"What a gift we've been given to feel such a conflicting intensity of pleasure! All at once, we feel invigorated during a massive release of built-up intention and anxiety. Both lovers hidden in our own little pockets of private pleasure, and quite possibly the most visible we can ever be in our lives."

― Roberto Hogue

When did you stop loving me, Rick?"

I stood there speechless. It was the biggest epiphany I had ever experienced all while sober.

I was becoming more reckless than ever with Michonne. The sex between us was amazing. I wasn't going to stop especially not when it was getting better and better and Better with Michonne in comparison.

"What's my name?"

I tore my attention that lingered from her dark tits to the area below her belly button. My breath caught trying to stave off my coming too quickly and her insistent request wasn't going to help the situation. What I was feeling, experiencing, was mounting and increasing for no one else but Michonne.

"Say my name, Rick. Say it so I can come with you baby. What's my name?" She whined and wound me into an almost epileptic frenzy. More and more I became winded.

"Michonne. Yes. Michonne. Michonne. Oh my god, Michonne."

She was riding me with no mercy or consideration in lowering her volume. She didn't give a damn if we were heard through the walls and vent ducts. And by any other name, we could have been anyone if we weren't directly above my very own apartment fucking each other's brains' out. There was absolutely no way to pretend it was all a coincidence. No deniability.

"Mmmm, baby, again baby, what's my name? Who's giving it to you good? Huh, Rick? Who's giving it to you good baby?"

Her name was warped and strangled and twisted in my throat. I couldn't hold back especially with her crying out mine less than two seconds later.

Michonne became the love of my life at least my dick believed it first, my head above my shoulders didn't need any further convincing. Swift and utter acceptance pounded in my chest.

I was drained. I wanted nothing more than to fall asleep. Instead, I was startled and kept awake by Michonne's constant nudging as I was trying to doze.

"Wake up!"

"Why?"

"Because you don't live here to sleep here?"

"I pay the damn rent, don't I?"

"My rent. Not our rent. Big difference. Now wake up and get out of here."

"What is going on?"

"How about you tell me, Rick?"

"What do you want to know exactly?"

"Are you going to marry Lori?"

"Highly unlikely, don't you think?"

"NO would have been a better response."

"No." I snapped back.

"I've drafted up my thirty-day notice."

"What?"

"I'm moving."

"How? With what?"

"I found a small house. I've put down a deposit. I-."

"Don't you need a job, Michonne? Time on a job?" I pointed out the obvious.

"I'm moving. Get over it."

"I don't have a problem with you moving out, Michonne. I have a problem with you springing this on me like it doesn't matter to me that you are moving. You moving, matters."

"There. On the nightstand is my thirty-day notice. I am serious. The longer I stay, the more obvious it will be."

"Obvious you can't pay the rent or what's going on between us?"

"I paid my own rent last month." Michonne reminded.

"But this month?" I questioned what she plan to have since the rent was due the next day.

"I had to use the money for the deposit to move elsewhere."

Now she fucking tells me?

"My mother will keep your deposit, you know?" I tossed a thinly veiled threat. One thing I knew for sure, Michonne did not like my mother because she expected the rent like any other landlord. My mother didn't necessarily like Michonne, and it had everything to do with her inability to pay the rent on time. My mother would be devastated by the news that I broke things off with Lori.

"Of course! Why would I expect anything less from your mother?"

"Any landlord, Michonne. I can't keep fronting your rent. Something has to give."

"Like?"

"I'm tired of trying to explain the same things over and over and over. I'm tired."

"I'm not."

"Obviously." We began our stare down.

"I think you need to leave."

"When I'm rested," I told her. I wasn't budging, not until she told me where she was moving and exactly when. I didn't necessarily trust Michonne. She was someone that would disappear and never be heard from again. The thought of losing her caused an elevated level of anxiety now that I was aware of her intentions. "I'm here, Michonne because I want to be here. I'm not ready to leave."

Michonne had finally laid back but not close to me, where she was just moments before trying to keep me from falling asleep in her bed. I heard her mumble a few things, but one statement she made was crystal clear.

"I deserve better than this."

"Can it get any better?"

"What?"

I struck a nerve. I wasn't going to back off just because she was working herself into a foul mood or to maintain a degree of discontent.

"Seriously, can it get any better between us?"

"I have never been able to gauge outside of my apartment, Rick."

"What does this between us have to do with outside your apartment?"

"Nothing can grow in the dark. Well maybe mold but still."

"What?"

"I would like to see and be out and not hidden. I need the light of day. Sun, clear skies, rainy ones are okay too. I want more than sex. I want to go on a date."

"I want that too." I had admitted.

"When?"

"I can get away tomorrow?"

"Seriously?"

"Yeah. Seriously."

"Where's Lori going to be."

I shrugged, "Not with us."

"Welcome back, Mr. Weasel."

"Why am I weasel?"

"Because you are. This is our last sexing session. I deserve better and more than this. Covering all my bases. I want you to have a full idea of my expectations. Right now, this isn't it."

I was silent. My heart wasn't. What had happened was, I had fallen in love with Michonne nine pillow talks ago. I was wrapped around her finger. It was apparent the moment she waited for me to handcuff her for the stolen tires. I didn't. I didn't pursue the complaint made down at the apartment office about the stolen fruit basket, nor did I snitch on her regarding the missing peanut butter granola bar she swiped from the maintenance area that belonged to Morgan, the apartment handyman.

"What do you have to say for yourself?"

"I don't want to stop what we are doing."

She was silent. I glanced over at her in hopes she would share her thoughts or allow me to continue. She wasn't forthcoming.

"I've never met anyone like you, Michonne. It scares me too."

"It's not fair, Rick."

"I know it's not fair to Lori and that's the part I."

"Fair to Lori!?"

"Any louder, Michonne?"

"My volume is NOT THE PROBLEM RICK!"

It was the truth. My problem wasn't the volume. Admission. I had to admit I had a preference from what had developed unexpectedly with the woman in Apt 209. I was more than in love with her, I was officially her husband which happened on our first date.

"Where is he?" I had asked. I was suspicious of every man that glanced our way. There were quite a few men who didn't hide the fact they were checking Michonne out were on my radar. I just needed to know which one to confront.

"Where is who?"

"Your date."

"You are my date, silly!" She giggled.

The angry fire died immediately when I searched her eyes and found warmth wrapped in unguarded truth.

"What's the name of the movie again?" I was mesmerized by being so close and engrossed in seeing her in the new light she was bathed in, happy.

"Let's Get Married."

Only then did the crowd of people begin to make sense. Some were dressed as casual as we were and a few in tux and wedding gowns. Marriage license and an officiant standing two feet from a booth manned by people accepting and paying for licenses to get married in a mass group. The movie had caused a trend. I was unaware of it at the time.

"Are you asking?"

"Are you willing?"

A/N: Purposely ambiguous. Final Chapter coming up.