Open Relationship

A/N: *** This is just something I've had in my docs folder for a long time. I'm posting it hoping it will help spark my creative juices to complete some of my current works. ***

This is about a possible open relationship between Rick, Michonne, and Mike but don't worry it just speaks on the subject a bit. There will be no actual cheating in this story.

He ignores me now. His mind solely focused on his career and goals. Success is the driving force in his life but for me...I no longer know what drives me. As my depression wraps me tightly within its warmth Mike continues his climb up the corporate ladder uninterrupted. I sloth and slumber through my day. I don't know when this started it's as if I woke up one day and slid on my robe of dispiritedness.

I am an artist. I was an artist. I was featured in small galleries but that was so long ago.

I am a writer. I was a writer. My small opinion pieces could be found buried in the recesses of the local metropolitan paper.

I still daub color onto canvas but not with the vigor I once had.

I still hunt-and-peck sentences even paragraphs onto digital word documents but the descriptive beauty is lost.

I have a therapist for my condition and she thinks it would be best if I begin taking medication but pills won't help my sadness. I just want to retreat into my dark mental world where I feel safe. I have no desire to be held, touched or kissed. As my desires for sex or any type of intimate connection wanes he still seeks me out when he is eager. I reject...some of his advances. It's a spin the wheel game of chance that I will be in the tiniest of mood for intimacy. When I am it's good, very good but after the high comes the tumble down, my deep-set melancholy takes the place of my endorphins. The scale is unbalanced once again.

I've been like this for such a long time. My mind and body moving as strangers neither able to agree or disagree concurrently on if I should get out of bed today. I no longer nourish my soul and cause of this my relationship has begun to suffer.

He still desires sex so much so that he boldly speaks about his past conquests as if I'm no longer a consideration. The descriptions of these supposed 'great fucks' leave a lot to be desired. It was always some paltry physical attribute like the perky tits on Brittany or how Sam gave the greatest blowjob were all just venereal idiosyncrasies that made these unknown women special but there was never anything deeper. He was a shallow man so I wasn't that surprised.

We spoke about opening the relationship to others. We spoke about the positives and negatives of this type of situation on relationships. When we finally agree to the terms and conditions of our new situation the mutually beneficial position quickly showed it's one-sided card.

I've always been an open-minded person. Polyamorous love affairs with different lovers always appealed to me but that was during my college years where I refused to be tied to just one dick. I explored my sexuality openly. Never ashamed to kiss a girl or a boy maybe even both at the same time. I lived the way a man lived I fucked whom I wanted and when I wanted. I wasn't ashamed of my what some would call sordid trysts. I embraced each and every one. I know my father would have no qualms about calling his child a whore if he knew of my side activities. But why the one-way street? Why can he stick his cock in any female and not be degraded as less than human? Well, that's because dick is power, not pussy. Pussy is just there for pleasing and entertaining the male phallus. I can't help but chortle at this appalling viewpoint.

I agree to meet one of his former darlings. Her name was Jessie and as I said before she certainly didn't live up to the vivid over the top description he gave. She was...cute but that was all. Her blonde hair was showing a desperate need of a root touch-up. Her soccer mom attire did not scream freak in the bedroom. I had no issue with her. If he wanted to rekindle a sexual encounter with her then be my guest. He almost succeeded until she felt it would be ok to ignore me. From the moment she slid her petite scrawny self into the booth at the diner close to our home she attempts to make backhanded comments about topics that affect many Black and POC today. Mike wasn't phased by the contrived babble.

I may be hurting mentally but that doesn't mean I won't reach across a table and slap the taste out of someone's mouth. I loudly proclaimed this to Jessie making sure she understood that her phony civility would lead to her leaving the table with a black eye. She blanched two shades whiter and soon left. Obviously, the rekindling was placed on hold. Mike wasn't happy but I didn't care. He could blame me all he wants but there was no way I was going to let her stroke his ego while at the same time ever so nicely but viciously try to reduce me.

I joined a support group that I attend two days a week. The group is small no more than 15 people. We meet at the neighborhood community center. It's close to my house so I always walk the quick half mile. I could drive but walking the distance helps me prepare myself mentally to speak about what may be going on in my mind and how I have been unable to do anything outside the most mundane task. How I have the mental function sometimes of a dementia patient. I'm 35 still in the prime of my life but I don't function as such. My therapist feels this will be good for me. I don't think so but I still go if only to keep my therapist from prescribing me medication. I go to listen to it's good to know that you aren't suffering alone.

I arrive at the community center with time to spare. The parking lot is fairly empty. I recognize most of the vehicles as belonging to regulars of the meeting but there is one vehicle that I don't recognize. The black Jeep Liberty is parked far from the other cars. I can see the soft dim glow of a cell phone so there is still someone in the car. Reigning my nosy self in I make my way into the dark brick-colored building. The bright fluorescent lights light up the sparse hallway as my sneaker covered feet squeak periodically on the clean glossy multi-colored linoleum. I make my way to the back of the building where the semi-open atrium is located. I exit the hall and enter the meeting area. The space had the feel of a library with its large windows and open floor plan. Large crescent-shaped gray couches with pumpkin-colored cushions were placed in a partial circle with one gray armchair in the center. There were additional armchairs placed around the main couches. That is where I preferred to quietly absorb and listen. Many are still milling around drinking the free barely palatable coffee and store-bought cookies. We're all waiting on Deanna to arrive but I'm sure she will be late as usual. Oh, I forgot to mention she is also my therapist. It's really the only way she can make sure I honestly show up for this.

When Deanna finally arrives she doesn't bother with the normal calm pleasantries. Her face is flustered from rushing from her car. She begins the session like all of the others with her daily quote " The content and quality of our lives depend on our level of awareness- a fact we are often not aware of." Its a line out of a book called Real Happiness. She loves to cite it as if that one line can break through some of the barriers people have set up for themselves. I know I shouldn't be negative I guess it's just a habitual response my way of coping or not coping.

Once the meeting is on its way I begin musing over each individual story. Every story is unique for the individual but they all have lead the person to this meeting looking for help with coping and maybe learning more about themselves.

"Michonne, would you like to share with the group tonight," Denna says. Her voice is calm as she directs her eyes to me. I can feel the gaze of others in the room follow her lead and fall upon me. I suddenly feel naked in my seat. My dark skin visage now on full display.

"Well, I…" I stammer over my pitiful excuse my mind is racing to concoct any excuse I can. I am not ready for this. I look upon Deanna and I see the expressive poise but also pushy demand etched across her face.

I suck in a breath as I begin to give in to her request but I stop short as the loud click of the heavy doors of the atrium being opened echoed through the space. In walks, my saving grace. He is dressed casually in blue jeans, a grey t-shirt, and worn cowboy boots. His hair is covered by a worn baseball cap. Realizing his entrance has brought the activities of the room to a stop he mutters an apology before taking a seat in the chair next to mine. The smell of his cologne caresses my nose and makes me think of cool foggy mornings by a lake. I fight the urge to lean over and take a huge pull of his scent.

"Ok, now Michonne you were getting ready to share with us your story."

"Uhm ma'am. I have something I would like to get off my chest" said Eugene. Thank goodness for his love of oversharing.

"Alright, Eugene what did you want to tell everyone." I'm pulled from the nonsensical chatter as I see the new arrival scrolling through his phone. I glance forward to see if Deanna has taken notice but she hasn't.

"Hey," I whisper but he doesn't hear me. I rip a small piece of paper from my notebook trying to limit the amount of noise. I scribble a short note Don't let her see you on your phone I ball the small piece of paper up and toss it towards him. It lands in his lap which pulls his attention away from his phone as he glances around looking for the source of his disturbance. When he makes eye contact with me I lift both my eyebrows and make an open movement with my hands. He gets the hint and opens the paper. I can see him quickly read then crumble the paper again this time letting it fall to the floor next to his chair. His face showed his mild irritation of my note.

I just shrug my shoulders at his disregard of my heads up. Can't say I didn't try. My good deed has been done. I make myself comfortable in my chair again just as I see Deannas eyes settle onto the distracted new addition. She raises her hand to halt Eugene's current rant. I can see her thin eyebrows crease as she watches Rick continue to fiddle with his cell phone.

"Rick, since it's your first day joining us and you seem to be distracted let's have you speak next."

The look on his face was that of a child caught. He glances my way looking for direction. I give him a small shake of my head and turn my attention to the front. I warned his cute behind but he didn't listen.

His Southern accent is very pronounced so much so that I take delight in how he pronounces some of his words. His timbre is deep but reserved at the same time. His story is short and to the point. All stories usually are for new people. They rarely open up their first day. Many don't return. The fear of revealing why they are so broken to a room full of strangers.

Once the meeting has finally ended. I don't hang around like most. I have a nice distance to travel before I can crawl into my bed. Exiting through the doors I'm greeted by the light warmth of the evening. The sky is holding onto the last hazy purple tinge of the day as the sun sinks to the other side of the world. I enjoy this part of the evening where the world is starting to wind down fully.

"Hey," I hear the distinctive twang of a voice behind me. I turn to find the new guy Rick standing there near the entrance of the center.

"I wanna thank you for earlier. I should have taken your advice," he says

"Yeah you should have but you didn't.'

He chuckles. "You're not holding back"

"Holding back is for the meeting but out here I am just myself."

"Hey, would you like a ride home. It's kinda dark out to be walking all alone."

"I think I'll manage."

"I won't feel comfortable knowing…."

"We'll just pretend that you didn't know I walked home."

"Kinda late for that. Look I promise I'm just trying to be...how far is your house from here. "

"Like half a mile"

"So you pass Jones Plaza. Right?"

"Yep". I was enjoying the conversation even though it was a bit creepy for a semi stranger to offer me a ride home.

"How about I drop you off at Jones Plaza. That's the halfway point and after that, it's a busy area."

"Once again I appreciate it but no thanks." With my final declaration finished. I stepped away from him to begin my walk home. I would have loved to accept his ride but I've watched enough crime shows to know that it's always the devilishly handsome type who tends to be psychopaths and I wasn't in the mood of becoming a beautiful corpse.

A/N: Thank you for reading. Like I said this is just something to help me get back to writing again.