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Chapter 13 – Michonne


"Studying hard?"


"Hm?"


"I just… You had your head down like you were really studying hard. But, on second glance it looks like you were actually… sleep?"


"Sorry, hey. I'm just so tired, and I'm on antibiotics for a sinus infection. I'm a mess." Removing my glasses, I lift my head from the pages of my textbook that I apparently decided to take a nap in, and rub at my weary eyes.


Taking a seat in front of me at the table, Mike sets his cup of coffee and backpack down. "Ouch. Those always seem to get you around this time of year don't they? Allergies acting up too?"


"Yeah. And I need to study for a test on Monday. So, that mixed with antibiotics, and Bendaryl, along with it just being a really long and shitty day are threatening to do me in. What are you doing here so late?" I ask on a yawn, sitting up to stretch my fatigued body and stiff muscles.


"Same. You know I'm a night owl. And I wanted to get some stuff done before the Kappa Kostume ball tomorrow night. Remember?"


"Oh yeah. You guys always throw the best parties." I nod with a slight grin to my lips, remembering how true that statement is. Last year I went with Mike to his frat's annual Halloween party, the Kappa Kostume ball, and we dressed up as M&Ms. Corny, but appropriate, and of course we didn't just do the regular rounded costume candies one would expect. His mother Jacqui, who is a pretty dope seamstress, whipped up a cool red suit with the 'M' for Mike, suit coat, top hat, cane and all. And a green, princess like, wedding style dress for me. Basically we looked like we were getting married, as M&Ms. It was cute, and we partied so hardcore that night, and into the next morning, that we crashed at his apartment and didn't even attempt coming up for air the following Sunday. It's one among a million other fond memories I have of my long running friendship with Mike.


"So, why are you here studying, and not at your apartment?" He asks, taking a sip of his coffee, focusing his wondering stare on me.


"Ah, Sasha had company. It was kinda loud, so I decided to come here so I could concentrate."


"Good ol Sasha. That girl never changes. Heard she was seeing a senator now?"


"Senator's son. He's a lobbyist I think? Not sure, but he's an ok guy so far. Not sure how long he will last, but, she's with him for now, and they are leaving in the morning to head to DC to visit with his parents. This one might be serious." I answer.


"Hm. Well, check you out, Mich, with this new haircut. Very dramatic, right? Something happen to make you do this to yourself?" Scrunching up his face a bit, the distaste for my new haircut is quite obvious in the bite of his tone, and the words he chose to use.


"Dramatic? I think it's a good look on me. I've gotten a lot of compliments."


"Of course you did. You're a beautiful woman, Mich. Wonder what your new friend thinks of this look. You know they like long, straight hair." He smirks, eyes latched on to mine over the rim of his coffee cup.


"I don't really think it's a good idea to talk about him with you."


"Why? Because of your birthday? I'm done with that. You know I'm not about that kinda drama."


"Good. Anyway, he likes it. So, I guess you're wrong there. He doesn't care how I wear my hear actually." Smugness in my voice, I repeat a statement has made about my hair.


"Well, I prefer the long, straight hair, but this makes you look like a doll baby, so I guess it has its charm. You know you've got these cute round cheeks, and the big eyes. Heart lips." Mike trails off the last bit, his warm mocha eyes narrowing in on each feature. Realizing how his statements must have come off, and possibly sensing my discomfort, he tilts his head to the side and smiles. "Sorry. Bad habit."


"No worries. Thank you, though. I think?" Squirming in my seat a bit, slightly thrown off by his affectionate assessment of my looks, I reach for my own coffee and take a long swig hoping that the burst of caffeine will give me a needed jolt to wake me up a little more.


"What made you cut it? The Michonne I know has always had long hair. I remember when you were a little girl, and you wanted bangs and your mom told you no, so you cut some on your own! Tragic, Mich." Chuckling, a wide smile breaks out on his handsome face, as Mike recalls the memory from the year I turned 12 and he was 14. I remember that year well. It was the first time I actually had an inkling that Mike paid any attention to me in a way that didn't involve riding bikes, and playing video games. I mean really paid attention, like a boy does a girl he's interested in. The way that I was interested in him. It was the same year my boobs started coming in, and I wanted to look more mature for him, to get him to really notice me and put me and my raging crush on him out of our misery.


Unfortunately for me, at the time there was a girl named Tracy that he had been dating. And she had bangs. She was also his age, and in junior high with him. When I met her at his house once while my parents visited his, and she was over visiting Mike, I remembered feeling envious that he liked her, but also noticed that she was so different from me. Tracy was very light skinned, got to wear hoop earrings, and had long, flowy hair, that her parents allowed her to wear down around her shoulders. And in contrast there was me. This skinny, dark skinned tomboy, whose mother still wouldn't even let her press her thick, kinky hair, that was still worn in natural puffs or braids. But my boobs were starting to come in as little pointed triangles that pressed the limits of my camisole undershirts, and Abercrombie t-shirts, to the point that my father told my mom it was definitely time for her to handle that and get me something to hide those things. On the other hand, I was excited though because they represented something I had, that Mike's current girlfriend Tracy did not.


Tracy did have those bangs that she kept brushing across her face though, tossing them dramatically from her brows and eyes as though she were a supermodel. My immature, juvenile mind somehow came to the conclusion that trying to chop my own naturally, coily hair, into a set of wispy, eye skimming bangs, would give me equal romantic footing with Mike. When I pled my case to my parents my father stalled me out and told me my hair was my glory and that I was not allowed to cut it, and my mother pretty much stuck with my father's judgment. Of course my 12-year-old logic dismissed that, and needless to say it did not turn out well.


"Oh my god, yeah that was such a bad idea. I cut them wet like white folks do, and they were so damned short and uneven, and poufy! I cried before my mother saw them, when she saw them, and for like a few days after because my hair was so jacked up!" I laugh, joining Mike in his continuous amusement over my very first hair cut.


"It was awful, but you were still cute. Still are. I guess this cut suits you a little more than that one though, huh?"


With my laughter dying down, a small smirk remains on my lips. "Yeah I think so." Taking a breather from the revelry that this stroll down memory lane has kicked up, I turn the direction of the conversation to Mike, genuinely curious how he has been since everything that happened at my birthday party. "So, what have you been up to?" Part of me knows I shouldn't be continuing with this late night catch up session, seeing as it's nearly midnight, and I need to get up and drive to King County tomorrow to see Rick, and go with him to a physical therapy appointment. But another part of me is enjoying the easy way that Mike and I have always been able to just be ourselves with each other. The way we come from similar worlds with shared experiences. And honestly, less drama than the racist mothers, terrible ex-girlfriends, and gunshot wounds that I have been dealing with lately. It's difficult for me to admit it, but I could use the moment to decompress with a friend. Other than Sasha, Mike is my oldest friend, and though I would never admit it to Rick, I do miss him.


"Studying, interning, applying for grad schools, taking the GRE. Got accepted to Georgia Tech. Still holding out for MIT though. I'm a little worn out already actually. Maybe a little anxious too."


"I know the feeling, but you know you have nothing to worry about. You've been planning to attend there for grad school forever, and MIT will be happy to accept you. You'll hear from them soon."


"It was our plan. You at Harvard Law, me at MIT. How's your half working out?"


"I'm really pushing it with the class load so I can finish in the fall, and getting back home as much as possible. I can't even consider an internship right now. LSATs are next month, and I'm just waiting to hear from Georgetown, Stanford, and of course Harvard. I guess I'm worn out too, Mike. Maybe anxious too." Running my hand over my shorter hair, I lean back in my chair, exhausted at just the thought of everything I have going on.


"You don't need to be. You'll get in all of them. Hey, but why are you going home so often? Your mom ok?" Tilting his chin my way, Mike leans forward on the table, crossing his arms over his chest.


"Um, Rick was shot at work last month. I've been trying to help him through his recovery when I can."


"Damn. That's fucked up. Though I won't lie and say I'm broke up about it or anything like that. You know I hate that guy, but it sucks that you have to give up so much of your time for something like that."


"I'm happy that I can do it, be there for him. But, you know what? I shouldn't have told you that. It's awkward, and it's not fair to discuss him with you. I know you guys pretty much hate each other so…"


"Whatever. What's he gonna do when you really leave next year?" He dismisses with an agitated wave of his hand, dismissing any discussion of Rick's health, and reminding me that I have yet to discuss my law school plans with him. Aggravating me even further, even though I know their history, his response does kind of rub me the wrong way. Who acts that way when you tell someone that another person, a human being was shot? Lost in the odd feeling his response conjures in me for a moment, my gaze drops to my hands and away from his face. I suppose he realizes that my focus on this conversation has waned and he reaches out for me, gently brushing the tips of his fingers across my cheek. "Hey listen, why don't you come to the Kappa Kostume ball tomorrow night? Come have a good time, unwind. Relax."


"I don't think I will. It's probably not a good idea." Pulling back from his touch, I shake my head, still put off by him and his contemptuous words regarding Rick.


"If you say so. No pressure, but I know you, and you look like you could use a breather. Blow off some steam and just hang out. And you don't have to worry, I won't bother you or anything." Reaching out to me again, this time he lands his hand on my own that's resting on the table. Clasping it tightly with both of his, he lowers his voice to a low pleading whisper. "I want what's best for you. No strings attached, no drama. I promise."


Hesitating, I don't answer him immediately. Instead I just allow my eyes to survey the near empty coffee house, with its eclectic mix of cozy, mismatch couches, chairs, and tables. On a deep sigh, I have to admit that it would be nice to unwind a little bit. Rick getting shot really turned my usually structured world, into an upside down, chaotic mess. And it's completely not his fault, as he has encouraged me to stay at school more, and not try to always be in King County with him. But, deep inside, I know I can't do that.


My angst and anxiety about his shooting, the thought of losing him, motivates me to be with him as much as possible. Sometimes it feels like as long as he's in my sight, my arms, in my space, then I can relax in the certainty that he's not gone. That he hasn't somehow abandoned me to live out this life without him. Honestly my heart can't bear the thought. Many nights have passed when I'm back in Atlanta, and I wake from nightmares of him dying, or in a coma, stuck in a world in between me and death. Or simply deciding that if I can't be there for him, then he can't be there for me. I know that based on his mother's mention of Lori trying to be at the hospital when he was shot, that she is just waiting in the wings to swoop in and take him back from me. I can't let her. I have to take care of him, to let him know that I am here for him, and that I can do it all. Even if my attempts to do just that, are now threatening to break me.


At first I was doing really well balancing everything. Since I only have classes on Monday through Thursday, I would be in Atlanta on those days, then head to King County on Thursday nights, and be with Rick. On Monday mornings I would drive back to school, joining the early commuters into the city, just in time for my 8 am class. With Rick home and off work, it was nice to have him all to myself every weekend, to do nothing but watch television, go to the movies, hang out. It was like the summer never ended, and things had never changed. But, they did change. Because I wasn't studying, researching or writing papers on the weekends to keep up with my heavy schoolwork, I began missing deadlines. A few times I found myself unprepared for a test, and not performing as well as I should have. None of this is how I usually operate when it comes to school. Hell, even when it comes to life. I guess I'm used to being able to compartmentalize my feelings so that they don't take over and manipulate my ability to manage my life. This is a lesson I learned in therapy after my father died. How to now become too driven by emotion. Maybe my feelings for Rick are causing me to regress? To fall into an old pattern that almost destroyed me?


Of course I have never mentioned any of this to Rick, because I didn't want him to feel any kind of way about me choosing him over pretty much everything, even myself. Being the perceptive person that he is, he would often ask me about school, noting how he remembered that his last year of undergrad was the hardest. Effortlessly, I would dodge his attempts to query about my schedule and handling of everything, and instead would direct his attention to more amorous pursuits, usually involving just kisses because of his shoulder.


Even that has changed for us. Despite the fact that we are still spending a good deal of time together, our sexual activity has pretty much come to a screeching halt, dwindling down to hugs and kisses. It's pretty tame to be honest. At first it was just about getting him home from the hospital, and setup comfortably where he can take care of himself, and I could help. Then it just felt wrong to want to have sex when he was recovering from a gunshot wound that still caused him a good deal of pain. Now that he is nearly recovered, and should be heading back to work within the next two weeks, his kisses have gotten more passionate, aggressive. And my libido is in overdrive, with me masturbating what I can only assume is an ungodly amount. Definitely more than before I met him. After being turned out by Rick this summer, being satisfied on such a frequent occurrence, I now feel I'm being cruelly punished given our drought. A six-week long drought to be exact. A drought that has me ready to crawl out of my skin I need him so bad.


Thinking that Mike might be right, that he does know me better than most, I'm actually considering attending the party. "Maybe. I'm sure I could throw a costume together."


"There you go! You know you love a party."


"You're right about that. I'll see what I can do. Thanks for the invite." Just then my phone lights up, and I see a text from Rick.


Rick: I'm tired. About to head to bed. You feeling better? Meds working?


Momentarily I glance down to read his message, and feel a slight twinge of guilt that I'm sitting here with Mike. As such I quickly text him back to let him know I'm also heading to bed, and I'm feeling a little better.


"Is there a problem?" Mike asks, pointing towards my phone, and probably taking note of the way I quickly responded to the message.


"No problem. I'm gonna get home though, it's kind of late."


"Alright. Let me walk you out to your car then. This place may still be open, but there are a lot of creeps out around this area, especially as late as it is."


"Thanks. Just let me pack this stuff up, then I'm ready." Closing my laptop, and gathering my books, I stuff everything down into my backpack, and rise from the table, ready to leave.


Grabbing my bag from my hands, and picking up his own things, Mike follows me to the front door of the coffee house, as we both toss a quick goodbye to our favorite barista Marti.


"See you guys later. It's so nice to see you both in here together again. It's been so long, I was about to get worried, but here you are. You guys are so cute together!" She gushes, then heads back to cleaning tables, and preparing to close the shop for the night.


Mike and I both seem taken aback by her words, and neither of us can find the right thing to say in response, so we say nothing at all. Only offer an uncertain smile, and leave out of the door as she locks it behind us.


"Sorry. I seem to be saying that every time I see you. Should just get it tatted on my forehead, huh?"


"No. It is weird for us not to be together. I mean, if I'm being honest. We have been friends for a long time."


"Yep. How about we stop saying sorry, and just figure out how to be friends again, so that we don't have to be sorry." Stopping at my car, Mike stands in front of me, his eyes downcast towards his shoes, as he shuffles them uncertainly. "This separation is killing me. You're one of the only people who really knows me, Mich. Who else could I watch Star Wars marathons with? It is taking me time to figure out the correct way to navigate this, and it's hard for me. On your birthday I thought the bracelet would help bridge this gap between us. That you would open your eyes and see me again. See us. Mikey and Michy."


"Mike, I do still see you. You are definitely one of the people in this world I am, was, closest to. But, I fell in love, and it is confusing that it wasn't with you." I confess, tears distorting my view of his handsome face.


"It's that fucking guy. I tried, but I can't fight and win over whatever hold it is he has on you. You say you fell in love with him, and what can I do with that, Mich? How do I combat that?" Standing over me, Mike has dropped our bags on the ground now, and begins a slow, frustrated pace back and forth.


Reaching out towards him, wanting to put an end to his suffering, needing to soothe him, like I always have, I offer the only piece of comfort that my heart will allow. "I can't explain what it is is about him and me, and I don't have to. I don't owe you that. But, we are still friends, Mike. We always will be. Mikey and Michy." I point to him and then back to myself.


Coming to a halt at my repeat of the tag team name that we have always been known as, he stares at me, eyes taking the full measure of my face. Looking for the truth there. "Then I will take friendship, if I can have it. If you will still give it. I'm falling apart without you because I do love you still. Even though I know you don't love me like that." Anguish, unlike any emotion I have ever seen Mike struggle with is evident in his features. The deep furrow of his naturally arched brows. The frown of his perfect lips.


"But, I do love you as my friend. Always my friend, Mikey." Hugging him, I'm once again ensconced in the memories and history that we so easily share. The years and years of good times and friendship all flooding back to me as I rest in his arms. The vibration of my phone in my back pocket signals that I have another text, probably from Rick, but I don't immediately answer, feeling as though I owe this moment to Mike and to myself. To hopefully finally resolve the turmoil between us, and put it to rest in the hopes of continued friendship.


Rick: Where are you?




"Storm! You came as Storm. How perfect is that? Your boy came as Black Panther. There is no way you can get me to believe that you guys didn't plan that out together. I guess Mikey and Michy are back together?"


"No, Terry, we are not back together. And, double no, we did not plan the costumes. I literally just found this at a comic book shop this morning."


"Well wait till Mike sees you, he's gonna flip. Hey listen, just because you and Mike aren't together anymore doesn't mean you can't still hang out with the bruhs you know. You and I are friends, too. Remember last summer in Savannah? You and I whooped everybody at spades. Best partner I've ever had."


"Sure, Terry, I know. I've just been super busy. You know this is my last year of undergrad too."


"Cool, yeah I know. I heard you got a new boyfriend as well. A white cop, Michonne? That's… crazy, right?" Terry questions, his face screwed up in clear distaste.


"It's not." Flatly, I respond, not wishing to elaborate.


"Alright, you don't have to get pissy with me, I'm just asking the question. Come on and dance with me, girl, and stop looking at me so mean." Grabbing my hand, Terry leads me out to the dance floor. As usual Mike and his frat have done an amazing job, not only drawing a huge crowd of costumed party goers, but also with the decorations around the club, as well as the great DJ who is mixing in some classics like Michael Jackson's Thriller, with some more contemporary stuff like Kanye West's Monster, all in trying to keep with the Halloween theme.


Dancing with Mike's best friend Terry for a couple of songs, I'm sweaty and a little tired, but I'm enjoying myself immensely. It's been awhile since I've gone to a club, and I hate to admit it but I miss it. The crowds, hanging out with friends, the loud thump of the heavy bass in the music driving my body to sway and grind to the beat. What I don't miss is the way that these 5 inch heeled boots are beginning to hurt my feet, signaling that it's definitely time for a break.


"Terry, I'm gonna go hit the bar and chill for a minute."


"You want me to get you a drink? They won't serve you without ID."


"Um, nah, I have a sinus infection, taking meds. You know I don't really drink like that anyway. I'm just going to see if I can find a seat at the bar and get a water."


"Why? Cause your boyfriend is a cop? Mike didn't mind you drinking as long as it was in moderation. Girl, come on and get you a drink and loosen up." Terry is a little grabby, taking a hold of my hand and kind of dragging me behind him towards the bar.


I'm not a saint, I have definitely had alcohol before while I was hanging with friends, partying, whatever. My own mother allows me to drink wine as long as I'm home with her and not driving. I've even had a beer with Rick before, even though I'm not particularly fond of the taste. But one of the rules I have always had for myself is that I have to be with someone I trust, especially if I'm out. Usually that person is Sasha, and before it used to be Mike. I would normally have something really sweet and light, like maybe an amaretto sour, nothing really hard because I'm obviously under the legal age, but also because I don't like the taste of the hard stuff too much. But I don't see Mike right now, and while Terry is a friend, he's not someone that I trust enough to really have a drink with.


"Hey, let me get my girl here a… What's that drink you like so much, Michonne?"


"No thanks, Terry. I'm not drinking." I shake my head, again declining his offer of a drink. Directing my attention to the bartender I order for myself. "I'll have a bottled water please."


"Damn, girl. Alright." The bartender returns with a glass of Hennessey for Terry, and he leans on the bar next to me as he quietly takes a sip. Staring into the crowd, I'm growing agitated by his thwarted efforts to get me to drink with him, and can feel his scrutinizing gaze traveling up and down my frame, donning a tight black one-piece suit, adorned with gold trim, and a cape. I've topped it off with a white wig, Storm's tiara headpiece, and of course my favorite thigh high black boots. From the side I'm startled a little to see Mike approaching where we are situated at the bar.


"Well, here's my wife Storm, huh? We couldn't have done better if we had actually planned these costumes could we?" He chuckles, happiness so clear in his eyes. "Glad you could make it." Mike grins down at me and pulls me into a strong hug. Sporting a very authentic looking Black Panther costume, sans the mask, he smells great, still wearing that Polo Blue, and looking even better.


"Guess you found me." I nervously back away from him, not wanting to send the wrong message, or get caught up in anything with Mike. I've been here before and I don't want a replay of my birthday party, even if Rick isn't here.


"Been here long?"


"She's been dancing with me for about a half hour. I tried to get her a drink, but she won't drink with me. Guess I don't have the magic touch that you do." Terry tosses out. Grabbing his drink from the bar, he walks away in a bit of a huff.


"Good girl, Mich. You know you shouldn't drink with anyone you don't trust. And, well, I see you have remembered enough of the stories I've told you about Terry to know he isn't to be trusted… at least not like that. Not with you."


"I remembered."


"Good. Do you want a drink though? I know you like those amaretto sours. I'll get you one if you want." He tilts his head to nod towards the bar.


"Uh. You know what? Ok, just one." Now that the unsettling scenario with Terry is resolved by Mike's presence replacing his, I'm back in a partying mood. And the great thing about Mike is that even if we aren't together, I think I know him well enough to know that I can trust him not to try and take advantage of me.


"Cool. Bartender, lemme get an amaretto sour, and a vodka and cranberry."


Waiting for a moment, the loud music settles between us, swaying our bodies a little to the beat. Picking up the drinks, Mike hollers over the music for me to follow him, which I instantly do. Sticking closely to him, not wanting to get lost in the crowd, I'm being pushed and jostled around and as a result I'm a little unsteady on my feet in my high heeled boots. Eventually I do fall though, getting roughly pushed to the ground by a big guy rushing through the crowd. I catch myself before I land flat on my ass. Yelling out for Mike to wait, he somehow hears my voice over the large gathering of dancing partygoers and returns for me. Hurrying over to me, balancing our drinks in one hand, and pulling me up to him with the other, he wraps his strong arm around my waist to steady me.


"What happened?" He looks down into my face, clear concern in the swirling chocolate of his eyes, and the downturned frown of his lips.


"That big guy over there pretty much knocked me over."


"Who? In the Hulk costume?" Scanning the crowd, Mike finds the guy standing a few feet away, and doesn't wait for a confirmation before he's handing me our drinks, and charging over to him.


"Hey, motherfucker, apologize to my girl for pushing her. She could have been hurt. You need to be more fucking careful!" Standing toe to toe with the guy dressed up like the Hulk, it would be almost funny to see Black Panther and Hulk in a confrontation if I didn't sense that things were actually quite serious. The guy has at least fifty pounds on Mike, but he doesn't seem to care. With his chest bulked out, and his shoulders pulled back, he looks rather menacing, and I know that this can easily get ugly if I don't step in.


"Aye, man, I didn't even notice her, Mike. Calm down. I'm sorry, Michonne." The big guy responds, giving me a big grin.


"No big deal. These heels make me a little clumsy anyway. Mike, let's go out to the patio and cool off for a moment. Ok?"


"Yeah, man. Listen to your fine ass girl. You might wanna go with her before I do." Looking me up and down with an appreciative glare, he's smirking and chuckling at his own words, as though he's said something clever. Which he didn't.


"Come on, Mike. Please. Let's go." Grabbing a hold of his arm, Mike's focus on the guy's face breaks, and he looks down towards me. Perhaps he can see the anxious look on my face, or feel the tension in my stiff hold on him, but for whatever reason he decides to listen to me, and begins walking away.


Once he has led me out onto the patio, and we take a seat at one of the tables I feel at ease enough to finally release the tight breath I have been holding since Mike pulled me up from the floor.


Sitting for a moment we don't speak. Mike barely touches his drink, while I kick back mine, and devour it in one gulp, needing to take the edge off the drama of the evening. Finally looking at me from his seat next to mine, he swivels his head my way. "You ok, Mich?"


"Yeah I'm cool. It's a crowded party, Mike. Folks are drinking. It wasn't a big deal that I fell down."


"He could have at least apologized. I don't want motherfuckers being rude to my girl."


"Mike, I'm not your girl anymore though. I can handle myself." Giving him a small smile I'm trying to delicately remind him of where our relationship actually stands.


"You will always belong to me, Mich. I can't just turn that shit off. Especially not with everyone around us reminding me that you are - were mine. That's something I don't want to apologize for anymore."


"I can't make you, but as long as you and I know the truth, I guess it doesn't matter does it?"


"And what truth is that?"


"Let's talk about something else." I offer, not wanting to hurt him any further with the reality of our situation, but also growing frustrated at the way he seems to keep struggling with the truth even as I try to help him accept it while still maintaining a semblance of our old friendship. Things quiet down again between us, as it appears as though there are no words left to say. Slumping in my chair, I decide it's time to call it a night. My feet are killing me, and I'm beginning to feel a little dizzy from the mix of my sinus infection, antibiotics, and liquor. Checking around me, I drearily realize that I dropped my clutch bag that has my phone, money, and my keys in it, somewhere between the bar and the patio. "Damn it!"


"What's wrong?"


"I lost my bag with my stuff in it." Dropping my face in my palm, I groan at the ridiculous way this night is turning out. What I hoped would be a fun way to unwind from the stressfully tense coil of my life, has instead turned into more drama than I bargained for. "Can you help me find it really quick? I'm ready to head home."


"Yeah. Come on."




"Thanks for taking me home, Mike. I can't believe I lost all my stuff."


"I'm sure someone will turn it in. Probably without the phone and money, but you will at least get your keys back so you can get your car." He muses, pulling up to a space in front of my condo.


Immediately, I notice two things that immediately freeze me in my seat. Rick's blue truck is parked in one of the spots designated for Sasha's and my use, and the man himself is perched on the step in front of my door. Squinting into the bright blare of Mike's headlights, I can see the moment that he realizes it's me in the car that has just pulled up, because of the wide smile that covers his handsome face. When that smile melts into a furious frown, I know he has also identified Mike as the driver.


"You want me to walk you to the door?" Mike throws his gaze from a now standing Rick, to me, seated nervously in the passenger seat.


"No. Thanks for the ride, Mike." With uncertainty, feeling the strength of Rick's stare into the car as he slowly approaches, slightly favoring his left arm, holding it close to his body, I reach for the door. Before I can pull the lever, he opens it, offering me his hand. "Hi, Rick." I lean up and kiss him on the cheek. He turns his head to kiss me back, an unreadable look on his face.


Patting me on the bottom, still holding my hand, he ushers me towards my condo, but he doesn't move to join me just yet. Briefly I glance back to him, our eyes connecting as he watches me walk to the door, and he gifts me with a quick wink, somewhat stilting any concerns I have for what comes next. Patiently waiting at the door for him, I witness him angle his body into the open passenger door of Mike's car. The light breeze in the air carries the strong tenor of his voice to me, though its directed at Mike. "Thank you for bringing her to me." No other words are offered. Rick closes the door and ambles over to where I stand.


"Have you been waiting long?" Nervously I'm fidgeting with the fake plant on the doorstep that houses the front door key in the bottom of the pot.


"About an hour." Cool and even he answers me. No inflection either high or low to indicate his mood.


"I didn't know you were coming, or I would have told you where the key was so you could let yourself in." I glance at him over my shoulder, finding him close enough to feel the warmth of his body on my back.


"No problem. I did call, and text. No answer, no response. It's ok though, I don't mind waiting for you." Finally, his voice offers a tiny hint to how he's feeling, his phrase coming out with a minor undertone of resolved sadness, despite the hint of a smile that's flitting across his lips.


As I open the door, and hide the key back under the plant, Rick places his hand firmly to the small of my back, and follows closely behind and into the dark house. "Nice costume."


Clearing my throat, waiting on the other shoe to drop, for his temper to show itself, for him to question me about being out with Mike, I turn to him. "Thanks. How's your shoulder feeling? I can't believe you drove all the way here."


"It's fine. I had physical therapy this morning. They're gonna clear me for light work duty next week. Probably something at a desk, but I need to get back to it. I need to feel like myself again."


"I forgot about your appointment. I was supposed to come and go with you." Cringing I remember that I blew him off today in favor of a party, and the guilt begins to rush in. "I'm sorry. I meant to call you and let you know I was going to this Halloween thing tonight, but I forgot. And I lost my purse with my phone and keys in it at the club. That's why Mike brought me home." I blurt out, my conscience forcing me to confess my selfishness, as my heart beats a mile a minute, nervously anticipating the worst.


"It's fine. Let's go in the bedroom and get you out of this costume." Clasping my hand, he kicks off his boots, then quietly leads me to my bedroom.


Without any protest, or any further explanations I follow him, still wondering over his seemingly subdued reaction to something that should be all rights send him into a fit of anger. I know I would not be so calm if the shoe were on the other foot. As soon as I enter the room behind him, he closes the door with his hand, leaving it pressed to it just above my head. In the darkness of my bedroom, his beautiful eyes glow a transparent, almost silvery grey as he fastens them on my own. In those eyes I detect so much love there, but again, a small tinge of something sad swims among it, and puts a slight damper on the arousal pumping blood through the chambers of my heart. Needing to understand what's going on with him, I raise my hand to caress through the prickly hairs of his newly grown out beard. Dark, chestnut brown, it thickly surrounds his soft pink lips, attracting my attention immediately. I know he likes it, when I caress his face like this. In thanks, he closes his eyes and turns his face into my hand, lightly pecking and tracing the lines of my palm with his lips.


Lowering my hands from his face to his chest, I can feel the heat of his skin just under his plaid button up shirt, and sense the steady thumping pulse of his heart beat. Unbuttoning his shirt, my fingers work quickly to unveil his firm chest to me. Rolling my hands upwards and underneath the cloth, I stop at his left shoulder, devastated at the memory and the slightly raised feeling of the wound and stitches underneath the pads of my fingers. Remembering him laying in that hospital bed nearly brings me to tears, weakening my resolve, dampening my need for sex, and heightening my anxiety. Sensing the shaking hesitance of my touch, Rick places his hand over mine, pressing it more firmly to the healed wound.


"You don't have to be afraid to touch me, Michonne. I'm not broken."


Sobering at the veracity of his words, and the intense heat in his glare, my body begins to warm again, as though his confident assurance that he is no longer wounded has ignited my slumbering libido. "I've missed being with you like this, Rick." I admit, desire pooling in my gut and pushing the confession out.


"Me too, pretty girl. You feeling better? You been taking your meds?" Dipping down a little, his face is now buried in the crook of my neck. His wet tongue begins to lap at the responsive skin there, his teeth nipping and biting.


Catching the vibrations of a low growl against me, I toss my head back and simply utter a weak yes. Grabbing on to the fine wisps of his curly hair, my other hand is wrapped around his back, squeezing and crushing him to my breasts.


"Good. I need to make love to you. It's been too long." Whimpering at the honest need in the break of his words, and the image they evoke in my mind, I'm wantonly pressing my body against his, lifting my hips, needing him to feel the eager heat between my open legs. Met with the steel of his cock, my legs grow weak with the hunger to be filled by it's heavy girth. "Take this off." He grunts. Feeling him hurriedly tug at the white tressed wig I'm still wearing, and at my costume, I begin to wiggle to try and get out of it. Inching my arms and shoulders free from the material, I nudge Rick back from me a little so that I can unzip my boots, remove them, and then shove the costume, as well as my thong panties, the rest of the way off my body. To which he only responds with a grunted "Hm. I like those boots on you. Next time leave them on. Just the boots."


"Now you." I drop to my knees and unbuckle his belt and jeans. Tugging them, along with his boxers down his legs, his dick springs free from the confines of his clothes, heavy and erect, angling upwards towards his stomach. Mouth watering, I want to taste him, it's been so long since I've felt the long heft and veiny weight of him against my lips, on my tongue. Reading the desire in my eyes, Rick lifts me from my knees.


"I won't last long if you do that. I need you now. Save that for later." Laughing at the surprised look on my face, at Rick turning down head, which he has never done, he takes advantage of my lips being slightly apart and thrusts his tongue inside. Latching his lips over mine, sucking and licking with an almost feral hunger, only moans can be heard between us in the quiet of the room. Our greedy hands roam and familiarize themselves with the other's body, mapping and recalling the tingling sensation of our erogenous zones. Releasing the clasp at the back of my bra with one hand, Rick tugs it loose, then backs up to the bed.


Kicking his jeans and underwear that are pooled around his ankles, off, leaving them in a puddle somewhere near my Storm costume, he sits on the edge of the bed, completely nude. The sight of him nearly gives me an orgasm. The firm sinew of his lean muscle traversing the length of his torso, now flushing red from apparent arousal. His legs, opened wide to reveal his needy desire to me, are covered in hair, tightly bunched at the calves with muscle. And of course that face, that handsome, rugged, newly bearded face, fixed with features too beautiful for a man. Long eyelashes, luscious pink lips, eyes so icy and blue I'm certain they can see through me, straight into my heart where so much love and fear intermingle that it's sometimes hard for me to understand my own feelings. Driving me a little crazy.


Leaning towards me, he offers me his hand. Strong and warm, he wraps his slender fingers around my lax, limply resting one. "Come here, pretty girl. I want you to ride me. I need to feel all of you."


"Are you sure?" I wonder aloud, stepping to him. Standing before him, I'm looking down at the love of my life, almost in tears at how much I've missed this intimate connection. These times when we are completely naked of anything but our love and need for each other. Where despair and loss don't color every thought, every move, every decision to come or go, rest or breathe.


"Yeah. I don't trust my shoulder to hold me up just yet. I'm too heavy, might crush you." Rubbing his face into my abdomen, Ricks laces my stomach with a series of wet kisses, pecks of his lips, topped off with barely audible whispers. There is some unknown disquiet in his anxious movements, in the desperate clutch of his fingers around my thighs and ass. "You make me feel so needy, pretty girl. Like I can't breathe without you. I'm sorry." Dropping his head back, he focuses those misty blues on me. But I don't see happiness swirling there anymore, lust and melancholy dominate him now. And it unnerves me, causes me to falter, and take a tentative hold of his face in a frenzied drive to erase whatever plague is causing such conflict to torment him.


"What's wrong, baby?"


"Nothing." He shakes his head, the word breaking and cracking his deep voice. Instead of allowing me to continue to coddle him, he cradles me in his arms and pulls me down on to his length, impaling me to bursting fullness. It has been weeks, almost two months since we have been together like this, and the stretch is a delicious pain/pleasure mix. Since our first time together I have gotten much better at riding him. Knowing that he likes it slow to begin, to open me up just right, so I pop my ass, ascending up, until nothing but his tip remains inside, nestled by the damp plumpness of my labia and pussy lips. Downward, I smoothly slip to the base, met by a dark thatch of pubic hairs, consuming him fully. I continue this way, until it's not enough, and we're greedily grasping at each other. Increasing the rising speed to my bounce, a surge of the tight friction of my walls sliding against the length of his shaft drives Rick into a fit of curses muttered over my kiss swollen lips.


"Fuck! Baby, you are… shit! What are you doing to me, Michonne? Hm? Dammit, you're gonna make me cum too quick… Just…"


Needing to really make him crazy, to feed both of our unmet hunger, a hard, deep drop of my pelvis against him, leads to a gyrating movement of my hips in a figure eight motion, grinding the sensitive tip of his dick over my deeply rooted g-spot. Though it takes me a moment to remember this routine, and catch my rhythm, I'm effectively owning Rick and controlling our pleasure. Teasing and titillating him to the point of near insanity.


Eyes closed, Rick is biting down on his bottom lip, dragging it between his teeth, and squeezing and directing my ass in a quick succession of up and down pumps. Wetness is drizzling down my thighs, and coating his groin, as I lean back with my hands on his thighs grinding slowly. Closely watching how my pussy swallows then releases his swollen cock, Rick is staring, hypnotized by the way my body is moving over him. Reclaiming some control, he places his arms around my waist, so he's holding me up as I lean back further, my back bowed. In a show of strength, despite the uncertainty he feels about his shoulder, he's holding my body up in between his widespread legs, repeatedly dragging me up and down his dick, as he thrusts in a flurry of hard hip jerks. "You take this dick so good, pretty girl."


The pleasure Rick is gifting me is forceful and passionate. Surging up my spine from my heated pussy, it pulses and electrifies my limbs, shocking them with the intensity of the contented thrill he's delivering. He pounds away at me like this for long stretches, sweat pressing his fine curls, now longer than normal, to his forehead. Then runs his hand through the sweat gathered between my breasts, gliding his rough palm over and across my rigidly peaked nipples. Grunts and pants escape his parted lips, and his tongue licks out to swipe across his top lip and the sweat gathered there.


"Uh, uh, uh, uh… Oh fuck, Rick!" On an exhausted sigh, my head listless tilted back, I begin to plead, beg him for the release that is just within my reach. But he continues to indulgently torture me, now pulling my torso back in, pressing me tightly against his chest, and messily kissing my mouth. As if he might die if he doesn't taste me, consume me, Rick has our bodies crammed together with his palm firm to my spine. Our flesh is smacking and gliding against each other, while our tongues tangle and roll. It's this taut press of my clit against the soft, wet hairs covering his groin that finally send me into a near delirious spin, announcing the eagerly anticipated orgasm that robs me of control of my own body, steals away coherent words. Only a keening wail is left in me, rising and falling in the sex tinged air around us. Spent, owned by the tantalizing thrill that Rick has wrenched out of me, my head descends, resting my forehead against his.


Decreasing his hip movements to a steady grind upwards, keeping me firmly impaled, Rick drifts his index finger over my closed eyelids, across my wide nose, skimming the apple of my cheek, then down my lips to rest on my chin. Licking and pecking at my lips, he quietly begs on a whisper. "Michonne. Open your eyes."


"Hmmm?" I groan, almost finding my weary, over-exerted voice.


"Do you know how much I love you? That I need you so much more than you need me, Michonne? You're… stronger than I am."


"No, I'm not." I drowsily shake my head, denying his confession, but finally opening my eyes to see the sadness still there.


"Yeah, you are. And someday, after you've been free… had a chance… I'm gonna marry you. Make you mine for good."


"Rick?"


"Someday. I promise."


"Rick?"


Dropping his eyelids, depriving me of the embattled waves in his ocean blue eyes, he takes a hold of my ass, and pressing me down onto him harder, tighter, he begins a wind of his hips punctuated by a series of hard final thrusts. Gifting me with another powerful orgasm, my form is lax and loose in his arms again, my head resting on his unwounded shoulder. Following my lead, Rick explodes inside of me in a thunderous burst of cum that bathes and drips from my depths.




Now sitting in Rick's truck in the parking lot of the club I was at last night, we are plummeted in silence by the simple introduction of one tentatively posed question, quietly uttered from my lips. "Should we talk about last night, now?"


After sex, we both literally passed out in a sweat drenched heap. Sated, we found our normal sleeping position, snuggled together, with my head nestled underneath his chin, into his chest, and our legs intertwined. Rick's hand held me close, squeezing my ass in a massaging motion, until he finally drifted off to sleep. For the first time in a long while, my sleep was restful, my spirit seemingly at ease with what felt like things getting back to a sort of normalcy that I had once become accustomed to, and now sorely missed. Even with the threat of a blowup from last night hanging over us as we slept, I was calm, and at peace in my sweetheart's arms.


With the rise of the sun, and a ring of the doorbell, so much angst has repopulated our domain that I need to just rip off the band aid and clear the air. Opening the front door, I found only my clutch bag on the doorstep, with all of the contents in tact, and a note from Mike saying that one of his frat brothers found it last night and gave it to him. Ecstatic at the return of my belongings, I was immediately sobered when I went through my phone to find from yesterday, more than 10 missed calls and over 20 frantic texts from Rick, wondering at my whereabouts and if I was ok.


Now here we are.


"What do you want to talk about?" Rick answers, looking straight ahead out of the windshield of his truck, tapping his fingers softly on the steering wheel.


"I guess about me not coming to your appointment, going to a party with Mike." I shrug, not knowing what else to say.


"I think that says it all right? You needed a break from me. You took it. I'm glad you did."


"It wasn't a break from you. I just needed a release, to… to… I don't know."


"Right. You've been giving up a lot for me. I never wanted that, but I selfishly accepted it didn't I?"


"What?"


Finally turning towards me, gifting me with the sight of his bleary blue eyes, tired and red rimmed, he apparently didn't get enough rest last night. It shows in the dank dampness of his eyes, in the stark pallor of his normally golden tanned skin. Rubbing his hand across his forehead, as though attempting to release the vise like grip of a headache, the same sad smile from last night returns. "I'm greedy with you. If I could have you with me all day every day, dammit, Michonne, I would. It's crazy and it's unfair to you. And I see that now. I'm not mad about yesterday because I get it. You deserve all of the fun, and partying and hanging with friends, that any other college student experiences. It's my fault that you are sacrificing all of that…for me. I don't want that anymore. No more." He swipes his hand through the air, signaling the finality of his words.


"I don't understand what you're saying, Rick. Are you breaking up with me?" I stutter, the premise, the very idea threatening to send me into apoplectic shock. Before he can even answer, the tears fall in waves from my eyes, drenching my cheeks before I can stop or catch them with my fingers.


"What? No! I can't live without you, you know that! Come here!" Quickly grabbing me, sliding my stilted frame across the bench seat to him, he's kissing at my face and franticly trying to stem the flow of tears. "I just don't want you to prioritize me anymore. What kind of man am I if I put my needs before yours? I know you have classes, schoolwork, LSATs, and you're trying to get into law school. I know all of that, and I still let you run yourself to death to be with me more than you could afford. And that's on me. But I won't do it anymore. I want you to be free of my demands, my greed. Take care of yourself for a little while. Recover from this sinus infection." He offers on a tiny, weak laugh. "I want to marry you so bad, pretty girl, and just keep you with me always. But, your star is brighter than that isn't it? Than the small, country life I can give you right now."


"I don't want to be without you. I won't. You say you're not breaking up with me, but it sure sounds like it." I utter, straining to say the words as my heart is tearing apart, shredded in my chest.


"You won't. If you need me, I'll come to you. But, give yourself a chance to be free first. To do whatever you need to do, and maybe while you're on break for Christmas, we can figure it out from there. Ok?" He offers, echoing his sentiment from last night, about me being free. At that it all comes back to me. The haunting sadness in his eyes when he muttered those words to me.


And it angers me, the presumptuousness of it all. Now I'm feeling defiant, justified in my distaste for what he's proposing. "No."


"Michonne-"


"You listen now, Rick. Everything I have done is because I wanted to. I heard you last night, that you think you need me more than I need you. That's bullshit. Losing you will end me. I can't lose you. I'm not losing anyone else. Right now, this is how we live. We make this work, and we find some kind of life until we can make it perfect. Until we figure out how we make this work. Don't do this, Rick. Don't take the blame for something that isn't a problem. It's…just how it is now."


"Ok, shhh…You're not losing me, pretty girl. Stop, ok? I'm sorry. I just. Yesterday it hit me, that you had a life before me. Friends, parties, school, dreams for your life, whatever. That includes your friendship with your ex. And it's not fair for me to completely dominate that space now, to get angry every time you're drawn back to it. You should be able to spread your wings and grow, without me weighing you down. What kind of life is this right now for you?"


"It's the life I want, with you in it. I love you. There is nothing I want more."


"I love you more. You know I'm not going anywhere. What about law school? Hm? You want that."


"I do. I can have it all, Rick. But not without you."


"How?"


"I don't know yet, but I will, Rick. We can have it all. But, we've gotta do this together, not apart. Only if we do this."


"How about this? Indulge me for a few weeks, ok? Christmas break will be in here six weeks. Do your thing, get through this semester. Get your law school apps, test, and acceptances out of the way. And then we will figure out what to do from there. In the meantime, I will get back to work, and that way I will be ready when you are to make our next move when we need to. Ok?" Leaning over to look me in the eyes, there is earnest love and hope there again. Not at all the sadness and disquiet from before. Realizing that I haven't lost him, that he's trying to give me something he feels as though he has taken from me, I reluctantly nod my head to assent to his suggestion. "Good girl. We can do this. We just need to set things right, reorder things together."












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