The Con Artist (A Michael Jackson fanfiction) (Completed)

Eighteen

Michael

Stella stood, at the least, a few feet away from me at all times. Even when I told her to come closer, she would shuffle forward a few inches and stop, as if she were afraid to pop the bubble I had created for myself. That bubble didn't exist with her; I just wanted her to be so much closer than she was, both literally and figuratively.

In truth, I hadn't stopped thinking about her. It wasn't something I was proud of, especially since she had the audacity to hit me, but I knew deep down that she had a reason. I didn't want to believe that reason, but there was one, and I was sure of it.

Janet was the only one that noticed something wrong about 'Adrianne' leaving (I said something about her having some personal problem that she needed to tend to). She didn't question my tear stained eyes on the plane back, but I knew that she knew something was off. She sat there and held my hand, as a good younger sister would. I missed her and didn't have the heart to admit it to myself.

Now, as she stood by the sink with her blanket cocooned around her and I was sitting at the edge of the bathtub (a rather large, freestanding tub-the kind with the bubble mat at the bottom), I felt a certain degree of safety with her back within my reach. I didn't believe in possessions, but it'd would've been nice to really call her my own. The shower water filled the space in the tub-the water was hot, but not quite-after a few minutes I peeled my shirt off and made my way to set it on the counter. Stella sighed and averted her eyes from me after seeing the bruises that had been left on my skin by the beating I took previously.

"If you hadn't killed them, I would've," she said in a quiet, resentful tone. "I would've found out who they were and I wouldn't have let them get away."

"I killed them because I had to, not because I wanted to. It was honestly the worst feeling, pulling that trigger at another human being."

Her eyes, now a softer shade of hazel than they had been, met mine.

"I know what they did was disgusting. It was so, so wrong, but I don't want you to hurt anybody for my sake. I can fight my own battles, Stella."

"I don't want you to fight them alone," she admitted. She coughed again, spitting into the sink and rinsing her mouth before meeting my gaze. "I don't ever want you to be alone, you know? It's not a nice feeling-"

"Stella-"

"-and I want you to know that you won't ever be alone. Not when you have me. Okay?"

"Okay," I whispered. Her arms twitched for a moment, wanting to extend out and embrace me but forcing herself not to. I decided I'd make the first move for once in my life. I hugged her, grasping her tightly and taking in the scent of her and then pressing my cheek to her chest. I heard an unsteady beating underneath and fear plagued my head. However, biting my tongue was the least I could do after the absence of her arms reciprocating my actions. "Hug me back."

"Have I earned your trust back so soon?" she smirked.

I shrugged and stepped back, holding onto her hands. "I don't know...do you wanna find out?"

"Do you know how cruel it is to tease a sick woman?"

"I'm not teasing," I smiled, pulling off my shoes and socks, inching my way back towards the shower.

"Don't do it," she warned. I came back over to the counter and turned on the radio that was situated there, changing the channel to the one we had listened to at the motel all those weeks ago.

"Don't do what?" I asked, pulling the blanket she was wrapped in out of my hands then tossing it into the bedroom on the floor. I wiggled out of my pants and kicked them aside, leaving myself in boxers. "Don't tell me you shower with clothes on."