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I Can Treat You Better...*Part Twelve*
Enjoy! <3 And this personally goes out to my very good friend from the net, Chelsea, who is my number one fan. I put you in the story, just to show my love for you. (no homo)lol! Love ya, Chels! I hope you enjoy this. ---------------------------------------------------------------- *April of 1989* Rick's controlling and abusive ways had gotten worse and worse by the day over the past three months. He had endless and impossible rules that I was forced to obey: I couldn't speak to Michael; I couldn't shave my legs and wear feminine things (I had to wear only sweatpants, T-shirts, and maternity underwear. I couldn't wear thongs, or anything like that); I couldn't shower for more than ten minutes, because if I did, he would think that I was sleeping with another man; I wasn't allowed to use more than six squares of toilet paper, because if I used more, he would suspect that I was cleaning myself up after cheating; and I was forced to watch Rick have sex with other women in our own bed. He said that it was payback for me "having an affair" with Michael, which I didn't do. If I somehow disobey those rules, he would slap, punch, and even choke me. He hit me constantly, leaving bruises, cuts, black eyes, bloody lips, and even broken noses. He had messed up my nose so badly, I had to get reconstructive surgery on it in March of 1989. He would give me cruel and unusual punishments, such as making me sleep on the kitchen floor completely naked and forcing me to shower in cold water. He would always tell me that I was worthless and that I would never amount to anything. And that no other man would ever love me, and that if I wasn't an actress, the only thing that I would ever be smart enough to do was lay on my back and spread my legs for any man in sight, just to make a buck. And soon enough, I started to believe it. I wouldn't look at myself in the mirror, because I fell for what he was telling me. "I'm a worthless whore," I would tell myself. One day, I was sitting gloomily on the couch, with my head down, like I would do every day, while Rick was flying back to Beverly Hills from Indianapolis, since we was on a brief business trip. The phone suddenly rang. I thought it was Michael, so I didn't reach to answer it, because if I even dared to answered, I knew that there was hell to pay from Rick. But it was Elizabeth. Me: Hello? Elizabeth: (sympathetically) Good afternoon, dear. How are you? Me: (trying to hide my sadness) I-I'm alright... Elizabeth: (sighs) Honey, you are not okay. Me: (nervous) W-What do you mean? I'm just perfectly fine. Elizabeth: Well, Michael came to me and he told me that you haven't been answering any of his calls lately, and that you basically ignore him. Me: Uh... By the tone of her voice, I knew that she knew that Rick was abusive to me. Elizabeth: Melinda, my sweet precious angel...this is not you. You would never tolerate anyone putting their hands on you. Me: What? What are you talking about? Elizabeth: You don't have to hide from me, dear. I already know that this man has not been very nice to you. Me: (sniffles) Elizabeth: I have advice for you. Run. Leave him before it's too late. You have a whole life in front of you. Run and reach for it. This man doesn't deserve you. Please leave him. Me: I-I can't. I'm scared...(starting to cry) Elizabeth: Sweetie, you have nothing to be afraid about. You have me on your side, you have Michael on your side, and you also have God on your side. (starts to cry) Melinda, I don't want to see you like this. I don't want to have to see you in a casket. It'll break my heart if I do. You are my sweet angel and I love you with all of my heart and soul. We miss you and we want for you to be safe with us, because we love you. Rick doesn't love you. Me: R-Rick does love me... Elizabeth: No, he doesn't...because if he loved you, he wouldn't ever put his hands on you for no reason at all. Michael calls me every night, crying his poor heart out, because he's afraid for your life, and that something will eventually happen to you. He has nightmares and he worries every day and night for you. Please let us help you. We can save your life. Me: I love you guys, too and I don't wanna die...but it's not that easy. Elizabeth: Try your best to come to us. You have Michael's phone number. You can call him and let him know you're okay. Me: But I'm not allowed to talk to him. Elizabeth: Well...when your boyfriend's not around, please try your best to call him, so he can help you. Please visit me, okay? Me: Yes, Elizabeth. I love you. Elizabeth: I love you too, dear. Take care of yourself. Me: I will. Once I got off the phone with Elizabeth, immediately, I went up to my room, looking for the piece of paper Michael handed me. I hid it from Rick under our matress. I put that in my pocket and I started to pack some clothes and things in my Peter Pan backpack (I was a huge fan of Peter Pan, like Michael). I hid it in my closet, because later on that night, while Rick was asleep, I would just grab it and get out. I planned that I would stay at home when Rick came home, and I planned on giving him lots of beer to make him drunk and pass out, so I could leave. And I did all of that. But instead of originally escaping at 11 pm, I escaped at 10 pm. While Rick was slugged on the couch, with an almost half-drunken beer in his hand, I sneakily crept upstairs, got my bag, and slowly, I walked out the door. I had to get out. Not just from the house, I had to get away from the abuse, the pain, and the suffering that Rick had put me through. I wanted to get away from all of it. I wanted to be happy again. As I drove to Santa Barbara, to get to Neverland, I looked back to all of the shit that Rick had done to me, and I looked at myself in disgust, because I actually tolerated it. How could I go to sleep at night, knowing that I put up with this bullshit? How could I make love to a man that always told me that I was useless and ugly? How could I look in the mirror everyday, aware that I was accepting this unacceptable behavior from Rick, when there were a lot of people that cared about me? I didn't want to live this life anymore. I didn't want to go on accepting this abuse anymore. I was sick of being Rick's punching bag. I was so sick and tired of making all of these excuses for his sorry ass. I was so fed up with not doing anything about the abuse that I had been through for a long time. For God's sake, I was sick and tired of being sick and tired! I was mad at myself, but I was even more mad at Rick for doing this to a good woman, like me. I wanted him to hurt, just like he had hurt me. I wanted him to see what it felt like to be constantly abused and mistreated every single damn day. I wanted him to go through what he had put me through. I hated him to bits, and I seriously wanted to beat the hell out of him. I craved for him to be hurt, to see how it felt inside and how abuse could break down a person inside and out. This abuse made my self-esteem go down really low, and I needed someone to love. I knew that Michael would be more than happy to offer love and comfort to me. So was Elizabeth, and even my fans and my other friends. I never realized how much I had, until I thought again about them. As I drove to the Neverland gate, my stomach started spinning in circles. I was amazed by the beauty and the richness of this place, but nervous at the same time. I was nervous, because I wasn't sure if Michael would ever forgive me for ignoring him for some time. I hoped that everything would be okay. I really wanted to tell him that I was sorry for all of the fear that I had put him through. Nervously, I rang the lovely doorbell, and just then, this maid answered. Maid: (smiles) Hey...you're Melinda Sanders-Smith! Me: H-Hi, ma'am. I'm here to see Michael Jackson... Maid: Oh, of course. Mr. Jackson has talked about you all of the time. Me: (smiles)Um...can I please come in? Maid: Of course I can, Miss Sanders-Smith. Me: Thank you. I stepped inside and my eyes grew wide as the sea! His house was full of pictures of him from when he was a child (Jackson 5 era) to the then-present days (Bad era). The pictures were huge, too. There were endless statues and fountains, and there was such a beautiful garden I could see from the window far away. I sat on the couch, while waiting for Michael, since the maid said that she was going to get him for me. Me: Um...ma'am? Maid: (turns) Yes? Me: What is your name? Maid: Chelsea. Chelsea Jones. Me: (smiles) Hi, Chelsea. You are very pretty. Chelsea: (smiles) Thank you. (gets giddy) Can I please have your autograph? I am a huge fan. Me: (laughs) Sure thing. Chelsea: You can write on my hand since I don't have any paper. Me: Cool. (writes on her hand) Here ya go. Chelsea: Thank you so much. Me: Hey, tell me about yourself. Chelsea: Well, I'm 20 and I'm from Las Vegas. Me: Ooh, Sin City? I remember I shot my first movie there. It was great. Chelsea: (smiles) I know. It's wonderful there. Well, I'm not gonna keep you waitin'. I'll get Mr. Jackson for you. Two minutes later, I saw a half-awake Michael, in his black BAD bathrobe, rubbing his eyes to get the morning crust off his eyes, while yawning. His messy black curls were all over the place and sticking out in every direction. I could've laughed, but I was just so paralyzed with fear, it was almost impossible to laugh. I just stood there. Michael: (gasps) M-Melinda? (eyes grow wide) He looked like he saw the face of Jesus Christ Himself. Me: (nonchalantly) Hey, Michael. With me still standing like a statue, I couldn't hold it any longer. I jumped on him and he held me tightly into his arms, with me receiving a warm, tender, loving hug that definitely made up for three months of no contact. You have no idea how happy I was to see his face again and to feel his comforting, secure arms wrap around my body, keeping me nice, warm, and most inportantly...loved. Me: (tears in my eyes) I missed you so much, Michael. You have no idea... Michael: I feel the same way about you, my precious angel. TBC... Please vote! And Chelsea, I love you!! I hope you really enjoyed this one.
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