"They say a good love is one that sits you down, gives you a drink of water, and pats you on top of the head. But I say a good love is one that casts you into the wind, sets you ablaze, makes you burn through the skies and ignite the night like a phoenix; the kind that cuts you loose like a wildfire and you can't stop running simply because you keep on burning everything that you touch! I say that's a good love; one that burns and flies, and you run with it!"
― C. JoyBell C.
XXXXXX
"Are you busy?" Michonne called Rick minutes before he was to appear on a night show in California.
"I am in the makeup chair. You know I am never too busy for you, 'Chonne."
"I miss you. I want you home, Rick."
"Just say the word 'Chonne, you know that. I would be on the next flight. I don't want to be here. You know that." Rick was tired of being a way days at a time. He was tired of the primping that was required.
"I know." Michonne knew that all she had to do was say the word and he would be home to her in no time.
"Just tell me to get out this fucking chair and I will."
"No. You finish...but I want this to be the last of it. I can't sleep without you."
"We have one more show, where they will call you. They want to emphasize the rescue. I think it is called the Day show live. Then we have our Island Wedding Special."
"I keeping watching your proposal to me on Oprah. I love you so much Rick I don't know what to do with myself."
"You are my life Michonne. I love you and our family. Nothing will ever change that. Nothing."
"We are going to fade a way right? I don't want to be part of a reality show."
"I've already declined it."
"I was thinking we get a house like Granny's. Far off the road."
"Or go back to the Island."
XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX
Driftwood:
Day 850?: Michonne
My belly was getting weird. I mean it wasn't really flat like it was before the twins but it was definitely different. I asked Rick to touch it. Touch my belly and if he thought it was hard or soft? I asked him about his cat Cheesy. He was getting annoyed with me and I couldn't understand why. If anyone should be annoyed it should be me because his story was never the same about Cheesy. It was always different. I need consistency. There would be no rest if he couldn't just tell the same story exactly as he told it to me two hours ago.
We were losing track of days. My watch stopped working and I thought Rick was keeping record and he thought I was keeping record. I had no earthly idea how many days we were on the island at this point. It could have been Thanksgiving for all we knew. The weather never really changed and we couldn't even determine what season we were in.
I just knew the girls were growing and were mobile. Very efficient walkers and babblers. Rick said they were going to be just like me...babble, babble, babble. Yes, we were arguing.
We still had to stay vigilant regarding the babies whereabouts. We were healthy for the most part. We didn't have any more surprises of washed up luggage in a while. The girls kept us amused since we were not amusing to each other.
I spent a lot of time watching Rick. He was no longer checking on the SOS in the sand nor keeping the driftwood ready for a smoke signal. He seemed content with our fate and so was I. I just needed to know when was the last time he kept time.
We would sit and watch the stars and he would tell me something random about what he thought I was like in my other life. A life that seemed so foreign to me. He asked me if I had OCD. He wanted to know if it was obvious to others or just to him. Obsessive Compulsive Disorder.
Rick knows exactly how to piss me off. I hate when he acted as if he has amnesia. I love Rick with all my heart and soul but if he didn't give me the fucking answers to my questions or at least seem as concerned as...I was going to withhold sex from him for twenty four hours.
XXXXXX
Driftwood:
Day 851?: Rick
Michonne realized her watch was no longer working. She still wore it. She still had it on her wrist. She still checked it as if it was magically going to start working...Eco drive is one thing. A broken watch is another.
I didn't know I was the one designated to keep time. I didn't know she thought I was the one keeping a record. All that time, I thought she was keeping a record. I mean she kept up with the babies, as did I, but she also kept up with me and where I should be and when I should be doing x y and z. She had a routine and how was I to know that record keeping wasn't it?
We have no idea when the girls were born. The whole idea pisses Michonne off. I have no idea when exactly the girls were weaned. I have no idea when Michonne titties dried up. I have no idea when her period first began again since the babies were born or when it stopped.
We were arguing about it on the beach and inside our home. She began asking me about Cheesy the fucking cat. She was like a woman obsessed with order. Sequences of events. Recall. I absolutely could not imagine what Michonne was like personality wise pre-island but she definitely had to have been on some medication. I love Michonne with all my heart and soul but if she didn't stop I was going to fuck her and not pull out.