defending michael on internet isnât enough, i need a gun.
fuck netflix and fuck all of you guys who are abandoning mike after this nasty documentary.
netflix isnât innocent! after the biopic was released, everyone now wants to have a piece of michael to profit, heâs INNOCENT, everyone already knows and coming back and talking about these accusations years later and making a documentary about it is ridiculous, disrespectful and disgusting! worse, releasing this doc in JUNE.
Michael didn't deserve and doesn't deserve to go through this, let him rest in peace, he's already suffered a lot here on earth. May God bless him and may the world be a better place.
Today feels different, because itâs your birthday. If you were still here, you would be turning 67. That also means it has been nearly 17 years since you left us. Seventeen years⊠and yet, the ache of missing you hasnât changed at all.
I found myself thinking about you more than usual today. I wore a shirt with your picture, hoping it would bring me closer to you somehow. I had a slice of cake, and while I savored it, I wondered how you would be celebrating if you were still here.
Maybe youâd be surrounded by your childrenâmaybe even more of them by now. Maybe you would have fulfilled that beautiful dream of adopting two children from every continent. I know birthdays were never your favorite thing, but you would still celebrateâfor your fans, for your friends, for your family.
I can almost picture the smile on your face as you read all the messages of love, all the affection pouring your way. You were, and you still are, so deeply loved, Michael. Wherever you are, I hope you can feel that love reaching you.
Summary: where reader blame herself for what happened to michael.
Pairing: this is It!michael jackson x fem!reader.
Warnings: angst, june 25th
Words: 2.16k
Note: I was really sad about mjs death and i felt like writing something about it. I guess i just like to suffer. English is not my first language so might be some mispealing words, sorry for it hahaha. Anyways, enjoy the story and let me know if you liked it.
You were crying again. Anyone would think that after more than a year, the pain wouldâve easedâbut for you, it still felt like everything had happened just hours ago. The guilt still clawed at your insides every time you thought that maybe, if youâd just been there, things would be different now. Your entire existence since that awful day had been haunted by a thousand "what ifs."
What if you hadnât argued?
What if you hadnât walked out?
What if you had answered the phone?
You were curled up inside the closet again, wearing one of his old shirts that youâd stubbornly kept. Photographs were scattered around you as you tried not to have a full breakdown right there on the floor. It was tortureâbut you couldnât help it. You couldnât allow yourself to forget. So you remembered, and you regretted, and you cried⊠and you did it all over again the next day.
"Mom?" your youngest son called out. You quickly wiped away the tears and shoved the photos back into the drawer. But before you could finish, there he was - Bigi, standing in the doorway. "Are you okay?" he asked, worry all over his little face.
"Yeah... I was just looking for something," you lied, rising to your feet and planting a soft kiss on his forehead.
"Are you sure?" he whispered. He was only eight, but he knew when someone was lying. Heâd heard you crying in the middle of the night more times than he could count. He knew you werenât okay. "Was that shirt⊠Dadâs?"
"YeahâŠ" you answered softly. That was all you could manage. Anything more and the tears would start again.
You sat down on the bed, and Bigi climbed up beside you. He wanted to comfort you, but didnât know how, so he just said the first thing that came to his mind.
"I miss him," he whispered. It was rare for the kids to talk about Michael. You knew it wasnât because they didnât love him - it was because they loved him too much. Thinking about him hurt, because they all knew theyâd never see him again.
"I miss him so much too," you replied, voice trembling. You always tried to be strong for your kids, but in that moment, no amount of strength could hold back the ache in your chest. "But I know heâs watching over you and your siblings."
"And over you too, right?" he asked. You took a deep breath.
Was he? After everything? If it werenât for you, maybe Michael would still be here. Maybe you wouldnât be having this conversation with your eight-year-old son. So why would Michael still be watching over you after what you did? After leaving him?
"Yeah, me too," you said, choosing not to burden your child with the weight of your guilt.
Neither of you said anything after that. You just sat there quietly. Bigi leaned his head on your shoulder, and eventually, Paris and Prince came to join you. The four of you stayed like that for the rest of the afternoon together. Everything was perfect, except for one detail: Michael wasnât there.
.oOo.
When night came, you tossed and turned until sleep finally pulled you under - and then it happened. The same nightmare, again. The nightmare was just a memory. One that never faded. The date was carved into your soul: June 24, 2009.
The dream always began at the same place. Never earlier, never later.
"You need to stop this!" you shouted, following Michael into the bedroom you used to share.
"Can you keep your voice down? The kids will hear," he said, barely acknowledging your words.
"I have to shout because youâre not listening!" you snapped, lowering your tone slightly. "Michael, Iâm begging you! Cancel this damn tour and get help. You have to stop with the pills!"
"You know I canât do that," he shot back. "My fansâ"
"Your fans would rather see you healthy than looking like a ghost!" you interrupted. "This is going to kill you, Michael⊠and I canât stay to watch it happen..."
"Then leave! Iâm used to everyone walking out on me anyway," he shouted. Youâd fought before, like any couple, but heâd never yelled like that. It had to be the pills. That wasnât the man youâd fallen in love with. "But donât forget, you wonât just be leaving me. Youâll be leaving the kids too."
"Iâll take them with me."
"Theyâre my kids, not yours!" he roared again. A lump formed in your throat. This wasnât him. Not the real him.
"Maybe Prince and Paris are yours. But Bigi is mineâand I wonât let him watch his father destroy himself day after day," you said, turning to leave. But before you could reach the door, he grabbed your arm. "Donât touch me!"
"Can we just talk?"
"I donât want to talk anymore, Michael. Iâve said everything I needed to say. Unless you cancel those shows and get help, I canât stay. I wonât be a part of this anymore."
You didnât give him time to answer. Youâd had this same fight too many times. Nothing ever changed. This was your last card to play. If it didnât work, then nothing would.
You didnât pack. You just wanted to leave. You said goodbye to Paris and Princeâwho didnât understand what was happeningâpicked up Bigi, and walked out. You went to your motherâs house. She welcomed you with open arms and took care of the little one while you locked yourself in the room and cried.
Your phone rang all day. You knew who it was. But you couldnât bring yourself to answer.
That night, you couldnât sleep. You lay there wondering if Michael was asleep, if he had taken more pills, if the kids were okay. Just as you were drifting off, your phone rang again. Midnight. It was already the 25th.
You sighed and ignored the call. But when it rang again, you picked it up, frustrated.
"What do you want?" you snapped.
"Mom?" It was Princeâs voiceâshaky and crying. Instantly, your body went cold. You knew something was wrong.
"Prince? Whatâs going on?"
"Itâs DadâŠ" he sobbed. You jumped out of bed, heart pounding. "Heâs not okayâŠ"
"What happened?" you asked, already searching for your car keys.
"I⊠I think heâs not breathing..."
You froze. Ice spread through your veins. Tears welled in your eyes.
"No, no. Itâs okay. Whoâs there with you?"
"Dr. Murray."
"And your sister?"
"Sheâs sleeping."
"Okay. Iâm coming. Just breathe, okay? Everythingâs going to be alright," you said. "Tell me about your day."
You raced to the house. You kept Prince talking the whole drive. He was calmer by the time you arrived.
As you pulled up, an ambulance pulled in beside you. You were in denial. This had to be a mistake. Any second now, Michael would sit up and say, âHey guys, I was just messing around.â But he didnât. He never woke up. And you never got to say you were sorry. Or that you loved himâno matter what.
.oOo.
You always woke up at the same momentâwhen the doctor walked out from behind those white double doors to say Michael didnât make it. Normally, youâd cry again. But tonight, the kids were asleep beside you. You couldnât let yourself break.
So you got up quietly and went to the kitchen for a glass of water. You sat down on a stool, lost in thought, until Paris wandered in. You didnât even notice her until she sat down beside you.
"Why are you up so late?" you asked. Paris and Prince werenât technically your children, but they were only 3 and 4 when you and Michael got together. Theyâd always felt like yours. Michael made it clear in his will that he wanted you to take care of them.
"I had a bad dream," she said. You pulled her into a sideways hug, and she rested her head on your shoulder.
"Do you want to talk about it?" She shook her head. Silence filled the space between you.
"Why are you up so late?" she asked.
"Bad dream tooâŠ"
"Do you want to talk about it?" she asked with a little smirk. You smiled at the mirrored exchange.
"Iâll tell you mine if you tell me yours," you offered. She hesitated for a second, then nodded.
"I dreamed about DaddyâŠ"
"Why was it bad?" you asked gently. Her eyes shimmered with tears.
"Because in the dream, he was still here."
"Isnât that a good dream?"
"Yes⊠but then I woke up," she whispered as one tear fell from her eye. "I miss him so much."
"Oh, sweetheart, I miss him too," you said, pulling her in close. She cried into your arms for a long time, until there were no more tears, just soft little sobs.
"Youâre so strong. Iâm so proud of you," you whispered.
"Do you think heâd be proud of me too?" she asked, her eyes red and puffy.
"Of course he would. You and your brothers were the loves of his life," you said, cupping her face and wiping away the last of her tears.
"You too," she added.
"You think so?" you asked, unsure. You were convinced he stopped loving you the moment you walked out.
"I know. He told me."
"He did?" your voice cracked.
"Yeah. That day⊠when you left with Bigi... Daddy told me he loved you."
"He did?"
"Uh-huh. He said you were the most important woman in his life. Except for me," she giggled.
"Any girl would lose to you," you replied with a little laugh. For the first time in over a year, you felt a weight lift from your chest.
He didnât hate you. Even after everythingâyou were still loved.
"And your dream?" Paris asked, rubbing her eyes. Sleep was finally catching up to her.
"A dinosaur attacked the city," you said with a grin.
Paris couldnât help but laugh about your bad dream. Before you knew it, the two of you were laughing until your stomachs hurt. Then, when you couldnât keep your eyes open any longer, you went back to bed.
After that night, you never had that dream again. From then on, your nights were filled with softer dreamsâdreams of the day youâd finally see Michael again.
i work in a clinic with autistic children and we were doing a mimic game. one of the children started imitating michael and I was so happy because it made me realize how michael's legacy truly continues even with the younger generations.
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