Chapter eight – You're Not Alone

~~

The morning is spent relaxing in my front garden, just letting the sun hit us freely. It's simple, yet incredibly wonderful, because we're both happy, and Michael hasn't had a single negative or unhappy comment since breakfast.

But that doesn't stop him from thinking, I guess.

"Hey," I catch his attention, "Why don't we go on a picnic?"

"A picnic?" he repeats my offer.

"Yeah!" I grin, "It's simple and sweet, and it'll give us some more fresh air. You up for it?"

"Uh ... sure. But you've got everything you need for it, already, right?"

"I should think so—" I suddenly realise why he's asking. "Is it because you don't want to go grocery shopping?"

He stands up from his spot on the grass, and looks down at me timidly, "Maybe."

"So it's people that you're not ready for, not the outside world," I calculate.

He shrugs, and I stand up too. Then, he averts his eyes upwards, "I guess so, yeah."

"So you're up for a picnic in the fields?" I ask once again.

His gaze moves down to my face, and he nods his head, "Yeah. I think it would be nice."

"That's sorted then," I start walking inside, with Michael following me. "Let's prepare."

* * *

After preparations, me and Michael start heading to the park – and this time, I do bring a coat, just in case. The thing that bothers me is that, last time we came here – last night – Michael tried to kill himself. I hope that doesn't happen again.

Once we've arrived in the fields, we choose a spot, and I lay the blanket out on the grass. We both unload the basket of its contents, and sit down on the ground.

"Help yourself," I assure him.

He gives a faint smile, before reaching out to take a cupcake from the adequate amount of choice we have. He unwraps one side of the cupcake, and takes a small bite, then his eyes widen and he looks at me.

"This is incredible. Where'd you get these?" he asks.

"Oh ... I kinda made them myself," I answer.

He swallows, before setting the cake down by his side, on the blanket, "Please teach me how to make them, please!" His tone suddenly becomes more excited, which I'm happy about.

"Of course I will," I chuckle, "And, heh, thank you."

"Thank me? Citria, you're the one that made these—these Edible Angels!" he gasps.

We both share a laugh, before I take a hold of another cupcake. I unwrap it completely, then take a bite out of it. I notice Michael watching me with a playful eye, so I smile, biting my lip to avoid laughing out of amusement due to his expression.

"What?" I demand with a small giggle.

"Nothin', just ... I've been thinking a lot about last night, and ... I don't know, I guess I'm glad I wasted that bullet now. Being here with you today is a blessing. Unless the way I felt last night comes back, I don't see myself trying to ... you know ... any time soon," he explains.

I can't control my smile, hearing that. He's telling me he isn't going to try killing himself again – unless he feels the same way as he did last night – therefore meaning I've got to keep his mood somewhat happy, at least.

"Well, that's great Michael," I give a genuine smile, "I'm happy you feel that way."

He nods shyly, before lifting his cupcake up again, and taking another small bite from it.

"And you're right," he goes on to say, "There is always something worth living for."

"You've just got to find it," I finish my normal phrase.

"Nah; I've already found it," he says.

He moves around the blanket, before sitting directly next to me. He rests his hand atop mine, and again, I shudder.

"I've found it in you, Citria," he adds to his previous statement.

I clear my throat and swallow, trying to find words to reply to him. I take a breath, before averting my eyes down to our touching hands.

"Th-Thank you, Michael," I stammer. "And it's the same thing here."

I look at his face, and right in that moment, his gaze meets mine, and his deep chocolate eyes momentarily hypnotise me. Before too long, I rip my gaze away, feeling a strange feeling in my heart, and at the bottom of my stomach.

"S-So," Michael finally speaks. "Have you ever had a boyfriend?"

I furrow my eyebrows, confused as to why he would ask that so out of the blue.

"That seems a random thing to ask," I laugh.

"Sorry; I realise how out the blue that was. I'm just curious ... that's all," he explains.

"Oh, okay. Well ... I had a boyfriend when I was, I think, seventeen. His name was Eren. It was the typical high school thing, but he wasn't a very bright person. He couldn't do math, or science, or anything. But ... I didn't care for how smart he was; I cared for his personality. That's what does it for me, y'know," I reminisce a little.

"Aw, so you've had your first kiss?" Michael asks.

I snicker a little, "Yeah, I have. And I know you have, too. Eleanor, right?"

"Yes. The girl from the Roller Skating Disco ... " he replies. "But that was years ago. Over ten years, it's been."

"Eight years since I kissed anyone," I add with a laugh.

"And you miss that?"

"Eh, sort of. I've just missed company, to be honest. That's why I'm so happy to have you," I reply.

His casual closed-mouth smile melts into a grin, "Oh, well that's the same with me."

"Oh, I completely forgot to ask," I frown a little. "Y-Y'know at the reunion ... you didn't have a girlfr—?"

"No, no. I've been single ever since Eleanor and I broke up," he answers. "You?"

"Single since me and Eren," I answer.

"How did you guys break up? If you don't mind me asking."

"Oh," I swallow before continuing. "It was just a mutual decision. We both needed to just ... move on, I guess."

"Oh, at least you both agreed," Michael smiles. "That's good."

I nod, taking another bite of cupcake, and I chew and swallow before looking back at what Michael's doing. His hand is no longer touching mine; it's instead unwrapping another cupcake.

"Sorry ... they're literally perfect," he explains himself.

"I'm glad you like them," I give a small giggle.

He takes a bite out of the side, but then looks behind me. He points, and I turn my head to see what he's pointing at. Having seen nothing, I turn my head back to face Michael. However, before I can even react, I find myself with cupcake icing all over my nose.

"Hey!" I protest jokily.

He giggles childishly, "Gotcha."

"Now I've got to get you," I smirk.

Taking a cupcake for myself, I unwrap it and thrust my arm forward to hit Michael. However, he dodges, before leaping up and running down the field.

"Oh, so it's like that, is it?" I laugh, getting up out of my spot as well.

I follow him, running after him as quickly as I can.

"You'll never get me!" he taunts.

"We'll see!"

I chase him around the entire field, only about two meters behind him. He runs pretty fast, but because of my experience in running around these fields, I can just about catch up to him.

Spotting that I'm only about half a meter away from him now, I outstretch my arms to try and grab him, but right at the last moment, he dodges again, resulting in my arms grabbing the air.

"God damn it, Michael!" I groan playfully.

He lets out a playful giggle, looking over his shoulder to see me behind him, and then turns around, stopping in his tracks. However, because he does this so abruptly, I keep running, eventually running into him, knocking us both to the floor.

When we land, I'm lying on my front ... on top of Michael, who is lying on his back. We both laugh hysterically, before I tap his nose with the cupcake, giving him an icing nose like mine.

"I told you I'd get you," I tease.

"Okay, I never knew how good you were at tag," he replies.

A moment passes, when our eyes meet, and a strange feeling runs through my body again. The humour seems to have vanished now, more replaced with seriousness.

But then, realising I'm still lying on top of him, I press my hands against the ground either side of him, before pushing myself up off of him. Once I'm up, I extend my arm out, and he takes it. I haul him up, and we walk back over to the picnic blanket.

"That was fun," I say, still a little out of breath from the mini tag match we just had.

"Yes, it was," he agrees.

"I think we should eat now, though," I suggest.

He chuckles lightly, "Yes, we should."

* * *

After the picnic is over, we pack our things away and head home. It's been something of a long day, and part of me looks forward to falling asleep peacefully in my own bed, for the first time in three nights. I've been sleeping downstairs since Michael started staying at mine.

Once we arrive home, I wash all the pots and cutlery that we used at the picnic, until I hear the phone ringing.

"I'll get it, Michael," I call.

I dash over to the phone, and lift it up from its receiver. "Hello?"

"This is the Gary Police Department; Officer Woodburn. I'm calling to talk to a Mister Michael Jackson, concerning his call a few days ago?"

I freeze a little at the notion that it's a police officer, "Uh, sure. I'll just go get him for you."

I take the receiver away from my ear, and cover the mouth piece with my hand, "Michael! It's for you!"

"Coming!" he calls from upstairs.

Moments later, I hear him coming downstairs, before his head peeps over the stair banister, "You rang?"

"It's the police," I inform him.

His cheerfulness changes drastically to seriousness, as he walks down the remainder of the steps and takes the phone from my hand, "Michael Jackson speaking."

He stays silent to hear what the officer has to say, and I analyse his facial expressions to see how good or bad the news is.

"Oh, you did? Uh ... okay." His face remains serious as he speaks, but then his eyebrows raise, "Uh-huh. Wha—now? Um, hold on a second."

He takes the phone from his ear, covering the mouth piece and turning his head to look at me, "They want to ask me some questions ... right now."

"O-Oh," I hesitate momentarily. "Where; here or the station?"

"Here," he tells me. "You don't mind that, do you?"

"No, of course not. Let them come over," I reply.

He nods and mouths, 'Thank you', before placing the phone back to his ear, "Yeah, come right over. You know the address? Uh, it's ... " He looks to me for guidance.

"Forty-two Kingston Road," I whisper.

"Forty-two Kingston Road," he repeats to the officer. "Okay. Okay, sure. Bye."

He places the phone back on the receiver, before exhaling a loud breath, "They said they have some things to tell me, too. It isn't just the interview."

"I'm assuming I'll be out the room for this entire thing," I smile.

"I wish you could stay, but I think they'll want me to be alone," he responds.

I nod in understanding, then walk into the living room. Sitting down on the sofa, I grab the TV remote and switch the television on. Michael enters moments later, and joins me on the sofa. I find a channel with no bias towards male or female programmes, and leave it on. It can just play in the background.

"What room do you think they'll want you in?" I ask.

"Here, or the kitchen, I would imagine," he replies.

"Okay."

I shift my gaze to the TV, watching what happens on the screen. That is, until I feel like Michael's watching me rather than the television screen. Upon turning my head to face him, I spot his cheeks turning a light shade of red – because I caught him looking at me.

"Sorry," he apologises. "I was just looking at your side profile. It's really quite extraordinary."

I knit my eyebrows together in confusion, "Why are you so interested in my side profile?"

"Because I like drawing sometimes. Give me a pencil and some kind of drawing surface, and I can work wonders, I tell you."

"You draw?" I ask rhetorically, "I never knew that."

"Sure I do! Do you have any pencils and paper right now?"

"Uh ... " I pause. "Maybe. I'll go see."

I leave the room quickly to check my cupboards of any artist-like equipment. I haven't told Michael that I draw when I'm bored, so I know I have something, somewhere. Finally finding some paper and pencils, I take them back to Michael, who is waiting with a keen smile on his face.

"Great, you found some! Hey, I bet I could draw your side profile in under two minutes."

"I would be very interested to see you try," I challenge.

I hand the paper and pencils over to him, and he examines the pencils carefully.

"Hm, you got some 2Bs, 4Bs and 6Bs. They'll do just fine," he averts his eyes to me, "Just turn your head, and I'll get to work!"

I laugh, before turning my head so it's sideways to Michael. I hear the scratching of his pencil, but I can't see how he's doing until the two minutes are up.

"You got a minute and a half left," I tell him.

"Yeah, I'm good," he replies.

With more scratching of the pencil, the odd small reaction from Michael to his own art, and our breathing, the time eventually finishes.

"Time's up!" I announce, turning my head to see Michael has his paper drawn up to his chest, "Let me see, Michael?" I request.

"It didn't go as well as I thought it would," he states sadly.

"Let me see," I demand playfully.

His frown dissolves into a smile as he turns his paper around, to reveal the most accurate side profile of a human you would ever see. Of course, the shading is rough scribbles, but the detail he's put in, of my features is simply incredible!

"Wow, I'm impressed!" I gasp, clapping my hands together. "What other things have you drawn apart from people? Anything at all?"

"Uh ... " he shifts his gaze upwards whilst he thinks, "Well, I've drawn trees and houses before. But that's about it."

"Aw," I coo. "Well, you should be an artist for a living. You're the best I've ever seen!"

He lowers the paper down to his side, looking down at the floor shyly, "Ah, thanks." He swats the air with his hand, "But there are far better people out there than me."

"Not many, by the looks of it," I say enthusiastically, "I mean ... wow! I can't believe how good this is."

"You're being too sweet." He flashes an embarrassed smile.

"It's my job. You're my best friend."

He suddenly whips his head around to face me fully, "Repeat that, if you will?"

"It's my job ... ?" I say uncertainly.

"Not that bit. The bit after."

"You're my ... best friend?" I suggest.

He nods, "Yeah, that bit. You seriously think of me as your best friend?" He shifts positions on his half of the sofa, quickly catching a glimpse of what's going on, on TV, "Really?"

"Yes. Why; is that a bad thing?" I question.

"N-No, I just didn't realise you cared for me so much as to call me your best friend," he reiterates.

"Why wouldn't I?" I switch the TV off, before looking directly at him. "Just because we've only known each other a little over forty-eight hours?"

"No; because I'm not a loveable person ... "

An expression of concern invades my face, then I find myself taking his hands in mine. At this, he exhales shakily, as if he just shuddered.

"Michael, you are a loveable person, I promise. Your family loved you very much, and I know you love them too."

"I really do ... " his voice suddenly turns weak and quiet, "With all my heart."

"Exactly," I smile sympathetically at him, "And of course, you have me, too."

He looks down at the floor and nods, obviously feeling a little down, now. I hesitate in my next action, wondering whether I should do it, but then I decide to.

I embrace him tightly, and plant a soft kiss on his cheekbone, just to assure him I do care. At this, he flinches a little, but I don't think he minds that I've done it.

"You're not alone," I tell him.

He doesn't reply straightaway; just simply leans his head on my shoulder like a tired child.

"I know."

Then, he buries his head against my neck, and I allow my hand to stroke his sweet black curls comfortingly. That is, until the door bell rings, causing us both to jump in shock.

"That'll be the police, Michael," I tell him, pulling my hand away from his hair so he can stand himself up, "You better go get that."

He walks out the living room, to the front door, and I decide to just go up to my room so I don't invade their privacy. I guess I'll just read a book, or something.

Arriving at my room, I fall back onto the bed, hearing Michael speak with the police in the doorway, until their footsteps lead into the living room.

I hope it all goes well.

~~

Chapter 8! Hope you enjoyed this chapter!