[MJFAs 2019 Winner - Best Short Story]
The fourth day of the week.
The day before Friday.
Just any other day.
But to Valerie, it's everything. It's the one day that she belongs to Michael Jackson.
Sex, drugs, and alcohol are his life. He doesn't d...
~This chapter reads very sexily with the song playing, imo. When you see the ~ you know what to do~
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~THURSDAY, 'THE HIDEOUT'~
The day had finally arrived.
For Valerie, the week-long wait was a slow, strange torture; the other days seemed to drag on and on, longer than usual.
The impact that Michael had on her was so intense that his image and voice consumed her thoughts during every hour of the day, and kept her lying awake at night, somehow even slipping into her dreams. It was constant. She wondered why he chose her; she knew that people adored and idolised him, and thus, she assumed that Michael had high expectations. She burned to know what he had planned to do to her during their Thursdays spent together, and she had so many other questions: how long was their arrangement supposed to last? What if one of them couldn't make it that week? She tried to mute these concerns with the hope that she would be good enough for him.
After Valerie's soul-draining shift finished at 5pm, she headed straight to the rendezvous, still in her work clothes—a fitted white shirt and a black pencil skirt, but that morning, she wore something flattering beneath them. She had called Michael beforehand, but he didn't give her a specified time; rather, they agreed to meet in the evening at his apartment. So, to avoid keeping him waiting, she got there early. Perhaps too early. Her stomach fluttered as she edged her footsteps along the brightly lit, wood-panelled hallway which led to the entrance. She remembered that Michael told her about a spare key which was hidden underneath the mat. She unlocked the door and typed the code on the keypad, which instantly granted her access. She stepped inside and flipped the light switch.
The 'Hideout' was was large and modern, with 2 floors. Downstairs boasted a spacious living area; large window panes covered the back wall, opening to a balcony which overlooked the city. The spotless walls were painted a peach colour. The residence was a different affair from her own home. It was painfully quiet; eerily so. The only sound came from her heels click-clacking on the wood floor as she curiously walked over to the couch and let her purse fall onto it, glancing around further at the bookshelves and the TV set-up. She then made her way up the spiral staircase to discover the bedroom, where they would soon become intimate with each other. There was a massive bed. That was all she could focus on. The white sheets and pillows bared not a single crease. Right opposite was a dresser, and on it, a white vase housing a single red rose. There were two other doors in the bedroom; she chose one which opened to a sort of lounge next door. When she peeked her head through the second one, she found a rose-marble bathroom, complete with a jacuzzi tub and shower.
Back in the bedroom, she sat on the striped grey chaise lounge situated by the wall, next to a large blinded window. It was then that she became aware of the faint sound of a clock ticking. Slowly. It got louder as she continued to listen to it. How did Michael survive in a large place like this, all alone? Valerie was sure that the silence would have driven her mad.
