. Other topics will be addressed as they appear in each chapter. Pardon mistakes of chronology Michael and Diana's lives are both extensive, I'm still new to the genre so my research is in its infancy. Thank You For reading!*

"Each time the wind blows,

I hear your voice so,

I call your name" ~I Just Can't Stop Loving You

Los Angeles, California June 24th 2009

Insomnia, I am an insomniac. Diagnosed years ago, during one of my worldwide tours. Maybe it was Dangerous...could have been Bad. Before HIStory. In truth I've carried the symptoms for most of my life, after a show with my brothers I'd be climbing the walls with energy. Back then I'd go out to the courtyard of whatever hotel we were staying in, sometimes to the lobby and I'd dance. I'd just dance, and dance until my body finally begged me for sleep. Further back when we first started as the Jackson Five in Gary I couldn't wait to get to bed. I'd say my prayers and thank God for the opportunity that me and my brothers had been given to perform all over the country. Then I'd push Marlon to the edge of our shared bed and pass out like a light. I wonder why as an adult when sleep seems more important then ever before, it's harder for me to attain.

My racing thoughts are no good, the adrenaline from rehearsal is still pumping in my veins. I'm still making notes, still critiquing each step from me and my dancers. Changing choreography here and there, adjusting the length of a note, wondering just how long I can let Human Nature's second chorus break simmer to drive the audience wild. I hate to tour, I love to perform. The 02 series is the best of both worlds for me. My fans can come see me, and I can see them, and I don't have to criss cross the globe losing days' worth of sleep while adjusting to each new country or continents various time zones. I can keep my children with me and not uproot them from their studies, they deserve stability and as a father I owe it to them to make their lives as normal as they can be. My family, brothers , sisters, cousins, nieces and nephews, won't have to chase me all over the planet. And mother will have a consistent way to reach me for the next year.

Of course, the press will know just exactly were to find me too. But they've never had to work too hard for that, I've lost count of the number of tabloid photographers who've fallen out of trees and bushes at Neverland trying to get a peek into my personal life. The helicopters that would circle my home, the paparazzi shoving cameras under bathroom stalls, "Wacko Jacko wears Transformers underwear!" garbage. All of it, exploitive, malignant, nonsensical garbage. It hurts to think about as a man of fifty, it was devastating to me in my twenties and thirties. I can't take it too seriously anymore, it's all lies and exaggeration. The people who really know me, my true friends, they know who I am and they love me for the man I am. Not the tabloid freakshow the world thinks I am.