Smile (a Michael Jackson Fanfiction)

(70)

Michael slowly opens the door, giving me enough time to stand myself up, not falling in, and he stands there with bloodshot eyes and a pink nose.

"Do you wan-"

"Let's go." he says harshly, cutting me off.

"Okay," I sigh as he steps out of the room with a bag in his hand.

"Let's just go back to the hotel. I don't want to go to any after parties, I don't want to be followed by the paparazzi, even thought it's unavoidable, and I just want to go home. That's not a choice right now, so let's go back tot the hotel." he murmurs, leaning down to kiss my lips chastely.

Quincy walks over and pats Michael on the back and rubs my arm.

"Smelly, try not to be upset," Q begins, "There are rumours going around that someone tampered with the winners tonight. They messed everything up. You can't blame yourself. The fact that you didn't win anything was shocking to everyone."

"Damn right!" Billy chimes in, before clearing his throat and looking around as he lowers his voice, "I don't even really know you, Michael, but I know good music when I hear it. These awards... obviously if you didn't win, they don't mean anything." he scoffs, waving his hand through the air. Michael smiles weakly and nods.

"Thank you," he sighs, "If I was going to stay, I'd stay with you, but I'd just like to be alone with my thoughts right now."

Michael reaches for my hand, and we all say goodbye, before walking out to get into the SUV. I kick my shoes off, the pain being relieved immediately. I look to Michael who's bottom lip is quivering as he looks down at his hands.

I scoot over, placing my hand on his thigh and he doesn't even look at me.

"Michael?" I say softly, causing him to burst into tears as soon as I utter his name.

"Why?" he sobs and I wrap my arms around him as he hides his face in my neck, "Why would they do that?" he cries, letting the wet tears fall to my exposed skin, "Do they not realize how hard I worked on that album?! People are expecting me to win. That's usually how they decide whether or not to buy the album!" he shouts through his tears, making me furrow my brows.

I've never seen Michael like this before. I don't really know how to handle this situation.

We pull up to the hotel, and Michael quickly wipes his tears away before swinging the door open, hopping out and slamming it behind him. I wince a bit before getting out of the same door he slammed, and run after him, bare foot, through the lobby.

"Michael," I call, trying to catch up to him as he gets onto the elevator. I hop in as the doors are closing and his eyes continue to well up and leave his cheeks tear-stained. He quickly exits the elevator when the doors open and marches right to the room, leaving now time between finding the key and opening the door, "Michael?" I ask hesitantly as I walk in behind him, locking the door behind me.

Michael looks to me, no longer producing tears, but his eyes are still bloodshot, and he turns to a stand against the wall. He reaches out to pick up the vase on top of it and lifts it over his head before smashing it the ground. I wince a bit as he kicks the pieces, and I step back, watching him look around the room.

Oh shit.

Michael punches a wall, tips the TV onto the ground with a smash, rips the sheets off the bed, throwing everything to the floor. He smashes another vase... and then another, as well as little sculptures around the room, outright destroying the place.

All I do is stand back and watch. I let him do what he has to do. If this is how he has to let out his anger, so be it. I'm not going to get in the way of that.

He finally settles down, and I see him start to shake a bit. He turns to me and his bottom lip is quivering and tears brim in his eyes all over again.

"Emma?" his voice is small and shaky. I breathe in through my nose and slowly walk over to him before pulling him into my arms.

"It's okay," I say softly as he wraps his arms around me and hides his face int he nape of my neck. He sobs and sobs as we stand together for what feels like a lifetime as I rub his back in circles and say anything that come to mind that might potentially comfort him.

"I'm sorry," he sniffs, pulling away.

"For what?" I ask, looking up into his sad, red eyes as he traces his fingers over the tear stains on my dress.

"Everything," he sighs before taking deep, shaky breath, "The tantrum, the night... I even ruined your dress." he says, looking to it again.

"Michael, I don't give a shit about the dress," I sigh, shaking my head as I cup his face in my hands, "I also don't care that you threw a tantrum. Sometimes, these things need to happen. Do you. Do what you feel like doing if you think it's going to make you feel better." I sigh, pulling him into a deep kiss and he wraps his arms around my waist, pulling me in close to him.

"Emma," he sighs, pulling away, and his eyes look less sad when I look into them, "I'm going to call the pilot and tell him to prepare the jet. I don't want to be here anymore." he sighs, gesturing to the room.

"Can't see why," I smirk and he smiles, pulling me into another kiss.

"Plus, I want to be at home with the woman I love doing sweet nothing until the tour starts up again in a few days." I grin in one cheek, and roll my eyes.

"Don't remind me."