The Roommate from Hell (Michael Jackson Fanfic)

Breaking and Entering

Chivonn:

I sat on the couch behind the mess on the coffee table with my arms crossed just fuming waiting on Bryan to come home from work. After a while I heard someone moving around and opening and closing cabinet doors in the kitchen. I heard a trash bag being opened and footsteps back into the bedroom. Michael came out of there a few minutes later with a bag already half full of trash roughly started snatching things off the coffee table and throwing them roughly inside the bag with a clenched jaw and furrowed eyebrows. Damn, how hard is it to clean up after yourself!? I thought as I watched him swing open my front door and slam it behind him carrying the trash bag outside. He came back up to the unit and I could see him through the window standing there smoking a cigarette and pacing.

He came back inside and sat beside me on the couch leaving a section between us.

"Got somethin' else you wan' me to do?" he laid back into the soft couch pillows with terrible posture and stared at me through blood shot, glassy eyes. He even had the audacity to stick one foot upon the newly cleaned off coffee table.

"Yeah, you can leave." I crossed my arms defensively and just looked at him. He sat up and crossed the space on the couch and I stood up. He sighed loudly and stood up swaying slightly as he just stared at me.

"I can't leave... I ain't got nowhere else to go, Chev... Don't be like this, girl. Here take this." He slipped a hand into his pocket and let a couple of twenties, a five, and a few ones roll out of his hand onto the table. A bit of spare change fell out with it and landed on the carpet.

"I don't want your dirty drug money." I said giving the bills on the table a dirty look and looking back at him.

"It ain't drug money. Nigga owed me a debt and I collected." His lips stretched into a lazy smile and he took an unsteady step towards me. "Chivonn, please... I can't go back across town..."

Michael didn't seem like the type to beg, and if it wasn't for the alcohol I don't think he'd be standing here begging, but for whatever reason I couldn't see myself throwing his drunk ass in the streets. The sound of keys in the door could be heard and Bryan walked in. He looked at me and then looked at his friend. Michael and I were still standing there across from each other. The tension in the air was obvious.

"What happened?"

Michael and I both started to talk at the same time.

"He was smoking in the house..."

"I was mindin' my own...I ain't know this was a no smoking zone..."

We paused and looked at each other and then both continued to talk over each other.

"I told him nicely. 'Hey no smoking in the house.' Then your boy proceeds to jump up in my face and call me a bitch!"

"Nigga... she was not nice about it. She comes in yo room...kicks the door open..." he makes an exaggerated actual kick movement in the air almost sending his foot in my face. "What da fuck is goin' on in here you stupid nigga you can't smoke in da house! Get out!" He said mocking me with his neck rolling around on his shoulders and his hand on his hip. With that exaggerated soft tone, if I had closed my eyes I could have sworn he was a woman for a minute.

"Lyin' ass, that is not what happened." I took a step and got closer to his face.

"Bitch, yeah it is too what happened!" He yelled back at me turning to me pressing his chest against mine.

"Call me a bitch again!" I shoved him away.

"Bitch!" He yelled raising his arms over his head.