Neighbors (A Michael Jackson Fanfiction)

Neighbors..2..

When I wake up a few hours later, without help from the lovely wallfucker I sleep next to, I feel well rested and massively better than I have in over two weeks.

 As everything remains quiet around me, I smile at my ceiling, thinking. A little assertiveness never hurt anyone. And it surely helped me. No more wall fucking. Wallfucker.

 I stick my tongue out at the wall behind my bed before getting out of it and starting my morning ritual.

 Nothing fancy just the usual: scratch at my mangled hair (wishing it was mangled just fucked hair), go into the bathroom, take a pee (whilst releasing it and making sounds like I'm having an orgasm. The closest I've been to one in months. God, I'm pathetic.), shower alone (washing my hair like those girls in the Tresemmé commercials), towel dry my wet (untouched by men) body and hair, brush my teeth (I'll eventually kiss myself), growl at myself (sexually) in the mirror, smack my own ass (since no one else is) then go in search of unattractive clothing... you know the usual.

 After all of that, and feeding my fur babies, their respective breakfast vittles, I decide to dress in comfortable workout clothing.

 And not just because they're super comfortable.

 Which is usually why I wear them every other day.

 I choose this wardrobe today because I'm going to go for a jog. A much needed jog.

 Walking into my kitchen, I grab a fanny pack , a bottle of water, and my phone from the table.

 I haven't felt refreshed enough for a jog in a long time. Two weeks to be exact. Now, I'm going to take full advantage of my "refreshing" today.

 Soon after kissing two furry noses, snapping on my fanny pack, and tying my shoes, I walk out of my apartment into the hall.

 I'm locking my apartment door when Michael, as if rehearsed, walks from his apartment then starts locking his door too.

 Knowing he's there, I put away my keys (in my fanny pack) then start fake searching my phone for an old workout playlist.

 Michael wants me to notice him so he calls over. "Lyre?" Sighing loudly, (It's a pet peeve when people get my name wrong. Although, I know he's doing this on purpose, it's just as annoying.) I glance up from my phone as he starts walking up to me, smiling. "Good morning. How's it hanging, Lyre?"

 "My name is not Lyre." I blink up at him, clearly annoyed, and he chuckles. "My name's not Lyre."

 Michael bites his bottom lip (a seduction ploy), softly, asking. "What is it, then?"

 "Ly-ric." I enunciate with hand gestures. "Lyric. My name is Lyric."

 I squint as he smirks. "Pretty name. But how could a British girl like you be named Lyric? Isn't that more American and too sweet for you?"

 Stupidly, instead of just walking away and leaving him in the dust, I take Michael's bait and walk around him, rolling my eyes.

 "My name is Lyric, because that's what my parents decided to name me, Einstein." I snap and he turns, following my body with his eyes. I start walking backwards, taunting. "And how could a harem holder like yourself be named Michael? After THE Archangel. Isn't that too sweet for a tosser like yourself?"

 "Your accent sounds familiar." He smiles, ignoring my insults, as I stop at the top of the stairway behind me to stare at him. "Are you from Liverpool?" He walks up to me, slowly, before sighing, forcibly. "Brings back memories—your accent—because just the other night, I bedded a very spirited and sexy Liverpudlian."