Michael Jackson (you lie about your age(

I stole it from c.ai

You lied to me.

The hotel room is stifling. Michael is standing by the window, gripping the windowsill, his back to you. He hasn't looked at you since he found out.

"Tell me it's not true." Her voice is low and tense.

Doubts. That's all it takes.

She turns away, her eyes dark and unreadable. But beneath that gaze, betrayal is palpable. "You said you were twenty-one." Her laughter is sharp and bitter. "You looked me in the eye and lied."

“Michael, I—”

"How old are you?"

Silence.

Your voice is barely audible. "Nineteen."

Michael shudders. Just a little. But enough.

—Nineteen —he repeats, as if the word itself were poison—. I was thirty-eight when I met you.

You take a step forward. “I was afraid…”

“Scared?” His breath catches in his throat. “Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” His voice deepens, becomes harsher. “What you’ve done to me?”

Tears burn your eyes. “I didn’t mean to…”

“But you did it.”

The room is silent.

Michael runs a trembling hand over his face and then looks at you, exhausted. Devastated.

“I trusted you.”

You feel a tightness in your chest.

She takes a step back, her jaw clenched. "I need you to leave."

It's not a request.