"It's just up ahead — right after that bend in the road," said Enid, glancing over at Carl before smiling down at the concrete, the freshly laid road salt crackling beneath her feet.

"Finally," he groaned sarcastically, readjusting the strap of her backpack and draping it over his left shoulder blade as opposed to carrying it in hand, "I was beginning to think you were leading me to the middle of nowhere."

The edges of his lips curled into a smile as he laughed, sending a plume of warm air swirling into the frosty night, hovering between them for but a moment before dissipating into a whisper.

Carl insisted upon walking Enid home after theatre rehearsal. Time was winding down before opening night, and practices were becoming progressively longer. In the dead of winter, leaving the school at six o'clock meant walking home in the dark. Naturally, Carl could always call on his father to come pick him up, and he would most likely be fine with giving Enid a ride home, but he preferred to walk her home on his own accord in an attempt to be the southern gentleman his mother often raved about (to his father given his lack of charm and chivalry which was supposedly "intrinsic in any man born beneath the Mason-Dixon line"). Despite only landing a minor role in this year's rendition of Pippin, he was just happy to be a part of something larger than himself. He couldn't quite explain it, but somewhere between the outlandish dialogue and the meticulously choreographed dance numbers, he found solace. Carl sought reprieve from his parents' constant bickering on the stage where conflict was a running thread that always managed to be summed up indefinitely by the final act. He didn't mind whether the story ended in turmoil or self actualization for the protagonist. At least it had an end. Sometimes Carl wanted an end for himself too.

"Thanks again for walking me home. You know you really didn't ha–"she began.

"I wanted to," he cut her off with a dimpled smile that sent her practically reeling as they neared her apartment complex.

Carl had to admit that he was surprised as he took in the scene. The apartment complex consisted of townhomes, cozy and quaint in all their modesty. They had previously trekked through what seemed to be a rather affluent area with fancy three-story homes with two driveways — like something out of those magazines his mom picked up at the checkout aisle. He assumed Enid was far wealthier than he'd initially imagined, and he was a little intimidated but now took comfort in knowing she didn't secretly view him as some sort of peasant.

They shuffled up the driveway in comfortable silence, both of them coming to a halt at her doorstep, communicating only through awkward glances and guttural speaking attempts.

"I uh," they both began simultaneously, but Carl shut up as he mentally chided himself with the mantra of 'ladies first'.

Enid just laughed.

"I just wanted to say thanks again for walking me home," she mumbled beneath her scarf. Carl couldn't tell if she was blushing or if Jack Frost had painted her cheeks that pretty shade of rouge.

"Hey, that's what friends are for," before he could get out the last syllable, Enid was embracing him in a bear hug, her warm breath present on his neck as he enjoyed the daze induced by her blossom scented shampoo. Unfortunately, it didn't last long enough as his olfactory senses were still clinging desperately to her scent when she pulled away. All he could do was grin and wave like an idiot as she bid him goodbye and quickly ran inside.

"Who knows, Enid. Maybe I'll stick around for a little while," he whispered under his breath to no one in particular before turning on his heels to head back to the school.

Carl walked briskly as he traversed the uneven sidewalk, feeling for the first time that evening just how cold it really was. Even though his fingers were on the brink of necrosis, he managed to pull out his cell phone and call his dad for a ride home. *ring*, *ring*, 'your call has been forwarded to an automatic voice message system, please leave a message at the tone: *beep*'.He tried again only to receive the same response. It was as if his dad was purposefully ignoring his calls. No matter, he figured. With the high he was feeling from that hug, he could walk twenty miles if he had to. As long as he would be able to see Enid again.

—

"Oh jesus fuck. Right there, Mike, please," panted Jessie Anderson, her head lolling backwards to expose more of her filthy, sweat slicked skin, the clear excretion mixing with the leftover gravel from being fucked on the decaying, parking lot asphalt just moments ago.

"That's right, bitch. Take it like the cumwhore you are. Milk daddy," Mike grunted as he grabbed a handful of Jessie's blonde hair, reveling in the fact that it was already matted with his semen. He pulled hard, applying just shy of enough force to snap her neck as he pounded his hips into hers, bruising her inner thighs and ensuring her inability to walk the following day. Jessie's frame quaked with pleasure, bringing her to the cusp of her fourth orgasm in a twenty minute time lapse as the arms propping her up on the hood of Mike's car threatened to collapse behind her. But she knew Mike wouldn't have it, because she wasn't a priority. His pleasure was the only thing that mattered. He'd fucked her lifeless body to achieve release on more than one occasion, often at the expense of her health.

He could never handle his fiancee this way. Jessie didn't know much about Michonne, but she knew she was a dignified woman both in the professional and personal realm — a real bitch. She was some kind of independent lawyer, so heaven knows she probably loves to argue. Mike complained about her all the damn time at work. Being his assistant, she was forced to listen to him drone on and on about their boring sex life and how she was a workaholic who never had time for him. What kind of woman wouldn't want to fulfill her wifely duties and get knocked up already? Jessie couldn't fathom the idea that such a woman existed, especially when it came to a godlike Mike. After lending her indentured ear day in and day out to his complaints, she finally decided to do something about it. Whoever this haughty "Michonne" character was, she was sure as hell missing out.

Mike's movements became spastic and hurried as he had a prior engagement to attend to. His only concern at this point was finishing and getting home in time for the dinner he'd scheduled with Michonne and her parents.

"Shit," he hissed loudly as his phone began vibrating on the car hood, his fiancee's beautiful face flashing across his phone screen.

"Speaking of the devil," Jessie scoffed, rolling her eyes.

Mike immediately became enraged at her disrespectful comment, pulling his hand back in one swift motion and striking her hard across the cheek, her pale skin flushing a penitent sanguine. He grabbed her cheeks in his hand and continued painfully grinding into her hips as he berated her. He let the call go.

"I'm going to tell you this one more time, Jessie, and I won't tell you again. Don't you ever speak about my fiancee that way. I will shatter every goddamn bone in your pretty little face if you so much as utter her name. Do you understand?"

"Y-yes…Mike," was all she could muster as tears began streaming down her cheeks, the satisfaction of watching her cry triggering Mike's sadistic release.

Mike carelessly shoved Jessie's naked form off the hood of his car before regaining his composure and accenting every inch of his self-serving frame with Giorgio Armani's Acqua Di Gio, Michonne's favorite cologne. He then bid Jessie goodbye with a salute before gliding into the sleek black mustang Michonne bought him for Christmas and sped out of the parking garage without a second thought.

"Siri, call Michonne," he demanded of his electronic, personal assistant.

"Calling Michonne," it echoed in response. He hummed softly as he listened tentatively to the dial sound, smiling when it was suddenly interrupted.

"Mike, hey," Michonne's voice was warm as it filled the car, the smile in her voice apparent.

"Hey, beautiful. You called?"

"Hm, I did. First, I wanted to know if you were on your way home given that the dinner is tonight. Second, I wanted to let you know that Mom and Pop ran into some car trouble on the road, so they'll be a little late, but that's nothing new," she laughed softly, her tone shifting as she continued, "And lastly, I just wanted to know how you're doing. You've been working so hard this past week, staying late for overtime, and we haven't had a lot of time to talk, you know? I miss that. I miss you."

"Well you'll be be happy to know that I'm on my way home now with a special surprise for my lady love," Mike smirked, glancing at the bouquet of roses in the back seat, "My brown sugar sugar," he mused, knowing the pet name was one of the few things that could make her blush.

"Mike! Jesus, I told you not to call me that," she chastised, grateful that her chagrin wasn't visible through the phone.

"Oh please, you loved it when you were still going to school. You were always so tense, studying constantly.. 'Not tonight, Mike. I have a test tomorrow.' 'Mike, I need to review chapter one through 47 to prepare for the BAR.' … That name was one of the only things that could snap you out of your study mode."

"Among other things," he could hear the seductive curl of her lips, and he hung off every syllable. Her words hovered in the air, thickening it as the seconds rolled on.

"What kinds of things, Michonne?"

She inhaled sharply when she heard her name. The question, taken out of context, was innocent enough, but when he said her name, he used the same tone that hinted at something domineering, nefarious, succulent. She sat in silence, making him squirm. Mike licked his lips in anticipation.

"Get home before my parents show up, and maybe you'll find out," she teased before hanging up the phone.

"Damn."

—

It had been awhile since her initial call, and Mike's job was a good forty five minutes away from their home. He worked it out in his mind and estimated that he'd only have ten minutes at most with Michonne, and that was if he sped. But damn sure it was worth it.

Luckily, Mike was an expert driver when it came to maneuvering the streets of Atlanta, and traffic was low given that it was a Wednesday night. Just as he was approaching the high school, a landmark denoting his imminent arrival, he heard his phone go off. It was a text from Jessie.

Jessie: Check your back pocket. I left something for you. ;)

As Mike approached the intersection, he reached into his suit pocket and pulled out a pair of pink, silk panties. He smirked before picking up his phone, incapable of resisting the urge to text her back. He began texting with one hand as he turned, accelerating down Langston Avenue.

Mike: You're so fucking naug–

Bang! Mike looked up just in time to see the body of a young man smash against his windshield, the boy's skull effectively cracking it and leaving bloodstains leaching through before falling backward. By the time the car was able to screech to a halt, he'd already run over the boy's body which now lay strewn out behind him. Mike's mind was in a frenzy. The teen was seriously injured and lay unconscious in the road. He'd also been crossing within the crosswalk, and as a pedestrian, he had the right away. Mike was entirely in the wrong, and yet there were no witnesses; however there would be soon. Surely someone else would see the boy in the road and call for help. At that point, his best option was to flee, or so he'd convinced himself.

He had to think about his fiancee, his in-laws. With that, he stepped on the gas pedal, mumbling a quick prayer for the boy as he fled the scene of the crime. After all, there was a seat at the head of the dinner table waiting for him just around the corner.