Thump.
Michonne groaned. The alarm clock continued to blare loudly in the background. Her head felt heavy, as though a thousand pound brick had been thrown against it and her body felt as though it were at the bottom of the ocean, tied to an anchor. She struggled to move, struggled to breathe, struggled to remember where exactly she was or who exactly she was with. Next to her, a man that she could scarcely remember yawned and smirked at her. Immediately, she recalled the stranger as an executive that her father had set her up with at his company: Michael Mswati III, an aristocratic heir to the Eswanian noble family. She remembered him as tall, with smooth dark skin, and a glorious white smile. His body was tight and fit in all the right places. His accent was subtle, due to his schooling and work abroad from his family. However, he was due back home in a year's time to take over the throne from his father Michael Mswati II once he retired. It was important to Michonne's father that her immense wealth and connections stay within the family line, which meant that he wanted her to seek out other wealthy or aristocratic people. The problem was that Michael had several other wives in his homeland, as was customary for a ruler and she felt...lost. This life was not one she would have chosen for herself if she could choose.
Last night was her thirty fifth birthday party, even though her birthday was just after Christmas next week. After that, Michonne would inherit her father's estate and millions as was promised when she became an adult. In recent years, her behavior began to spiral because of the pressure that came with being a rich, influential heiress. The money gave way to excess, including clothes, houses, shoes, men, and whatever else her heart desired. She couldn't see herself living like a normal person enjoying simple things, ever. There was a part of her that did crave simplicity, but she wasn't sure what simplicity meant.
She felt Michael hugged her closer; his breath smelt strongly of vodka and hard liquor, his voice was abrasive as he wanted to push her on her back. She wasn't in the mood and could scarcely recall what she'd done the evening before.
"No, Michael," she said, pushing him away.
He scrunched his eyebrows in confusion at her refusal. "What's the matter, Michonne? We had so much fun last night. Your behavior, though, might be all over the papers tomorrow."
Panicked, Michonne rushed to turn on the television in the room. She'd drank so much last night that she'd completely blacked out at a certain point. She could not remember anything from her birthday last night after the cake was cute and she took her fifth shot of tequila. When she did turn on the T.V., there she was front and center falling out of a limousine which took her to the next club. The news report rapidly cut to the interior of the club, where Michonne climbed onto the table and twerked in front of everyone while screaming expletives and whooping. In the next shot, Michonne was grinding on Michael, who simply looked on at her without doing anything to stop her behavior. In the next shot, Michonne was angry and cursing out a woman at the bar, before charging at her angrily. At this point, Michael pulled her away before more damage could be done. In the next shot, Michonne was seen kicked out of the club, before exiting her limousine once again with Michael at her side.
"Michonne Hawthorne, billionaire heiress to the Coca Cola fortune here in Atlanta was seen completely losing it at the club last night. Many wonder if her father's legacy can survive."
After the report ended, Michael just laughed. "You were lit last night, babe," he said, attempting to kiss her. She moved away.
"I don't remember any of that," Michonne sighed. "My father is going to kill me."
"Screw your dad, Michonne! I'm about to be a king. Don't worry about it," Michael said.
The way Michael brushed off her genuine concern annoyed her more than anything. She felt embarrassed by her behavior and ashamed of what it made her look like. She'd thought that she had things under control lately, especially with her thirty fifth birthday passing, but it was clear that she was still spiralling. She didn't know why the sheer inheritance freaked her out and the desire to be a normal person overrode her sense of responsibility, but she knew that any chance of getting her inheritance was as good as gone now. Michael, sensing her trepidation and change of mood, stood up and dressed himself quickly before heading to the front door.
"While you sort that out with your dad, I have some things to take care of back at home," he said vaguely, offering no further explanation. "I should be back in a few months."
With that, he was gone.
Michonne sighed, before resigning herself to that sense of loneliness. She continued to watch herself on the television, noting her empty eyes and listlessness. She'd forgotten what it was like to be herself without all of those things and to have a partner that cared about her beyond her money or status. Shaking that off, she stood and decided to get dressed for the day. She knew that her father would be angry at her for her behavior last night, especially since it'd made the local news and would cause embarrassment to him at work.
She stretched, padding through her penthouse skyrise condo, until she stopped at her apartment sized closet. In it, she had luxury everything, from luxury handbags from Celine to Chanel to Burberry to Birkin and shoes from Jimmy Choo and Louboutin. Her clothes were sent to her by designers and starlets alike, as they wanted to see a socialite of Michonne's status wear their clothes and hawk their brand on Instagram and Twitter alike. As she looked around her closet, she sighed once more, feeling a sense of unease. Lately, especially with her inheritance coming up, she'd felt a growing pang inside of her. Everything around her felt empty, all of the material things suddenly didn't do it for her. She'd bought clothes from the finest shops around the world, sat with A listers at parties where they swapped stories about how they'd scored an exclusive bag, but all of that made her feel as though she was fading into the drywall.
She decided on a plain pair of jeans with a comfortable pair of chucks and a t-shirt. She wasn't in the mood for anything flashy today. Once she dressed, she grabbed her purse and shades off the table, but stopped at the mirror to survey herself. Her locs hung down past the middle of her back, her dark skin was smooth, although chocolate eyes were void of emotion, and her lips were pursed in a thin line. Despite all of that, she put her shades on and left.
The ride to her father's company was long, as Christmas songs played on the local station. The song playing highlighted thoughts that she'd rather avoid and feelings long buried by the usual holiday cheer.
A silent night, I know it's gonna be
Joy to the world but it's gonna be sad for me
What do the lonely do at Christmas
Michonne grumbled, turning the station to a more upbeat Christmas tune as she continued to drive to her father's company. She didn't want to think about what was missing, not now anyway.
Once she arrived at her father's company, she parked her car in its reserved parking space. Before she could even get out of the car, several people lined up at the door to greet her, take her purse, and offer anything that she might desire. She curtly brushed them aside, not wanting to deal with them today. She knew that it was rude to treat people that way, but she was tired of being waited on and treated a certain way due to her immense wealth and position at her father's company. She didn't want anyone to greet her or carry her things anymore; she just wanted to be normal.
When she arrived at the front office, she was buzzed in by her father's most prized assistant and her mother figure growing up, Ms. Jackie, who greeted her with a warm hug and smile. "Hi, sweetie," she said, kissing her cheeks. "Your dad is very upset with you."
Michonne averted her eyes away in shame. "I know."
"What's gotten into you, sweetie pie? You were such a good girl," Ms. Jackie said, her eyes filled with disappointment and confusion.
"I don't know," Michonne mumbled, unable to respond.
Before Michonne could respond, her father Roger Hawthorne stepped out of his office. His face was stone cold and stoic as he greeted his oldest daughter, the daughter fit to inherit a fortune and eventually his position at the company. He stood, tall and proud, with a fitted Armani suit and Alligator dress shoes. His face was similar to Michonne's, with the same high cheekbones and full lips, the same chocolate eyes and skin tone. Michonne was her father's twin, it seemed, in every way except personality. While Michonne was a free spirit, her father was stern and steady; where Michonne had an affinity for rebellion, her father was constant. They met at different points, but never quite met together. Michonne's father was perplexed by their distance, as she used to be a Daddy's girl, but as time went on, she'd grown distant from him and he from her.
Michonne walked forward and greeted her father with a handshake, before stepping back in front of him. "Hello, father."
"Michonne," he said. "We need to discuss some things."
"Okay," Michonne responded.
The pair of them took off to his office, before he closed the door and sighed. Michonne sat on his plush chair, which sat in front of his domineering and imposing desk. She felt as though she was in the principal's office, not her father's and the feeling unnerved her. She missed that closeness and hoped that her reckless behavior caught his attention. At least he'd noticed her, even if it was in a bad way.
"Michonne, your behavior is in every magazine," he sighed once again. He was embarrassed, which made her feel terrible. "You know that your inheritance is due, right?"
"Michonne gulped, before nodding. "Yes, I know."
"A big part of your inheritance is the way that you make our family look, how you make me look," her father continued.
Michonne simply nodded before he continued.
"I'm not sure if you should get your inheritance anymore," her father said.
"What? Why not?" Michonne stood up. "I'm entitled to it!"
"You're not entitled to a damn thing, Michonne, especially if you behave in that manner," her father said. "Sit down and listen. The terms of your inheritance are changing right now. I want you to do something for me."
Michonne's heart sped up. "Do what?"
"I want you to deliver these to a manager friend of mine in King County, Georgia," his father said, pulling out a bundle of notes. "I've known him since I was a kid. The letters need to get to him by Christmastime."
"What does this have to do with my inheritance?"
"Everything," his father said vaguely. "You need to get away from all of this and he lives in a nice little town. These letters are magic every year; they change lives. He runs a distribution center down there for me and helps out. Just do it, okay?"
Michonne sighed. "So, I do this and get my inheritance?"
"Yes," her father said. "You need to learn how to be a regular person, so you're not taking any of your money down there. No fancy car, no luxury suite, none of that. You're getting a job and staying put to deliver these letters. Do you understand me?"
"But…," Michonne grumbled. "I have to interact with regular people?"
"You used to be a regular person and I'm sure that's still there. Go, 'Chonne and don't come back until you've changed," her father told her sternly. "Or no inheritance."
It was exactly what Michonne needed and wanted, but she was left dumbfounded. No money, no luxury, and a small town delivering letters? Who did her father think she was? But if this got her her inheritance, she'd do it.
"Fine," Michonne said, grabbing the "magic" letters. "What's your friend's name?"
"Richard Grimes Sr," he told her.
:
King County, Georgia - One week later
Michonne cursed to herself as she pulled her luggage out of her cab. Her father had only allowed her enough to pay first month's rent for a home in town and a cab to get her here, but beyond that, she had none of her previous life's wealth. She struggled profusely to lift her own bag and get it out of the car, as her heels dug into the dirt below. She continued to struggle before she heard the sound of a hearty chuckle behind her. She turned around, scowling at the chuckle of a man about her age. His startling blue eyes stared at her as his chestnut curls fell in his face and plump pink lips pursed as he took her in. He was handsome, with an aquiline nose and perfectly proportioned features. She'd never seen a man so handsome, so intriguing. She was momentarily struck before she remembered her situation, and as if in a cartoon, she pulled her luggage out and saw it fly back into the street. Her clothes fell everywhere.
The cab driver laughed and drove away, grateful to be rid of her.
The man chuckled once more at her predicament. "Need some help?" he questioned her, smirking.
"I don't need anything from you -"
"Rick," he offered. "My name's Rick Grimes."
Michonne recognized it as the name of the man her father had requested she meet. She sighed, knowing that she'd have to deal with this man more than she needed to. "Michonne," she said, her tone clipped. "Do you know Richard Grimes Senior?"
"That's my daddy," he told her. "Unfortunately, he's out of town handling something at the distribution center. He won't be back until Christmas."
"That's at least three days from now!"
"Hey, calm down," he told her. "Why do you need him?"
"I have to give him some letters," she said vaguely, not really wanting anyone to know who she was just yet. It didn't seem as though this Rick person recognized her and she liked that. She liked being normal, blending in.
He squinted suspiciously at her answer. "Okay, Michonne, let me help you with this stuff at least."
"It's the least you could do," she snapped.
"Hey, now, Ice Queen, I don't know who you thank you are, but you're not gonna talk to me any type of way," the man said, his southern accent and rumbly voice did things to her insides.
"Whatever, cowboy, I'll pick up my own stuff," she huffed, attempting to pick up her belongings before Rick sighed and helped her.
Afterward, she snatched her belongings from him without a word. Rick just smirked, watching her hips switch as she walked away. This is going to be fun, he thought.