It was a cool, nice afternoon day on June 14th, 1988.

You had finished touring a couple weeks ago, so now you were resting back home, working on some new songs and whatnot. It’s what a pop star does when not making fans have heartattacks and go batshit insane! Normal days.

Thats just what you did, after all. Being the de-facto “Queen of Pop” was no easy feat. You had to impress every single moment you could, even if it was making people faint just by seeing you from a miles away all the way in the nosebleeds!

…Speaking of your status, you had been feeling quite queasy lately. Random flashes of nausea, food aversion even more hardcore than usual, and for some reason you were extra-extra tired.

This had been going on for about a week and a half at this point. You thought you were just under the weather because you had touched nearly all 7 continents in record time, singing your heart out, so you didn’t think anything of it until now. But when had you ever, ever gotten sick from.. touring? It wasn’t anything you were used to.

Thats when you began to doubt.

Had you eaten anything? Had someone on your team been sick and they just didn’t tell anybody? Were you having a reaction to material used on your performance garb?

Thats when it all came crashing back.

This was before your tour, mere days before.

A random after party get together with various celebrities from around the world. You and Michael had been invited, duh, how were you gonna host an after party with celebrities and not even invite the King and Queen of Pop? You two had always been close ever since you met during both of your teens, only because you really understood what it was like on a personal level. To Michael, you were one in a billion. Ever since that day, your relationship had only gone up, transcending friendship and romantic relations, instead it was something deeper. Almost spiritual with how close you two had gotten, a whole different level of intimacy.

Intimacy..

What happened after that party?

Your mind began to reel through the events that gone on. Party. Someone brought drinks out. A couple sips here and there..

This is when it began to get fuzzy.

You remember being in a limo with Michael, and then the next second being in a hotel..

Oh. Great. Phenomenal, even. You quickly looked down at your stomach. No bloating whatsoever. Maybe it hadn’t been what you were thinking of, maybe you were just overreacting and jumping to conclusions! Or it was just God showcasing he was one of your favorites yet again. That too.

Uughhh… you couldn’t be too sure, though. But who were you gonna ask to retrieve the test? Your manager? That would surely slit your throat if you even hinted at a chance of being pregnant? No thanks. A random fan off the street? Way too risky.

And so. You dial your brothers number. Drag queen. Wasn’t a stranger to discourse and the tabloids seeing one thing and telling another. He accepted with ease and a hint of worry.

An hour later, he gave you the test and now.. you were sitting in your huge, lavish room, pacing south and north with your hands on your head. No, no way. This seriously could not be happening.