The screen of her cell phone threw a pale blue light across her face in the dark of her living room. She sat on the floor propped up by the base of her couch and she was in a terrible state. She was wearing his clothes, a pair of sweatpants and one of his dress shirts he wore to work. Her watery weary eyes stared at her lock screen picture.
It was the photo they'd taken on their first weekend trip together. Only he could have convinced her to take Thursday, Friday and the following Monday off. Her office was already short-staffed and swamped, but his promise to keep her in bed all weekend was an offer she couldn't refuse since she'd gotten her first taste of him.
On a bet from her friends, she had made him wait, something that Rick Grimes was not accustomed to. But it made him crave her even more. Six months of only "over the clothes" action was driving them both insane. But to Rick's surprise, instead of losing interest in her, interest was growing. And to Michonne's disbelief, she'd stuck to her guns even after he'd managed to, ironically, spend a night in her bed-
They'd met downtown. He was running late so he parked in the first spot he saw and ended up getting towed. He had been so charming that night that she suggested he spend the night with her. She could have drove him home but she made the excuse that it was late and they were already on her side of town. The truth was she wanted to enjoy his company as long as possible, to keep watching those blue eyes change colors. So they fell asleep watching SNL and woke up the next afternoon with all the contentment of a couple wedded for decades.
When they finally did end up naked in her bed, Rick's aim was to drive her up the walls and he more than succeeded. But with his success, he understood that she had been right to make him wait. He held her, looking out at the glittery lights of the city-scape beyond her 14th story, floor to ceiling windows and understood how unworthy he was of all she'd just given him. But, he made a deal with himself that he'd take it anyway and be good to it.
Michonne had awoken to the sight of his handsome, beaming smile. A haunting voice in her mind told her she loved him, though she decided she wasn't ready for love yet. Not yet. But she felt her cheeks grow hot when she ended up telling him just that less than an hour later. After he'd presented a tray of breakfast from her virtually bare kitchen. A bowl of stale plain Cheerios, left over from her deserted attempt at healthier eating, turned to mush as he matched her 'I love you' with his own and made love to her again.
That morning she felt a bit shamefaced with those words still tingling on her lips as she watched him laser-focused on her naked body in the bright light of day. That session of lovemaking had been full of flirtatious giggles and tranquil displays of affection and Rick was biting his tongue to keep from proposing right there as he studied her squirming bashfully under his touch. All the while, Michonne wondered what the hell had come over her.
That was when things were good between them. Now things were spiraling into an abysmal wreck. And it was all her fault. She saw that now. She just hoped it wasn't too late. She swiped and opened her phone, finding the same photo in her gallery, she expanded the picture until she was pushed off-screen and only Rick's smile and sapphire eyes remained. She couldn't bear to look at herself, standing there in the sun, happy with him. She didn't even deserve that memory. She was disgusted with herself, at a precipice, trying not to go over the edge and at the same time longing to fall. So, she wasted away on her rug trying to swallow her pride.
When she thought she was right she could be bull-headed, to put it mildly. When she realized she was wrong and recalled her ugly performance, she felt nauseous. She had wallowed in a mournful and moody puddle of tears for weeks now. Smothered in the silence of her condo, she made her way to the bar around the corner for a little alcoholic anesthesia. Seven shots of top shelf tequila had sent the undisputed lightweight back to her living room floor to weep over her character flaws and the utter misfortune of seeing Mike that day weeks ago.
Resolved to make atonement and stop this pain, Michonne collected herself the best she could and called him.
Rick's eyes darted over at his ringing phone. His face was stone as he looked at the lit up picture of Michonne, pouting and pretending to kiss the camera with her juicy red-painted lips. She had edited the picture of herself, drawing a crown on her head and writing the words Kiss the Queen at the top. It was a thing she did: steal Rick's phone while he slept or showered, then with a solo photo shoot, she'd change his contact picture of her. Sometimes the new picture would last a week, sometimes only hours. Rick loved it when his phone would ring and there would be a new version of her to make him smile right before he heard her cinnamon and sugar voice. Now, the same picture for three weeks was beseeching him in the dark of his best friend's basement. He let the phone ring, debating whether to answer. It buzzed on Daryl's coffee table under the blare of the basketball game they were watching.
Slumped in his chair, his disapproving host scolded him, "Answer your phone. Don't do her like that, man."
Rick glared at him, wordlessly cautioning him to mind his business and snatched the phone up, making his way out of Daryl's man cave to the light of the first floor. Pinching the bridge of his nose, Rick slid his thumb to green with a pensive sigh,
"Yeah." He answered, callously.
"Rick?" Michonne's strangled voice came through the phone and pierced him right in his gut. "Hi." she said hesitantly.
"Hey." his inflection was short, rigid. It was only one word, but it held barely a hint of that backwoods drawl she'd come to love.
She said nothing for a few seconds, staring at her big toe rap against the tassel on her purse to distract herself from the unfamiliar tone he was using with her. "Rick... I..." Michonne squeezed her eyes shut, failing tremendously to keep her emotions in check.
The love-starved man shifted against the wall in Daryl's split foyer, listening to her breath and sniffles amplified by the speaker on his phone. He kept looking at her picture with the childlike hope that it would make him feel like she was there in the room. Instead, the happy shot of her puckered lips with the sound of her tormented tears made her feel a million miles away from him; like the happiness he held in his hands was far away, drifting in space. It broke his heart to hear her cry and he couldn't help feel a little guilt about not comforting her.
Yes, it was her fault but it was his instinct to soothe her, to care for her. What was the point of all this anyway? He was going to marry this woman, it was never a matter of if, only when. This situation with her ex had proved to be a slight detour but he knew in his heart his destination was still the same.
Daryl knew as much,too. He allowed his friend to crash there but refused to help him bring his belongings into his house. Instead he heckled him with every load Rick brought in from his car. Daryl told him how he thought Rick was smarter than this and that there was only enough room for one brooding asshole there. For nearly a month now, Daryl had been threatening to don a ski mask and kidnap the two annoying love birds, lock them in his deep freezer until they cuddled and made up or froze to death out of spite. Either conclusion would have pleased him now, but he knew it'd be much easier than that for these two heart-eyed idiots to resolve this blow up.
Rick took a seat on the carpeted steps, on the verge of tears, his nostrils flared. "Michonne, stop crying." he said matter-of-factly, to no avail. "Michonne..." he called more forcefully, then softened. "Baby, stop crying." The 'baby' slipped. He hadn't meant to give her that yet. He was still pissed but that was his baby and it tore him apart to hear her cry.
Relieved, somewhat, by that simple term of endearment, she found a little breath in her lungs to talk. "I'm sorry." she eked out in a hoarse whisper.
"What're you sorry 'bout?" He asked her rhetorically. He'd meant to say it in a way that would make her feel absolved, but Michonne's guilt compelled her to confess the sins he already knew.
"I'm sorry I didn't trust you. I'm sorry I couldn't be as good as you are." Michonne burst with fresh tears and the elevated pitch of her voice devastated the man who loved her more than anything else. He struggled to keep his own tears at bay. She rambled out her revised manifesto, "I'll try harder if you come home. I'll be good and I'll make you love me again. If you come home... I can't... Can you please just come home? I can't sleep and I've been sick every morning you haven't been here. I..."
He cut her off, "Listen to me. I can't stop lovin' you. Never. You're a pain in the ass..." he promised huffing out a chuckle, "but you're mine. I thank god for that." But he quickly turned serious, needing to let her know he wasn't one of the love-sick puppies she was used to dealing with and he wasn't going to be disrespected like this again. "You're so fuckin' stubborn, Michonne." He growled through a frustrated sigh.
He had told her that many times. Often it was playful banter. But the last time he told her that, it was in the middle of her favorite restaurant in front of her ex and her co-workers. She was challenging him in front of everybody. She was accusing him of being overbearing, unreasonable. "You don't get to tell me what to do just because I call you daddy." she had told him with an obstinate sneer while her acquaintances looked on.
He could still remember her ex, squaring off with him. Mike was standing there, hovering, like he needed to protect Michonne from him. As if he would ever hurt her emotionally, mentally or physically. But that was how she was painting him, as insecure, like a fuckboy trying to control her life. Rick knew he was anything but. It didn't bother him that she was saying it, not even in this public place- as humiliating as that was.
He was used to her wildness and most times it turned him on. He loved to make her take back the uncouth things she said with a fistful of her hair and her bent over the dining room table or with his face between her legs, teasing her with shallow dips of his finger but refusing to release his tongue unless she apologized. She loved it too, it encouraged her to be outrageous.
But this was something else. He could see in her eyes that she really believed what she was saying about him. She was making herself believe that there was nothing wrong with going out with a group of friends who just so happened to include her ex. The same ex who had made it known that he was still in love with her and trying to get her back. The same ex who had already made a snide comment or two to Rick's face.
Rick had stopped at the restaurant to get her favorite dessert before heading home to her. It was penance for another late night, he told himself, but truthfully his motives were selfish. He'd found a new kink with her. The sounds of her loving on those peanut butter chocolate bombs and the sight of her cheeks distended in gluttony were exactly what he needed following his unfruitful conversation with Lori after his visit with his son. Rick was checking his watch, calculating the time in his head, wondering if he could make it to the florist for tulips before they closed when he saw them coming out of the dining area.
Michonne was laughing with Andrea and Heath while Mike came up behind her with her coat. None of them saw Rick at first, and he kept quiet, debating if he should make his presence known. The matter was taken out of his hands, though, when Mike decided to place his palm on Michonne's hip to alert her that he was back with her coat. Rick felt the muscles in his neck spasm as he watched his girl, engrossed in raucous conversation with the rest of her party, standing there obliviously being pawed at by her ex.
Michonne always thought everything was a game. It was funny to her that Mike was this way, especially after all his grandstanding when they broke up. But Rick warned her that she needed to nip his advances in the bud. Rick trusted her, but he didn't like that she entertained this clown. It sent the wrong message to guys like her ex. When he saw Mike closer to her than he needed to be and the pads of his fingers inconspicuously- but deliberately- grazing her collarbone as he pushed her dreads away for her coat to rest at her neck, Rick lost his mind for a split second.
"Stubbornness don't make you strong, Michonne." He told her now, on the phone, hoping his words got through this time.
It was a hard-learned lesson for her. She wheezed, "I know, I know."
"It just makes you look stupid and immature." He continued more stringently. "This whole thang with that other dude? That makes you look stupid and immature..."
"I know, Rick. You were right about him. I should have listened to you." She felt so stupid and immature. She always thought she was two steps ahead of the game, that her shit never stopped being together. Hearing Rick level with her made her see how much he loved her. He loved her enough to call her out when she was foolishly compromising herself. He loved her enough to let her sulk and be upset. He cared enough to take off the rose-colored glasses and acknowledge her flaws and love her anyway.
Someone having her back like that was a foreign concept to her, so she fought it at first. Now she appreciated him so much and it killed her that she was so combative. "I've been telling myself I didn't need a man for so long, I believed it. I don't know... I mean, I don't need a man. But I do need you, Rick. I need you." She nodded to herself, feeling the suffocating vacuum of that need. "I need you. I love you. Please. You're the only thing I need. I do need you. Okay? I do."
"So how are we gonna fix this?" He demanded.
"I told you. I'll listen. I'll be good."
"I don't think you can be good, 'Chonne." There it was. He used her nickname and that said she was completely forgiven. "You're rotten." he smiled as he pushed his hair back and scratched at his beard.
"I can, Rick, I can. I'll be good for you. Come home." Michonne was so contrite she wasn't registering his relenting tone. She was bent on making him see that she understood and that things would be different, that he'd made her better. "Please come home. I'll show you."
"Show me what?" He rasped at her, already tasting her wetness. But he closed his eyes to concentrate on making his point.
"Just come home and I'll show you."
He turned off the speaker and quickly put the phone to his ear, "I'm serious, Michonne. Don't think you can throw pussy at me and fix this."
She couldn't help but smile at how well he knew her antics. "I know. I don't think that. I just meant..."
"But I am going to tear it up when I get there."
end call