I don't own the walking dead
Chapter I: Break-up and… sobriety.
A week after the break-up.
From his high up office, Rick observes the chaos, which wrecks his entire firm. Voices rise, and people throw numbers left and right. Money evaporates rapidly despite his effort to stop the bleed out.
The NASDAQ is plummeting and with it, many investments too. As one of the top dogs, these losses are Rick's direct concern. Losses appear to be constant in his life. Rick has made many poor predictions in the last few days. He does not have to look too far to find the reason behind his incompetence, sobriety.
Without any chemical help, Rick is unable to follow the exhausting rhythm of his job. He can barely pull several nights without sleep. Rick cannot efficiently use his day if he has to stop in-between days to eat and sleep. Unfortunately, without the many drugs, which he used to consume, Rick has to deal with the limitations of his body.
"Are we going to sell or are we holding?" One of the junior traders steps into Rick's office. "We have a slight fall, but it could go down faster." He declares as he begins to least the number on the curve.
Slowly, stress builds up while Rick's eyes glance at the board, and the values plunge exponentially. He holds multiple files in his hands and tries to peruse each of them. Rick searches for the wrong numbers but appears to be unable to find any.
"Am going to need a minute, Monroe?" Rick attempts to sound confident.
"So we hold?" Monroe concludes.
"I asked for a minute to run the number," Rick corrects the younger man.
"It's down ten percent," Monroe declares. "When the conclusion for the world water summit comes out, it might be worse, Grimes. We hold or sell."
"We hold…" for the first time, Rick does not trust him.
Fate is a cruel mistress, and misfortune relentlessly strikes Rick. He does not have to wait long to know the outcome of his decision.
More losses and more money disappear into thin air. It is a matter of time before the phone starts to ring. As in cue, the red line goes on, and Rick places the call in speakers. A client abandons the sinking ship with the new financial loss.
"I will go rundown the new number," Monroe announces as he rushes out of Rick's office.
Rick stares at the floor. He almost wants to join the men and women doing their best to avoid bankruptcy of many companies. Yet, fear holds Rick back. He is not feeling confident about his ability to trade. In his sobering state, he is oddly incompetent. Rick is nonfunctional.
Furious, Rick pushes away the files. He cannot find the answer to his problems because his senses are not sharp. He cannot read the number as well as he usually does. He is exhausted from the lack of sleep, and forty hours sleepless will do that to anyone. Although, he isn't anyone. The young man is Rick Grimes, thirty years old finance prodigy. The anomaly in the trading world, he made it to the top too fast. However, Rick understands the numbers and has the advantage to fit in the social circle. Today, he is a shadow of the brilliant trader, who has a reputation preceding him.
Blue eyes stare at the market curves, which continue to bring low numbers. Fury bubbles under the surface, and Rick's blood boils. Rick cannot bear the price to pay for sobriety. Between the chronic physical pain and the unclear mental state, he begins to lose sight of his previous wishes. Why does he bother to stay away from the only form of happiness and peace, which he can afford and access?
His anxiety begins to grow from burgeoning doubts. Rick hardly tolerates pressure, but his job is a succession of stressful events. Today is subjectively the worst day of his life. Rick can hardly stomach the bitterness of failure. He feels mediocre. Rick fears not to match the myth surrounding him. Without the drugs, his empire crumbles. He is nothing but an impostor.
Lives and futures depend on choices, which Rick makes. Managing a corporation is draining. He regrets a time where he was with the boys down. His shoulders are too frail for what he must endure as one of the firm big heads. Perhaps, Rick fell harder into the drugs because he felt like an impostor without them. Many have called him a genius, but Rick can only notice his inadequacy.
….
….
…..
For an endless period, Rick stares at a pile of papers before him. He cannot amount the losses of today to anything but his failure. The numbers swerve, and he has a poor focus. Rick's concentration is too poor to predict any successful outcome. Rick quietly panics.
His recent inability to work frightens Rick. With fear comes weakness. Rick's thoughts are no longer his. Every fibre of his being aches with need. Rick sighs and drops the pen, which he holds. His vision blurs, and Rick further panics.
The fear worsens the craving. Rick strives to resist the tempting call. Comfort and happiness could be in his next dose. Many questions arise. Why is he fighting so hard for sobriety? Rick does not have a clear answer. His battle means nothing to him.
Rick stares at the pile of papers, and he faces his biggest nightmare, failure. Rick feels like a failure. His genius seems like a distant memory. Rick wonders if he is truly brilliant or an impostor. Under influence, Rick never questioned his reality. Why does he adamantly fight his addiction? Rick has no sincere responses.
Since Michonne left, Rick has attempted to stay sober, the last effort to salvage his marriage. Consequently, Rick has had a complex week, and today is the day to prove it. From the poor professional performances to the unexpected physical responses, obstacles bar his way to sobriety.
Sobriety is the biggest hindrance to Rick's success. When sober, the trading mayhem terrifies Rick. He has not slept for two days. Generally, the lack of sleep is not a problem. Rick has spent entire weeks awake, but the substances help to accomplish such performance.
Rick's job defines him. Without it, he is another failure like his brother. Without the name that Rick made for himself with hard work, he is nothing but a spoiled brat with a trust fund. Rick is one of the Grimes boys. Nameless and son to one per cent, Rick always refused such a pathetic life.
Today is one of those shitty days when memories of his childhood resurface. Rick sighs and holds a wave of nausea. He cannot think of his teenage days without the memory of his older brother. The taste of failure sticks to Rick's tongue. He feels terrified to be as much of a failure as his elder brother was. Rick is one of the Grimes boys, an impostor, a failure, and an addict.
Rick cannot bear the thought. He feels nothing but rage and disgust. He wants to fix the situation. Rick wants to be himself. He wants to excel at his job.
Rick needs to be at his best, and clonazepam often sells him such an illusion. He is Rick Grimes. He is a brilliant man. He should be brilliant, and yet today he became an impostor. When he experiences withdrawal symptoms, Rick fails to excel. He does not feel like whom he supposedly is.
An entire week spent without any drug. In the last few days, Tremors and splitting headaches replace nausea and drowsiness. Pearls of Sweat recover Rick's forehead. He feels sick, and the situation terrifies him. His vision blurs out of focus. The numbers, which he tried to read for hours, disappear. His panic increases tenfold. From downstairs, shouts erupt to announce another loss.
His phone starts to ring, and he knows what the caller wants. Another loss, more money is flying out the window, and his reputation might take a hit after today.
Rick no longer knows how to feel. He has worked so long to earn a right to a name and a reputation. At moments like this, he can help but think of his brother. The horror of those days resurfaces, and he remembers the quiet funeral. There was nothing much to say about him besides that he was the son of his father. Rick had sworn he would earn a name for himself. Now, the same fear, which haunted him during his brother's funeral, took Rick.
His heart rate is rapid. Rick needs to sleep. Although, he cannot because he must handle a financial cataclysm. Quickly, Rick's brain shuts down, and his body starts to do the same. Rick feels faint and sick. His malaise is virulent.
The early discomfort evolves from a blurry vision to transient blindness. Suddenly, the lights are not vibrant. He further dives into his fear. How long can he bear it? Rick exhausts himself thinking of ways to endure the physical pain, but the psychological weight seems unbearable. He is not far from psychosis.
Rick needs to sit down, but his disorientation stops him from finding his desk. Rick needs to breathe, but stress closes his airways. He starts to pace back and forth, but his legs are painful. His anger morphs into a raging fury. At the glass windows, which form his office's walls, he throws an antique vase. The piece of fine China litres the floor. Nothing helps with his emotions.
No one around Rick flinches because the outbursts of anger are usual to the traders. They do not even bother looking up to know what had happened. The chase of money is more interesting. Rick also thinks the same, and losing money has begun to drive him insane. He could remedy the situation. Rick only needs to control his mind and impulse. He questions himself on the sacrifice.
Rick tries again to take a deep breath, but it worsens his state. Consequently, He is nauseous. He slightly stumbles. With a sudden rise of vertigo, the world begins to spin around him.
The phone continues to ring, and he chooses to ignore it. Soon, his cell phone joins the cacophony. People from down shout their losses. His head buzzes. It feels as if there is a crack in his skull. Ultimately, He experiences deafness. His eyes are in and out of focus. His legs shake, and tremors overtake his body. Downstairs' chaos reaches his office.
The phone rings. Constantly, his cell phone buzzes. Now, someone knocks at his door. They need the numbers. They need Rick to do his job. He cannot crawl at the door. He trembles with fright.
"Give me a minute. I need to review the algorithm." His voice trembles while he tries to save time.
"We don't have all day, Grimes." A frustrated voice fills Rick's office. "You don't need to review shit," He pursues. "You need to get your shit together or pack your little boxes when the investment turns into a loss."
The pressure accumulates, and it worsens Rick's stress. This is his professional reality. He loves his job, but it is demanding. Rick does not sustain sleepless weeks, but no one should. However, there are ways to cheat. Everyone around Rick does the same. A pill here and another there. The practices come with consequences. However, they do not have the day.
"Give me a fucking minute, Dixon. Do you want your numbers to be accurate or do you just need the numbers?" Rick attempts to buy time.
"I want my numbers now and you know what the next mistake will cost you, Grimes." He says from across the door. "In the next hour you can kiss your job goodbye if I don't get my numbers." Merle says. "If the clients continue to jump out of the ship, we will have to file for bankruptcy. Actually, you have twenty minutes to pull a miracle out of your ass." Merle Dixon, who is a senior in the cooperation, answers unimpressed.
Rick knows every word is true. Trading is precarious, and one has to be ready to make sacrifices. The noises threaten to destroy his eardrum. His headache dismembers his brain, and Rick cannot stand on his leg because his body needs a fixture.
"Alright…Alright." He subdues the pressure and half-crawls to his desk. "I will make you one better," He declares. "Ten minutes and you get me some benefits out of it."
Rick wipes his mouth, and he wants to get rid of the bitter taste of tears. He looks at his desk, and there is a portrait of Michonne. He has not thrown out her stuff or her picture. Rick has not fully accepted her departure, and that is the reason why he clung to his sobriety. He had hoped for her return. Only a week had passed since their break up.
Rick had yet to file for divorce, and Michonne had not done it as well. He could still keep the hope to see her return to him. Rick had wanted her to return to a better version of him. Yet, he felt particularly miserable now.
"I'm sorry, and I tried." Shamefully, Rick places Michonne's picture into the drawer, which is attached to his desk. "I did try as hard as I could… you were right. I ain't shit while drugged, but I'm even worse sober."
Rick imagines the judgement in her eyes, and he hears their past arguments. The drugs are not for recreational purposes. He is not an addict, but he is dependent. There are two different psychological levels, and so Rick claims. Now, it does not matter.
After losing Michonne, He tried to stop. Although, it is in vain because Michonne has left. It is too late for a change, which he does not want for himself. He lost his love, and losing his job would be stupid.
Rick has a defective morality. When he is desperate, he chooses unwisely. He wishes that he could be the man that she led him to believe he was. However, he is the man who drove her away, and that man has his job for comfort. He has nothing but a reputation building on acts of an impostor.
Rick clasped his hands together while he prayed the tremors would not intensify. He tries to swallow the thick amount of saliva, but his glands never stop producing more. It is his first withdrawal episode. After his vision returns, Rick rushes to the bathroom. He stares at the clear mirror.
After inspecting the booths, he stares at the clear mirror. Rick looks at his tired reflection. The bright white lights are aggressive to his exhausted pupils. The dark circles under his eyes are preeminent. The long-lasting nausea is hard to tolerate, and the excess of bitter saliva is terrible. His body begs for the substance.
"Fuck this." He shouts while his fist collides with the bathroom's wall. "Fuck...fuck," He repeatedly curses.
His temper is a thing, which he can no longer control. Another reason behind why Michonne left. His hand throbs and the pain extends from his fingers to his forearm. Pain is a good thing because it distracts the mind. It is a fixture for a short minute, but Rick has the time to decide what sacrifice he should make. Does he still have anything to lose?
Furious, He wipes the tears before they fall from his eyes. Rick takes a deep breath, but breathing does not help. The air, which fills his throat, causes his nausea. He spills his guts in the toilet. Rick does not feel better. He cleans his mouth, and the disgusting taste remains on his tongue.
Rick cannot suffer through the burning sensation. When he leans forward, clear contents pour out of his mouth and fill the sink. He has not eaten in days because he cannot tolerate any solid food in his state. Rick is tired, and the pain is insufferable. It does not benefit him to continue this self-punishment. It is not bringing Michonne back, and he knows it. He is only making his life hell for the sake of hope.
Desperately, Rick searches his pocket. He must have carried it. Forcefully, His hands look for his pill container. He becomes desperate with each passing second, and then he finds the transparent yellow box. He is relieved and takes three pills. Once he finishes, Rick throws the drug container against the wall. With regrets and exhaustion, Rick sits on the dirty ground. He does not care for his designer clothes. He stared at nothing in particular while he fell back into this infernal circle of addiction.
Ultimately, Rick stands and walks back to the sink. Rick splashes water on his face. He considers taking more pills because the tremors have yet to stop. However, he does not take more. To work, He needs lucidity. He walks into a little toilet cabin and closes the door. When open spaces stress him, he seeks small spaces to indulge in his deepest fears. He sits on the toilet seat, and he brings his hands to his wet face. Tears fall without any restraint. Like a fearful child, Rick sobs. With each tear, his insecurities pour out his soul. For Michonne, He tried to fight his addiction.
After a few minutes, Rick exits the bathroom and heads to Merle's offices. He slowly knocks at the door until Merle opens it.
"I have your numbers," Rick declares.
Present.
.
.
Michonne sought a reason to return to Rick for so long, and a baby felt like a good one. The four months without her ex-husband were difficult and lonely. When Michonne discovered her pregnancy, she rushed to buy a plane ticket. It was supposedly the right thing to do. In the following hours, she changed her mind and never used it.
Her new status as a pregnant woman is another reason to care for herself more than she did in the last three years. Michonne loves Rick more than she can fathom, and yet she seems to have found the perfect crouch to lean on when her resolve weakens.
Her growing child will not be in a secure environment around Rick. Rick prioritizes his work over everything. His job comes before his health and his relationship. The drug and alcohol abuse started because he wanted to be the best. Why would it be different with a child? Michonne came second to a job, which destroyed him from inside. How cruel would she be if she allowed her child to suffer from such a fate?
Michonne has avoided calling Rick for two months. Now, she is six months pregnant with a swollen belly and strong guilt. She has not told anyone, and she is afraid Rick might find out and feel betrayed by her silence. Michonne is not sure how to move forward.
Her best friend, Sasha, does not know, and the need for secrecy complicates every second of Michonne's life. She wants a person to stand by her side to share everything she feels as life grows in her. Michonne wants to express her joy, and yet there is that nagging feeling. The experience is incomplete. Rick should be part of the journey.
Michonne has stared at her phone for the past five hours. She has finally decided to tell Rick about their child. Yet, she lacks the courage to pass the call. Her doubts have not left.
Does she want to say something? Should she inform Rick because it is his right? How would Rick's problem with addiction affect their child? Michonne has made extensive research. The cons are endless, and the advantages seem so meagre. Michonne feels selfish. Perhaps, her needs for Rick influence her choice.
Each time she attempts to place the call, her mind loses itself in turmoil and doubts. When Michonne faces a mirror, she easily can decide. She is not ready to tell Rick, but she does not want to birth to their child without Rick's hand holding hers. She does not want to see one of her happy fantasies fade.
Yesterday, Michonne visited her obstetrician for some prenatal exams. One of the most beautiful moments of her life felt incomplete. Rick's absence was heavy on Michonne's mind. She felt so alone and selfish. Finding out their child sex reopened Michonne's wounds and left her heart bleeding.
Michonne and Rick are having a boy, and she knows Rick will adore him. Rick will not forgive her if she keeps their son away from him. She sometimes wonders if he forgave her for leaving.
Rick and Michonne spent many hours fantasizing about a future with children. Sometimes, she held hope because of that future. Now, tomorrow and what it might bring scare Michonne. She has sleepless nights.
Michonne's strongest argument in favour of calling Rick is also the reason why she should not allow him around her. She is pregnant with Rick's child.
Michonne inhales, and she calls Rick. The first call does not go through, and she feels some relief. Yet, she cannot use one attempt as a reason to keep everything secret. Michonne attempts to call again, and it endlessly rings.
Michonne knows that it takes multiple calls to reach Rick. Six months have not changed some things, and He is always busy. She calls again and waits for Rick to pick. Michonne works the nerve to explain the situation. She coaches herself to stay strong. Michonne repeats a few sentences to be sure about their clarity.
The call ultimately goes through, and Michonne's heart stops. She forgets her perfect sentences and their clarity. Michonne loses her voice at the simple sound of Rick's breathing.
"Rick Grimes." She hears the hesitation in his voice. "Could I know who I am speaking with?" He gently says.
Rick's voice successfully wraps itself around Michonne's brain. The longing returns with violence. She remembers how big the distance between Rick and herself is.
"Hello," He pursues.
Michonne cannot breathe. Her reaction to Rick is visceral. Listening to his voice causes impairment of her heart rate. She missed the huskiness of his voice and the drawl, which he adds to every word. Her brain has frozen in its eagerness to bask in familiar comfort. Michonne painfully missed Rick.
For a minute, she can do nothing but breathe. Michonne's world spins out of its orbit. Again, it feels like the centre of her universe has shifted to Rick. Michonne attempts to shake herself out of the trance.
She does not want to sound like a creepy character in a horror movie. Michonne almost drops the phone and quickly saves it. She recovers the microphone with her hand. Michonne encourages herself with many positive thoughts. To strengthen her mind, Michonne picks the ultrasound Polaroids. She stares at the image of burgeoning life.
"Hello?" Rick insists and expects an answer.
Michonne holds onto the sound of his voice like a lifeline. When she is about to start speaking, Rick giggles. She curses in her breath.
His reaction is out of place, and Michonne knows him better than anyone would ever be able to do. Rick Grimes does not giggle unless he is out of his mind. The implications of Rick's giggles lift the veil off Michonne's mind. She becomes more aware of her surroundings.
Michonne hears the noise in Rick's background. She recognizes some trendy songs. Michonne feels transported back to the months before their break up. She would be pretending to socialize, and Rick would be doing God knows what in the bathroom.
Rick is at a party, and Michonne knows how he behaves in such environments. Michonne stopped going to those events with Rick for the same reason why she left. The drugs and alcohol flow and Rick cannot help himself. The rage overwhelms her. How many calls did she pass to reach him? Michonne's heart sinks. She immediately chastised herself for forgetting what she escaped.
"You don't care who it hurts as long as you get high, Rick." The words leave Michonne's mouth, and she hates herself for sounding like a broken clock. "All the grand discourse about how much you love me. I'm always too dumb. You love no one not even yourself. How would you when you can't stand yourself without a nose full of coke." Michonne says with poisonous anger. "I spent the day trying to call you, Rick…" Michonne laments. "I have been dying of fear all day, and you're high." She chokes on a sob. "Rick…"
Michonne stops when she notices that she is falling into old habits. She said those words many times. Michonne glances at her swollen stomach as she feels a sharp pain.
Life is cynical. Tears drench her visage, and Michonne is mid rant. Their son chooses such a chaotic instant to give his first kick. Involuntary with his shenanigans, Rick ruined such a pure moment. Michonne sighs and concludes on their sad reality.
"Michonne? I swear I'm not high. Don't be mad, sweetheart. I'm not high. I swear I'm not high." Rick rushes out of the venue.
Michonne hears Rick lie for the umpteenth times. She does not know where to start.
"I made a mistake calling you," Michonne says between tears. "I made a mistake falling in love with you and keeping that love going until now."
Accordingly, Michonne chooses to privilege her health and sanity. Their unborn child is Michonne's priority.
"Chonne," Rick pleads. "Listen to me, I'm sober."
Michonne hangs the call, and she cannot bear to relieve the ugliness that was the last months of their marriage. She switches off her phone. Michonne knows that Rick will not stop calling until she picks the phone.
Michonne regrets her optimism. She should have listened to her brain. Rick Grimes is an addict. She cannot change that fact. Michonne must act accordingly. She cannot tell him about her pregnancy.
Michonne will tell Rick the truth when she can resist any pressure from him. Yet, she still needs support. After tonight, Michonne needs help. She picks her phone and calls Sasha.
"Mimi," Sasha says as soon as the call connects.
The warmth of Sasha's voice suffices to prompt Michonne to be sincere.
"I'm pregnant...and I'm alone. I don't know what to do" Michonne blurts out. "I called to tell Rick, and he was high. He never stops. He is going to die one of those days. I will be alone. I will lose him. I'm pregnant, Sasha. He is high and Sasha…" Michonne begins to sob endlessly.
"Breathe, Michonne."
Rick knows how futile it is to lie to Michonne. Yet, he does not want to bear the weight of her disappointment. He cannot even think beyond Michonne's hurt.
"Chonne," Rick says gently. "I'm not high." He insists.
"I made a mistake calling you," Michonne says between tears. "I made a mistake falling in love with you and keeping that love going until now."
Rick freezes, and he tears up when Michonne's sob punctuates that statement. He does not know how he will survive that statement.
"Chonne," Rick pleads. "Listen to me, I'm sober."
Michonne hangs up, and Rick loses his mind. He calls her, and she does not pick up any of Rick's calls. After an hour of calling, Rick concludes that Michonne switched her phone, and he goes ballistic.
His rage erupts, but it does not last. What remains after a broken phone and a broken fist is crushing guilt. Rick no longer cares for Michonne's words. He dwells on his part in the chaos.
The guilt and the anger are crushing. The sentiment to be worthless petrifies Rick. He cannot bear to be an impostor in Michonne's eyes. Rick cannot navigate such sentiment. The fear and disgust that he feels toward himself only nourishes one side of his brain.
Rick returns to the party, and he attempts to escape his fears and demons. Michonne's voice does not leave his mind, and soon it feels as if she is hurling his inadequacies to his face. Rick can no longer bear his thoughts and lucid mind.
He excuses himself from professional companies. Rick is not a partygoer. Rick is a workaholic. He steps into the bathroom. He searches his pocket. At first, he goes for the pills. From Adderall to clonazepam, Rick does not care as long as he feels nothing. He is not after the bliss. Rick only needs escapism, and he does not find it.
He would not find it so easily when Michonne is the centre of his anguish. Rick leaves the bathroom, and he heads toward one of the Dixon brothers. In his state, he cannot tell people apart.
"Do you have coke?" Rick asks most casually, and he already knows the answer.
Rick takes what the youngest Dixon brother offers. He returns to the bathroom and never leaves it. When he ultimately does, the paramedics are taking him to the emergency.
Rick expects to be alone when he opens his eyes. Therefore, he does not keep them close like he always did when Michonne would be waiting by Rick's side that he survived.
He almost feels thankful for Michonne's absence. Rick hates the pain in Michonne's eyes. He does not want the chaos of his life reflected in her eyes. Rick hates himself and his addiction each time a bit more than the previous one.
Yet, he has failed to stop. His demons are traumas, which ruin all of his senses. Rick states at the ceiling. His lungs hurt, and his mind remains broken.
"Next time try a gun."
Rick turns to face the person speaking, and he chuckles for lack of emotions.
"It's the quickest way to achieve whatever you want to achieve."
"Shane?" Rick painfully says. "When I try to die, I will remember. " He nonchalantly replies.
"You aren't trying," Shane deadpans. "What the fuck are you doing then?"
Rick does not dignify the conversation. He struggles to draw a breath. He cares little for a lecture. Rick has been on the receiving side of many more touching pleas. Yet, he cannot help that he is sick and frightened by his reality.
"It's the second one in less than six months." Shane pursues since Rick has opted for silence. "She wasn't a bitch for leaving you. I take back all the shit I said about Michonne."
"Yeah," Rick pathetically agrees.
"You could say something more," Shane begins to lose patience. "I have been here for a week. I have a wife and a child. I can't babysit you because you don't want to stop being a jerk." He harshly adds.
Rick does not take any of Shane's words personally. A single glance at his best friend helps Rick understand. Shane has been through hell the last few days. Nothing can be more traumatic than watching a loved one almost dying repeatedly in the space of a few days.
"I didn't ask you to do that." Rick responds. "You actually wasted your time, Walsh." He says without missing a word. "You can go home to your wife and child. Your little happy family must miss you." Rick finishes. "Get the fuck out of here. Next time, tell whoever calls you that I ain't shit and should die alone."
Shane sighs and rubs his swollen eyes. He had not slept since Rick overdosed. He looks at Rick, and he does not know where to start the needed conversation.
"I will do that once I sign you into a rehab program," Shane declares.
"Very funny," Rick chuckles. "a comedian," He sounds frustrated. "I don't need rehab."
"You're an addict, Rick."
Shane inhales and attempts to find the needed amount of patience for his friend.
"And that is why your wife left. So why don't you get your shit together and salvage whatever you can." He declares. "You would do anything for Michonne. This shit is no different."
"Go home to your family, Shane." Rick deadpans, and he attempts to overlook his anger.
Everything sounds conveniently simple. Do it for Michonne. After many attempts to do it for her, Rick has begun to accept that he will not survive his addiction.
"Next time, you'll be intelligent enough not to give a fuck about me and where I end up after a party." Rick finishes with an absence of emotions.
"Get help, Rick,"
35th week of her pregnancy.
.
.
Michonne has kept her secret as long as she could, but now it is eating at her conscience. Her anger seems almost trivial before the approaching date of her son's birth. Each night, Michonne wakes up afraid that her son and Rick will hate her for keeping them apart.
After considering all options, Michonne has admitted to herself the need for Rick's presence during the birth and the rest of their son's life. Michonne's fears and doubts have not left her, but she has to do with them.
Michonne gazes at the window, and the weather is morose. The drizzling rain matches her poor mood. She has not enjoyed the sun in the last few days. The winters are not too harsh in Italy, and so Michonne complains less of the ugly time. Such a quiet night and its endless rain bring some comfort.
Michonne sits by the window. Her pregnant stomach makes it hard to enjoy any position be it sitting or standing. Michonne's hand absentmindedly follows her son's hand as it stretches her skin. Michonne overthinks, and she does not change her mind.
She picks her phone and sighs. Michonne has postponed the call long enough. She quietly panics as Rick's phone begins to ring. She has prepared herself for the usual dance of waiting. He will pick at the umpteenth time. Although, Rick picks faster than she expects him to do. Michonne only had to call him three times.
"It's the wrong time to call, and I probably don't give a fuck about you might have to say." His voice carries annoyance. "But go ahead and tell me the emergency" Rick's opening statement chills her.
Michonne is silent for a minute, and she cannot fathom a response to Rick's diatribe. Michonne glances at her clock. Where Rick lives, it is dawn. Yet, she knows that he was not sleeping.
"Breathing doesn't register as words." Rick sarcastically emphasizes when Michonne's silence lengthens.
When he is tipsy, Rick is generous, and so he does not hang the call. Michonne's silence persists, and his annoyance increases in response. Michonne sighs exasperatedly. Rick is either drunk or sleep-deprived. Perhaps, he could be both.
Michonne recognizes the edge of drunkenness in Rick's voice. He does not slur his words, but the thickness of his accent speaks volume. Rick begins to sound like anyone from the rural town where he spent his childhood.
"I'll call later, Rick." She softly says. "When you're less drunk and sleep enough."
Michonne feels relieved for a second. She may have overestimated her bravery. Michonne is not ready to deal with Rick. Two weeks after her delivery, she is afraid to have a needed conversation with her son's father.
Michonne wants a reminder of her home. Rick represented that haven for the three last years. His voice overwhelms her. Michonne does not feel ready to confront her losses.
"Michonne…" Rick questions her with a voice brought to life by hope. "Chonne?" He laughs.
Michonne nods as if Rick can see her. She does not know how to react to his joy. Ending the call no longer feels like an option after nine long months without the echoes of Rick's laugh. Michonne tightly holds her phone. She is afraid to have it slipped from her grip.
"Chonne," Rick confidently says. "I know how you say my name. I can't forget that loving tone. How would I, Chonne?" He explains. "Chonne," Rick gently says.
Almost nine months have passed since Michonne heard her name said so reverently. Her hand roams over her belly. The kicks make her lose her breath. Their son displays his excitement. Michonne smiles when a little hand pushes against her belly.
"I'll call you back tomorrow," Michonne retrieves her use of language. "Goodnight, pretty boy." She cannot help her fondness for the man now.
"No, you can't call back tomorrow." Rick says firmly. "Don't call me tomorrow. You can't do that to me. You can't," He firmly adds.
"You're drunk, Rick." Michonne argues. "We're going to fight if this call goes for a minute longer." She wisely adds. "Sleep it off, Rick."
Rick laughs, and Michonne does not end the call.
"Not tomorrow, not later or ever. You can't call me." Rick counters. "We aren't doing this when I'm sober or drunk."
Michonne sighs and accepts what would follow. Their argument is brewing.
"I need to talk to you, Rick." Michonne confesses. "I'm not doing this with you now, babe."
Michonne's slip reveals what Rick already knew. She did not move on from him. He selfishly wished Michonne would not find someone to occupy his space. If Rick was sober, he would use such an opening to manipulate the odds in his favour. Now, he is drunk and sincere. Rick's love for Michonne rules his actions.
"You're having a moment of weakness right?" Rick sounds as if he knows everything. "What is it? What was your trigger today? That little thing who made you cry because you miss me. It doesn't matter. Hang up and throw whatever it was." He speaks from the height of personal experience.
"Rick?" Michonne sighs.
" You made a mistake loving me. Your words not mine. Hang up!" Rick declares with a broken heart.
"I'll never regret loving you," Michonne counters.
A laugh-filled with bitterness creeps out of Rick's belly. Rick knows too much about moments of weakness. Those days when he contacts Sasha and begs for Michonne's new number. There are the nights when he misses her so much, and the morning when her laughs echo in every empty room of the apartment, which they used to share, are the worst days of Rick's life.
"I do miss you." Michonne admits. "I have my moments of weakness. I do cry for days when it happens, but at least, I don't drink myself into the next day." She says softly.
Rick snorts. Michonne's words annoy him. He was doing well before Michonne's call. He did not buy a ticket for Europe this week. Rick will probably do that next week if he finds anything, which belongs to Michonne in their home.
"This is why you're calling. Sasha snitched on me, and I already told Shane…"
Michonne's cries interrupt Rick's tirade.
"I will die alone. Don't worry." Rick comments with depreciation. "Karma will get me for the shit I put you through."
Rick's words are Michonne's breaking point. The pain and loneliness, which she has endured for nine-month, begin to crush Michonne's will. She has spent her saddest days seeking Rick's comfort. Today is no different. Michonne can no longer hold her tears. She abruptly begins to sob until she is breathless.
"I'm sorry, Chonne." Rick pleads when her cries fill his ears. "Stop crying," Rick cajoles his ex-wife. "Chonne," He begins to panic when she does not stop. "I'm sorry."
Rick sucks the oppressive warm air and sighs. Nine months without any contact and the first thing he does is to make her cry. The unfolding event prompts Rick to retrieve his senses. He sits and faces the awakening city.
"Hey, sweetheart," He said with a honeyed tone. "Tell me what I did wrong. I can't pay my way out of this even though I don't know where to deliver the dress." Rick attempts to steal Michonne's focus. "Give me a little list of what I must apologize for, and so you know I'm sorry."
Rick lights a cigarette and waits for Michonne's tears to end. He picks his mind for the right words.
"You didn't have to be an asshole," Michonne replies. "I didn't…" She sighs.
"We were trying to avoid this when you left. It hasn't been a couple minutes, and you're in tears." Rick laments. "I ain't your cross to carry. This thing doesn't work, babe." Rick assumes rudeness and harsh truths will kill Michonne's expectations. "I didn't have to be an asshole. I didn't have to be drunk. I shouldn't lose you because I love you. I could go on, but the truth remains. Now, you end this call and remember how fast I can hurt you."
Rick chooses his words with intentions to provoke Michonne. She will respond in the way that Rick wants. Rick keeps his promise to protect Michonne.
If they start an openhearted conversation, he will take advantage of the situation. Rick will start begging. Michonne may resist for an hour or two, but he will convince her to be with him. How many times have they been in a similar situation?
Rick takes a deep breath.
"I'm not crying because of what you said, Richard." Michonne declares. "It's the hormones. This call is the hardest thing I have to do…"
Rick interrupts her before she tells him more.
"Masochism has never been one of your kinks. Trust me I know too well what you like in bed." Old habits come back strong. "Not the time for a dirty joke."
Rick shakes his head for allowing the sentence to escape the crevice of his mind. Perhaps, it will infuriate her and lead to the end of the conversation. Michonne will probably scold him, but he hears her laugh at his inappropriate joke. He made it because sarcasm is Michonne's favourite form of humour.
The warm and exuberant laugh, which he adores, fills the room. In a second, Michonne reminds Rick of their friendship. She is his best friend, and that is Rick's biggest loss.
"I guess it's good enough." Michonne retorts. "I'm not crying anymore."
"Now, Chonne, should I worry about you? From tears to laughs in a second." He taunts her.
Michonne snorts.
If Rick only knew half of it, she hears him walking around the apartment.
"I can only keep it a secret this long, Rick." Michonne pursues.
"The bad news first." Rick bounces on her statement. "You know I don't care for the good news. They don't require fixing."
"We have two weeks," Michonne indulges Rick.
"We have two weeks to what…" Rick inquires.
" I'm pregnant..." She does not finish her sentence.
Rick hangs the call, and Michonne remains unable to understand the situation.
Completely surprised by Rick's reaction, Michonne freezes. She stares at her phone. What does she do next? Is she supposed to call back or accept his abrupt rejection? Michonne does not have to choose between her options.
Rick needs a minute. He lost his grip on his emotions, and so he walked to his bathroom. Rick fills the tub with cold water and plunges his head in it until he senses the alcohol dissipate from his bloodstream.
Shaking with apprehension and unadulterated excitement, Rick calls Michonne. She answers with an anxious heart, and now she expects his sober reaction.
"You're pregnant?" Rick asks. "That's nine months." Rick has no doubts about who the father is. "Nine months."
Rick drags his wet palm on his pants and stares at the city, which returns to life slowly. He tentatively overcomes the initial shock.
"Fuck! You're about to give birth." Sudden panic invades him, and he worries about Michonne. "Chonne? You're pregnant." He inappropriately chuckles. "We're pregnant." Rick says with burgeoning happiness. "Nine months," His joy dies, and he faces reality.
After processing the news, there is a mixture of confusion and anger. Michonne maintained nine months of silence Radio. Rick needs answers, and he does not hesitate to ask hard questions.
"What excuses did you make up to keep it a secret? Why aren't you back home?" He maintains a neutral tone and controls his frustration. "Chonne?" He sighs. "Nine months? Why would you do that to me? You should be home with me. Why aren't you home?"
Rick does not want to induce her labour with an argument. Accordingly, he reigns on his emotions for Michonne's benefits. Rick takes a deep breath, and he tries to massage away the headache.
"I didn't want to tell you and..." She does not think it is appropriate to expand on their past.
Michonne stops before she says hurtful truths.
"Have you tried to fly while pregnant? Whales are not meant to fly." Michonne does not know if she wants to make a joke, but she wishes to dissipate the tension in the air.
Michonne chuckles after delivering her pitiable joke. In great need of fresh air, Rick gulps until he fills his lung to tidal level. Michonne notices that her chuckles sound more like little sobs. She wipes her tears and clears her throat to remove the hoarseness.
"Michonne, you're the most beautiful pregnant woman on earth…" He says timidly when he recovers. "Not a damn whale." Rick says. "I'm going to be a father?" He questions hopeful, and the words are mere inaudible whispers.
Helpless, Rick sits on his balcony, and his feet dangle over the city. His voice is full of wonderments, and he cannot believe the unexpected news. Rick's whispers also emphasize how scared he is.
"A little boy, but I want you to understand that it will change nothing." Michonne tries to install the base of a future relationship.
"I Know, Chonne," Rick did not form that thought. "Can we just …" He does not know what he wants them to do, but things must happen before his son's birth.
"I need you here." Michonne starts hesitantly, but she throws cautions to the wind. "Can we just be together while we do this?" She decides to speak with her heart.
"Yeah?" Rick is speechless.
"I know you must be angry with me or even hate me, but I need you here, Rick. I can't be alone when he comes to this world. I'm panicking Rick." She confesses her thoughts and admits part of the reason why she called tonight. "I'm scared, and I need my best friend."
Rick understands Michonne's feelings. He shares them as well.
"I'm booking a flight for Tonight, and no, I don't hate you, Chonne. How do I pull the impossible? I love you, and that is kind of my forever," He says with a voice filled with passion and sincerity. "We're really going to be parents. Can I see him? I mean..." He pleads. "The ultrasound. Your belly. Anything, Chonne."
The news takes away the effect of alcohol's effect. Rick does not know what to do, but his heart cannot stop palpitating.
"Hold on." Michonne answers and she starts a facetime.
She places the camera in front of her swollen belly and as in cue, and the little creature in the warmth of her stomach starts to move. His little feet press to her uterus until a print is visible on her skin.
Rick stares at the image and a bright smile recovers his lips. Soon, their son's hand pushes Michonne's belly forward.
"He is saying hi. Michonne. He is saying hi?" Rick points at the screen and his son's moving hand.
Thirty minutes later, Rick is still staring at the screen, and his son has stopped moving. Michonne's swollen stomach mesmerizes him. He asks many questions, and Michonne does not know where to start. Rick bothers her about a list of books. He wants to catch up with her list of prenatal books. His enthusiasm drains Michonne. They talk until a yawn interrupts every sentence that Michonne tries to form. Michonne and Rick do not stop until she starts missing big chunks of the conversation because she falls asleep between sentences.
"See you tomorrow," Michonne adds softly.