The front door slammed behind her, the vacuumed wind grasping at her woven tendrils as if to say, "You are not welcome here." It all made sense now: Noah cleaning the car, Mike's strange behavior - there was only one thing left to do.
Mike always had a way of making Michonne feel like a stranger in her own home, even now, as she stalked the halls unaccompanied. She measured her breaths in uneven strides as she made her way to their shared bedroom. His scent burned heavily in her nostrils like ammonia, nearly making her gag as she threw open her closet and proceeded to clear out every last thread of fabric. Moving with autonomous sobriety, she unzipped her valise, shoving her clothing inside with little care for their branded origins. A buzzing in her pocket sent a chill through her spine. Fishing it out, she glanced at the number: unknown.
"Hello," she answered, the empty cadence of professionalism taking priority over the warmth of a greeting.
"Isn't it funny how things can change in a matter of 24 hours?" asked an unfamiliar voice on the other end.
"Who is this," her tone was barely audible, as if she'd just been put on to some sinister secret.
"You don't know? Doesn't that throw a wrench in the plot! No wonder you let me get to Reed, and all this time, I thought it was a trap - you know? Let me have the one I want before nailing me at the last second. Then again, I've been informed that you had other plans that evening."
She remained silent but continued packing, knowing she couldn't waste anymore time despite her body stiffening. What seemed like minutes passed in silence as Michonne scanned the bedroom for cameras when the voice suddenly interrupted.
"I'm talking about Rick, Michonn-," the voice began before she pulled the phone from her cheek and ended the call. It immediately began to vibrate again, to which she answered immediately.
"Don't call this number again," she hissed.
"I'm sorry, ma'am, but that's going to be a negative from me."
"Eugene?"
"Affirmative. I'm calling on behalf of Sergeant Ford."
"Okay," she paced herself.
"Our new county sheriff failed to come into work today. Your friend, I presume."
"Thanks for the heads up," she conceded before hanging up again.
Abraham would have her head for this. Rick probably didn't show up, because things had gone sour the night before. His new job was merely a reminder of the chaotic evening they'd spent together. Nonetheless, it was a favor she'd bent over backwards to receive, and Rick would have to suck up his pride and play cops and robbers at least until the trial was over. He'd come to her to help restore order, and all she'd done was make life more complicated while overstepping personal boundaries. Had they not been interrupted - no, she couldn't afford to think like that right now. Her marriage was disintegrating before her and all she could focus on was Rick. He deserved so much more and all she could offer was excuses.
"Michonne," a voice called from behind, commanding her attention much like a master to his dog. She didn't dare turn to acknowledge his presence, fearing that looking him in the eye could set her off.
"Michael," she replied, the words rolling off her tongue like an empty bullet casing. She made no attempts to hide what she was doing.
"Where are you going?" He asked, his slender build crooning against the doorframe. He'd been waiting for her.
She ejected a breathy laugh as she closed her suitcase. Michonne didn't have to answer to this man, and quite frankly, she wasn't planning on it. He knew what was coming; she was attempting to leave. Slowly she stood before turning to face him. Her body remained in a state of neutrality as her senses heightened, observing his face for the last time in the sanctity of their bedroom.
"Away," she hesitated, "Just for a little while."
That was a lie - straightforward unlike the ones she usually told. Their paths merged in the doorway, their shoulders brushing precariously close as she walked past him, the sound of the suitcase rolling behind her accenting the clack of her ankle boots.
Michonne had some nerve. That was the fault in wifing a black woman; she simply didn't understand her place. It took all the self control he could muster to press crescents into his palms instead of bruising her forearm.
"So that's it." He couldn't keep from laughing in disbelief as he turned around, shifting his weight. "Seven years, Michonne - seven years - the best years of our lives flushed down the toilet because you want to fuck around at the last minute with some white boy?"
That was enough to stop her in her tracks.
"White boy?" She balked, a look of utter disgust emerging as she whipped around, an ocean of rage threatening to overflow. "That's what you think this about? Please, get a damn clue, and fuck off."
He could only watch as she disappeared down the staircase without another word, utterly helpless. He'd previously admired Michonne for her independence, but for once, he wished she would just do as she was told. But instead here he was, biting his lip hard trying not to cry out of sheer anger, standing in the doorway of their shared bedroom watching her walk away to God knows where without him. He wouldn't have it. Not from her.
"Michonne, stop," she heard his voice echo into their foyer just as her fingers ghost over the doorknob. She couldn't help but chuckle at how ridiculous and futile his commands were. But the hostile silence that ensued told her otherwise. Something was off, and she didn't dare make another move.
"Mike, I already told you I was finished here. Just give me some space," she stilled between clenched teeth before slowly turning around to look at him for the last time only to the find herself face to face with the barrel of a gun. She immediately froze, knowing she was too close range to run. Her grip loosened on the suitcase, allowing it to fall to the ground, the cold thud it made against the tile filling the silence between them. Slowly, Michonne managed to pull her gaze from the handgun aimed at her forehead to look into the teary eyes of her fiance. She'd never seen him like this, sobbing profusely, his face stricken with anguish, one hand in his pocket as his index finger caressed the trigger. Michonne took a deep breath, closing her eyes, knowing her life was in the balance. There was no doubt in her mind that Mike would kill her before letting her go.
"Mike, listen to me," she began, her voice placid and quiet, You don't have to do thi-"
"Shut up! Don't you ever stop talking?" he squawked, pressing the barrel into her skin. She winced but refused to avert her eyes. "Fuck, Michonne. Fucking shit! Why can't you just be obedient for once in your goddamn life? I love you, woman! Do you know that?"
She said nothing but stared into his dark orbs, searching for the man she once knew: a lover and a friend. Now all she saw was a void buried deep in his pupils. She prayed for him in those moments, knowing that it wasn't her who most needed saving.
He hated when she did that, saw right through him without saying a word. Michonne was the type of woman who would look you in the eye during sex, the dark gleam beneath those hooded lids telling you exactly where you belonged in the universe. She had such a confidence about her - a sense of certainty he'd grown to love over the course of several years but now resented her for.
"Mik-"
"I asked you a question goddamnit! Answer me!" he thundered, his voice cracking as another onslaught of tears began flooding his vision.
"Yes!" It came out more forcefully than she anticipated, sounding more like a plea than an affirmation. "I know you love me," she whispered, measuring out two deep breaths before continuing, "And I need you to know how much I love you."
His eyes widened at her statement, clearly not expecting a mutual proclamation of affection.
"Y-you mean… you still love me..?" he sniffled, reminding her more of a small child now than a murderer.
"Well, of course I do. You're only my best friend and the man I've devoted my life to," she assuaged, her volume growing as she felt she might finally be getting somewhere. "Baby, please," she beseeched, her lips stretching into a familiar grin she knew would appeal to him, "Let's work this out together." She opened her arms, hoping that he would accept her peace offering.
He took in the sight of her, the beautiful woman he'd known all his life smiling at him, ready to embrace him. He switched the safety on and lowered the weapon, eventually dropping it at his side and kicking it across the floor before bounding into the arms of his requitted lover.
Mike let out a sigh of relief as he rested his head on her shoulder, taking in her wonderful scent. "Gosh baby, it feels so good to hold you like this."
"Likewise," she hummed lowly, feeling sick in his arms.
Mike pondered could he possibly even consider ending this loyal woman who would one day be the mother of his children. She truly was perfect. His thought were suddenly interrupted with felt something cold against the back of his head. He also noticed Michonne's grip had become vice like as she began nibbling on his earlobe.
"Michonne," he croaked as he felt her hand traveling south, caressing his balls through his slacks.
"Uh-uh, my turn to speak," she chastised, biting down hard on his soft cartilage, "Let me put you on to a little secret."
"Mmmm, tell me, babe..." he moaned against her supple cheek. God, he loved it when she used that sultry voice on him.
" I know what you did."
"Oh? Is that so?" he murmured, snaking his arm around her waist to grab at her ass when he finally realized what Michonne was dragging along his spine.
"You hit that little boy, almost killed him actually," she rubbed the gun against the back of his neck as she removed the safety so he could hear the click.
"Michonne, I-"
"Shhhhh," she hushed, "Take it easy, baby. I know, I know. You were only trying to rush home for dinner with the family. After all, you were running late from fucking your secretary." She pressed another kiss to his neck, the venom dripping from her tongue as she sucked on the skin there.
"I'm sorry! For all of it really… I- I don't know what I was thinking!" He was begging now, praying she'd have mercy on him.
"Quit it, Michael. You and I both know you're not," she sneered as she wrapped her arm around his neck, the other dropping down to his hips, "But you will be."
His breath hitched both at her words and the sharpness he felt ghosting along his inner thigh. Then, the sensation suddenly evaporated, but not a moment passed before he was lurched forward, letting out a pained cry as blood dribbled from his manhood, staining his dress pants. Michonne followed up the slash with a knee to the balls before pushing him off her onto the ground. He cowered in fear as he saw the gun in her hand for the first time after it had already been acquainted with his body. Curled up in the fetal position, he blubbered for mercy.
"I'm sorry, baby.. I'm sorry.. please don't hurt me.." he sobbed as he cupped his aching groin.
"Honey, I'm not going to kill you. I need your money. Oh and Officer Grimes isn't my fucktoy. He's Carl's father - the young man you hit? With my help, they're suing your ass for all you've got, so enjoy bleeding on such an expensive floor for the last time."
"Fucking bitch.." he gasped, rolling onto his side.
Michonne simply rolled her eyes at his pathetic response before picking up her suitcase.
"One more thing: don't you dare try pulling any of that shit again," she nodded toward the gun strewn across the room, "Otherwise I'll blow your fucking brains out and let Noah make it look like an accident."