The Stranger On The Roadside
AN: Thank you for your patience with the instability of the site and being able to access the last update and thank you for reviewing.
Yesterday, we witnessed history in the making when Joe Biden and Kamala Harris were declared President / VP-Elect of the United States of America. It's freaking amazing, I'm overjoyed that a BLACK WOMAN has risen to the second-highest office in America. Thanks to all of you who supported them. I look forward to their inauguration next January. #BlackLivesMatter People of Colour were largely responsible for the outcome of this momentous election. Thank you to my American sisters and brothers for making it happen. Shout-out to the Georgian warriors for turning that state blue, #keepfightingthegoodfight and getting into #GoodTrouble. John Lewis and Elijah Cummings would be so proud of your hard work. Don't forget to get registered for the runoffs in January. Let's give Joe and Kamala the tools to facilitate real change, like Barack says, change comes in small increments the more you vote the more you hold elected officials accountable because your ballot is a powerful thing.
The Grimes...
The car no sooner stopped in the driveway when Charmaine opened her door, exited the vehicle and slammed it shut.
Charmaine stormed her way towards the front door. Her demeanour, a direct contrast to the onset of their date night, a night intended as a celebration of their unborn child. Instead, it had been hijacked by her husband's ex-lover and her strange husband who stared at her the whole damn night as though he saw a fucking ghost. It was literally the worst night ever.
Despite her anger, it hadn't escaped her attention that Rick hadn't uttered a word on the drive home nor had he followed her into the house. Instead, he remained behind in the car which riled her to no end. She was not impressed.
Charmaine climbed the stairs with angry steps and heels clicking on the hardwood floor. She changed into her lilac silk pyjamas, removed her makeup, braided her hair and prepared for the fight she knew Rick was trying his best to avoid. It was unavoidable because he failed to support her when Michonne attacked her character.
As far as she was concerned, this woman, Michonne, was nothing more than a troublemaker. Charmaine knew her kind. She'd seen others like her before—she was like the other shameless soccer mom types who dropped off their baked goods with their phone numbers concealed under the paper doilies at the bottom of the goody baskets they left for the sheriff and his deputies to find. In her case, however, her calling card was a child, but she had to be mistaken if she thought she'd allow her to waltz into town and upend their lives. Ain't gonna happen, bitch, she thought.
...
An exhausted Rick removed his blue sports jacket and hung it over the back of the chair at the dinner table. He loosened his tie and walked the few steps to the built-in liquor cabinet in the corner of the room. He retrieved a bottle of scotch and a glass and poured himself a drink. He drank it, then poured himself another. It wasn't the best treatment for his raging headache but he drank the golden liquid all the same and felt the effects of its fiery warmth as it slid down the back of his throat.
"Drinking won't make it go away you know," Charmaine added, as she walked into the room looking more like a schoolgirl than a woman. She stood on the opposite side of the room with her arms folded tightly around her body. She wore her hair in two french braids. Her oval face framed by thick black-framed glasses and her body sheathed in her lilac silk pyjamas.
With his back to her, Rick pinched the bridge of his nose and sighed, "Please don't—not tonight, Charmaine."
"You're my husband, but you didn't act like it back there, you didn't come to my defence. Her husband had her back and was more than willing to fight for her. Where the hell were you, dear husband? We're supposed to be partners—you remember against all odds, till death do we part?"
Rick slowly turned to face his wife with frustration evident on his face. His complexion flushed from her accusations. "Oh, is that so? Were we partners when you went behind my back and talked to Michonne about my son?" his voice growled.
"I—I," she stuttered."
Rick raised his hand to silence her, "We talked about this, Charmaine. I told you, I won't turn my back on my son. If the roles were reversed, I'd tell her the same thing."
"You didn't take my side, Rick," Charmaine hissed.
"Charmaine, don't even go there. What the hell was I supposed to do? The minute you two laid eyes on one another the claws came out. Was I aware that you and Michonne had a prior run-in earlier, of course not, because my loving wife, my partner and my best friend somehow managed to forget to tell me about it?"
"I expected you to defend my character. I'm a good mother."
"No one's attacking your parenting skills, Charmaine. You're both very good mothers. Because both of my children are healthy and happy."
But instead of acknowledging his remark, Charmaine deflected and hurled yet another accusation at him, "And I suppose the way you two were eye-fucking one another have nothing to do with your defence of her, right?"
"Charmaine, you're looking for a fight and I'm really not in the mood," Rick, answered as he returned the bottle to the cabinet and took the glass to the kitchen.
The Kennedys ...
The drive to the secluded castle-like hotel took approximately fifteen minutes.
Malyk and Michonne drove in absolute silence because there was no saving the evening. Even the dress which left him speechless before was all for naught because of his surly mood.
Michonne knew she hadn't done anything overtly wrong, but she knew she would somehow be blamed for the disastrous night. Her husband and her rarely ever fought but whenever they did, somehow it always led back to that one night six years ago, when in a moment of weakness, she allowed herself to succumb to her baser instincts with another man, a man she met quite by accident. A man she reasoned she'd never lay eyes on again until a cruel twist of faith when their son came into the world with his face. A man she somehow managed to avoid running into for six years who was suddenly inescapable.
Twenty-four hours and three encounters later, each time she came into close contact with the man, she felt that familiar pull towards him. It was an indescribable thing but yet it was there. It was in the way he looked at her in the parking lot when he was pissed at her. She felt it in his office when she mentally prepared to fight him for her son—their son but he acted all calm, cool and collected. And it was in the way he looked at her the entire night, but it was her reaction to him that scared her most. Nevertheless, she knew she wasn't about to fuck up her marriage, not again.
Since that long-ago night, she worked tirelessly to ensure Malyk knew she had two priorities in her life, their family and their business and she was committed to both of them. In the past twenty-four hours, however, it felt like they travelled back in time to when he first discovered her betrayal.
Michonne found herself wishing they could fast forward to the morning when he walked into their bedroom unannounced thinking she had already left for work only to find her there staring at her half-naked self in the mirror with her arms cradling her five-month bump on full display. It was something she carefully hid with loose-fitting clothing so as not to flaunt it in front of him. At the time, they had been in therapy for months, his ego was bruised so they slept in separate rooms. That morning, however, the hurt he wore like a shield vanished when his eyes witnessed her pregnant form, the miracle he could never cause to grow within her. She watched his sad eyes brighten as he slowly approached her.
With an outstretched arm, he asked, "May I?"
Michonne shook her head affirmatively as tears silently streamed down her face when she took his huge hand and placed it on the firm bump. She felt the warmth of his body next to her, something she craved because he now stood closer to her than he had in months. And when their eyes met in the mirror they reflected a mutual pain.
Sitting in the car next to her husband, Michonne's right hand moved to her now flat toned stomach and closed her eyes as she recalled the warmth of the palm of his huge hand on her baby bump and recalled how tears streaked his face as he felt their unborn child move within her for the very first time.
She recalled they stood there in silence for sometime after the movement ceased simply staring at one another in the mirror. She recalled desperately wanting his touch on a much deeper level but too afraid of what he'd think if she made such a move. Would he think of himself as a substitute for the man who caused what just happened between them? She feared his rejection, so she decided against doing the most natural thing—touching her husband, something that was her right to do, a right she forfeited the night she betrayed him. She had to let him seek her out, so she did nothing but basked in his warmth, the olive branch which he offered after several months of coolness, it was their first step together.
Lost in her thoughts, she came to when she momentarily felt the loss of his touch once more when she heard his voice, "I don't want that night to define us, Michonne. I'm willing to try sharing our bed again but that's only if you want me to."
She recalled turning into his open arms and wept. "I do, Malyk. I do!" Their embrace followed by what she later considered to be absolution from her sins as their bodies became one once more, three and a half months after she had sinned.
...
Michonne slid the card key into the slot and opened the door.
The simple room had been transformed. Red rose petals covered the entire floor and more. Two intertwined red hearts covered the white bedspread accented with pillows.
Malyk had gone all out planning a night which was now ruined.
Michonne stepped inside the room now permeated by the scent of roses and coughed.
The bouquet of roses overwhelmed the space, they dwarfed the champagne in the ice bucket and the chocolate-covered strawberries displayed nearby.
Neither of them uttered a word.
Instead, Michonne grabbed her overnight bag and walked into the bathroom.
…
Malyk draped his sport's jacket across the upholstered armchair and sat on the side of the bed. He rolled the sleeves of his white button-down shirt to his elbows and loosened his striped red and black tie. He sat with his fingers entwined and his head bowed deep in thought while he waited for his wife to re-emerge from the bathroom.
He knew the night was ruined, but he couldn't believe how it all went to shit so fast. She had asked him to be the bigger man and he tried. He'd gone out of his way to be friendly with the biological father of their son but what he hadn't expected to discover was that the man, whether he recognized it or not, had married a woman who bore a striking resemblance to his wife.
...
Michonne walked into the room dressed in a white oversized cotton sweater over black jeans with black heels.
Malyk looked up and took in her attire. He knew the night he had planned had been ruined but he hadn't anticipated her not wanting to stay.
"Where are we going?"
"Home!"
…
Thirty minutes later, it started when Malyk walked into the bedroom as Michonne hung up her dress.
"Are we not going to talk about what happened earlier tonight?"
"Malyk, I did warn you to let it go. I wanted us to dine alone."
"Do you understand what happened back there?" he asked referring to the restaurant.
"Apart from your attraction to his wife? No."
"WHAT? Are you crazy? I'm not attracted to her," he added insulted by her interpretation of his behaviour.
"From where I sat, you seemed positively distracted by her."
"I'm serious, Michonne."
"Then what are we talking about, the run-in at the supermarket? I would have told you about it, but we never had a chance to speak."
Malyk sighed, frustrated. "Don't you see it?" he asked as though whatever he referred to should be more than obvious to her.
"See what, Malyk?" Michonne asked, confused, and unable to follow the conversation.
"You told me he was over you!" Malyk stated, in a raised voice. You said this was about our son."
"It is about our son, Malyk, nothing more."
"Then why the hell does his wife resemble you?"
"Seriously, Malyk, I think you've had too much to drink tonight."
"I'm not drunk. What I see, is a man who never got over his one-night stand so he found himself a surrogate."
"Malyk, do you hear yourself?"
"You remember she said he followed her around like a damn stalker? He saw you in her and obviously couldn't help it."
"Now, you're being ridiculous," Michonne added, exasperated by her husband's paranoia.
"Every time he fucks her, it's really you, he's with. I know every detail of your face, your every tick, every inch and curve of your body and I'm telling you, that girl—his wife, she's a lighter version of you. I don't mean twin-like or nothing, but I can guarantee you, she's related to you. You behaved the exact same way when you thought that Andrea chick was into me. Tonight was a page from our senior year in the cafeteria, the poor girl said hi to me and I thought you were going to scratch her eyes out."
"That's hurtful considering you know damn well I'm an only child and the fact that my father's dead. And that woman looks nothing like me. And, by the way, Andrea Harrison, the school tramp was very much into you, you were just too blind to see it."
"It was never meant to hurt you. Your father may be gone, Michonne, but it's what he did while he was here that matters."
"Malyk, this is insane. You need to let it go. You promised me you would. It's not like we could put the genie back in the bottle. He knows he has a son."
"Don't you think I know that? What bothers me is that instead of fucking his surrogate, he might be more inclined to start sniffing around you."
"Really? And you believe I'm that easy, do you? That I have no free will in the matter?
"Michonne, I didn't say that. I simply wanted to point out what I see. Do I believe you're done with him? Yes, but he's still into you whether he realizes it or not."
Slowly, Michonne felt the room closing in on her, between Malyk's accusations and her earlier thoughts she needed fresh air to think. Malyk was wrong, he had to be. Her feelings were wrong, they were remnants of a long-ago past she buried. They had to be. She thought as she walked back into her closet and grabbed her purse and turned to leave.
"Where are you going at this hour?" Malyk interrogated.
"Home!" She answered, decisively. "I'll prove to you that you're wrong. And when I do, Malyk, you will let this fixation of yours go once and for all, if not, it'll destroy us because we can't live in the past."
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