"What in heaven's name was going on out there?" auntie Dorothy asked in bewilderness. She'd shut the door behind us and tried to catch my gaze, but I was too busy pacing back and forth like a caged animal. I didn't see anything other than the empty air in front of me, and it was all blurred.
"Was that really Michael Jackson?"
I sobbed some kind of confirmation and dragged my hands across my face. They were cold as ice, and now they were wet from tears as well. Nonetheless, they felt strangely soothing against my cheeks.
"And they were arguing because...?"
"Because of me! I've ruined everything! No, he did! And then I... But he..."
"Mia! Calm down and start from the beginning."
She walked up to me and helped me with my coat. Then she huffed.
"God, you're an icicle, Mia. Go tuck yourself into bed, and we'll talk after I've made you something warm to drink. Tea? Soup? Hot chocolate?"
Then she thought about it.
"Nevermind I asked. Hot chocolate it is."
That would have made me smile if I wasn't so upset. But I did what she said, and found an extra blanket to put over my duvet as well.
Auntie Dorothy returned a few minutes later, mumbling to herself. Then she gave me a steaming hot mug, just like she promised. I struggled to drink it, though. I was still choked up from crying, with random sobs that made my whole body shake. It was hard even holding the mug without spilling any.
"Do you want to tell me why those boys were fighting?" she asked with concern, after she sat down on my bed with one leg crossed on top of the other and her hands hugging her knees.
'Boys'? Michael was thirty years old and a grown man, and so was Benjamin although he was my age. But I chose to ignore her.
"Not really."
"Okay, let me rephrase that."
I should have known she wouldn't take no for an answer.
"Why were they fighting? What happened?"
Typical. When I'd finally calmed myself enough to breathe normally, she just had to trigger my illogical emotions. It wasn't fair!
"He... I... And then... Oh, my God. It's just so fucked up," I stuttered.
"Watch your language, young lady."
I rolled my eyes. They were so sore and swollen that they were burning.
"Like you're the right one to talk?" I muttered.
"Do as I say, not as I do," she replied matter of factly. Then she raised her eyebrow to make me continue. But we were interrupted by the sound of the doorbell.
"If that's them, don't let them in!" I exclaimed, and my breathing grew even more hectic together with my rising anxiety.
"Alright, calm down."
"I'm serious! I don't want to see either of them."
"Don't worry. I'll guard you like a pitbull."
That actually made me smile. Just briefly, but still. The thought of my aunt barking and growling at them was comical, and it had a slight calming effect, much like Benjamin's bathing suit theory.
Benjamin... God, I hope he didn't hurt Michael worse than he already did. Maybe I should call him and ask if he was okay? After all the letters he'd sent me, I'd eventually saved his number that he always added at the end. I never thought I would use it, though. Until now.
I heard auntie Dorothy speak angrily to the person outside. Then her voice lowered mid-sentence somewhere. It had to be Michael. If it was Benjamin, she'd probably keep on yelling like she did earlier, and now I heard the other person's voice. It was definitely not Benjamin's deep base one. It was high-pitched and soft, and I could almost picture his apologetic face and pleading eyes just by the sound of it. Then there was silence and the sound of the main door shut closed, and I drew a sigh of relief, knowing that he left. But I was wrong.
After a couple of minutes I heard my aunt's rapid footsteps up the stairs, heading for my room. I also heard another set of feet following behind her, and knew she'd ignored my plea. I should be mad, but...
I wasn't.
Auntie Dorothy didn't say a word when she opened the door to my room. Her eyes said it all. And behind her stood the man that I was so unbelievably angry with earlier.
"Hi," he said. Then he didn't say anything more until we were left alone.
"I'm sorry for hitting you," I mumbled eventually, and my voice sounded so raspy that it was a wonder that he understood what I said.
"I deserved it," he replied with a short chuckle.
"Yeah, you did."
"You can slap me again if you want."
He had a certain glint in his eyes when he said that, so I squinted at him.
"Don't."
"Sorry."
I knew he was only trying to lift my mood, but joking about stuff like that was too soon. Forever was probably too soon. I didn't want to think about it at all.
"So, what's the deal about that mouse thing?" he asked after a while in awkward silence. He took a few steps forward and asked with his body language if he could sit down on the bed. I gave him room, but moved away from him.
"Mousie," I corrected. "It's just this silly thing. We made Christmas cookies, and..."
...it should have been with you.
"Well, I guess it just turned out that way," I finished.
"Ah."
There was another round of awkwardness, and I pretended to be really busy with my hot chocolate. I didn't drink much of it, though. I just used it to warm my hands.
"Did you hurt him?"
"Who? Dickhead?"
I gasped. What a rude thing to call him!
"His name is Benjamin," I corrected angrily, but Michael just giggled.
"Both of us are fine, thank you," he said, probably a little annoyed that I seemed more concerned about Benjamin than him. I wasn't. Benjamin was taller than Michael, and definitely had more muscles, so I knew perfectly well that it was a bigger risk for Benjamin hurting him. But since he was sitting next to me and looked fine, I didn't bother to ask.
"So you really didn't tell anybody about me?"
I shrugged at his question.
"What's there to say? That I was in love with Michael Jackson, the world's biggest popstar, until he fucked my best friend? No, thanks. People think I'm crazy enough as it is. Even my therapist thought I was delusional. She had to call mom to confirm that I wasn't joking about meeting you in person. Then later, I had to lie to my parents and tell them that you were someone else. A psycho impersonator or something, and that I had to get away."
Michael chuckled.
"It's not funny!"
"I have to disagree, but anyway. It makes sense."
"What does?"
"Your dad threatened me with the police and restraining orders and whatnot."
"Oh, my God," I groaned.
"He's only protecting his daughter. I don't blame him at all."
He stopped, but I got the feeling that he was about to say something. But he didn't.
"But if you didn't tell anyone, how come Benjamin knew?"
"He only knew your first name, because..."
I bit my tongue.
"Because what?"
"Nothing."
He gave me an unamused look and wordlessly demanded me to answer.
"Okay! I kinda moaned your name while we had sex. There. Go ahead and make fun of me," I said sourly.
"What?" he exclaimed and started laughing. I could even see him blushing.
"Shut up," I mumbled, shifted my stare to the floor and waited for him to do exactly that. But when he eventually did, he became more serious than I expected.
"How long have you been together?"
"A few weeks. Almost two months."
"Is he good to you?" he asked. Then he became stoically silent while I told him that Benjamin was literally treating me like a princess.
"Does he love you?"
"He said so."
"Good."
Michael looked sad and turned away.
"Do you love him back?"
"Yeah. But not in the way he wants."
"So you don't?"
"Only as a friend. A very good friend."
"I see."
I sighed.
"He's just not..."
You, I wanted to say.
"...the man of your dreams?"
I swallowed and looked at him.
"No. That's still you."
There it was. The brutal and most embarrassing truth.
We were quiet for a while, until Michael slowly moved his hand over to mine. But I pulled away.
"I miss you, Mia. So much. I'm so sorry for everything, and I know I don't deserve it, but can we at least talk once in a while?"
I didn't answer.
"You can make all the stupid lyric references you want," he begged, and made me smile a bit.
"Can I bribe you with raspberry candy?"
I giggled.
"God, I haven't tasted those since..." I started, but the memory drowned out whichever word that was supposed to come out. And Michael noticed, so he changed the topic.
"What do you think about the car? Is it cute enough?"
I rolled my eyes. I still wasn't sure if I could accept it.
"I can't believe you remembered that."
"Of course I did."
I thought for a while, then turned to him.
"Can you donate it?"
"You wanna give it to charity?"
"Yeah. I think so."
"Okay," he said slowly, but did a terrible job at hiding his disappointment. "I can do that."
He plucked on the lowest button on his shirt, and looked both sad and nervous.
"So... Where do we go from here?" he asked silently, almost whispering.
"I don't know."
"Can we at least be friends?"
I shrugged a whatever.
"Good. I can live with that," he said. "But can I still call you babe?"
"That's kinda weird, isn't it?"
"Benjamin calling you Mousie is weird."
"Touché."
"So...?"
I pursed my lips and stared at him for several seconds. I couldn't believe I even considered that.
"If you only call me that when nobody else is listening."
"Deal."
"And... If I can call you Jake," I smiled a little and looked at him without lifting my head much. And the way his face lit up was nothing else but heartwarming. For a long time we just smiled at each other. Then I finally let him squeeze my hand. But instead of making me squeal in euphoria on the inside, it made me sad. Those hands had been all over my naked best friend in ways they shouldn't. It would take time to get over that. If ever. But maybe... Maybe, I finally would be able to put it behind me? Some day.
I watched Michael get up and take a couple of steps away from me.
"Thanks for not telling."
"About you?"
"Mhm. The media and stuff. You know..."
"Yeah, whatever."
We glanced at each other one final time and smiled vaguely.
"Bye, Jake."
"Bye, babe."