AN: I'm glad to see some of you are enjoying my little story. We're still working, of course, on really getting into the meat of things.
For those of you that also read "Phantom Hearts," no worries, I'm not abandoning the story. The muse has hit me really hard for this story and I've got a couple of chapters after this one just driving me crazy to be written, so I'm focusing on this one long enough to get the ones that are driving me crazy out so that I can dedicate time to catching up my other stories.
Let me know what you think about Sweet Junction. Thanks for reading and reviewing!
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Michonne stepped inside the house, tossing her briefcase beside the hall table as she did every day when she got home. She stopped beside the table and punched the button on the blinking answering machine. She scanned quickly through the messages, finding nothing of interest, and kicked her legs up one at a time to free her feet from the heels that had been killing her since just after lunch.
She came through the house carrying her heels in her hand. Her boyfriend, Damion, was sitting on the couch watching television and eating potato chips. Michonne curled her lip without meaning to.
"Where are the girls?" She asked.
"Dean called," Damion said, wiping his hand on his pants leg. "Said he was gonna keep them overnight."
"Use a napkin," Michonne said, "and no he's not, that's not the deal." She started down the hall to her bedroom and put her shoes in the closet. She peeled off her jacket and hung it up before looking around for the cordless phone that was supposed to be on the nightstand. "Where's the phone?" She called.
"I don't know, it was in there earlier," Damion's voice responded.
Michonne rolled her eyes. Damion was becoming less and less the prize he had seemed when they'd begun dating three months ago. Her youngest daughter had barely been a month old when Damion had asked her out, and now she was beginning to suspect that hormones or some kind of need for feeling validated after Dean's affair had been behind her relationship with him all along. The man was a pig. He hadn't had a job since two weeks after they'd begun to go out. He had his own house, where he slept most of the time, but he still insisted in spending most of his day at her house, probably just to consume all her groceries while she was working to make the money to buy them. He wasn't even good with the girls.
"I have got to unload this asshole," she whispered to herself as she searched through the covers and pillows on the bed. Apparently he'd decided to take a nap while she was at work, and due to the apparent issue with his thumbs being put on backwards, he hadn't remade her bed. She hated that. The only thing she hated more was when he ate food in the bed and left the crumbs there for her to find when she crawled in at night.
She came up with the phone and unzipped her skirt with one hand, dialing the numbers with her thumb. She stepped out of her skirt and hung it up, the phone pressed between her face and shoulder. She listened to the tone and then finally heard her ex-husband answer.
"Dean? Don't give me that, you know who it is. I want my girls home in an hour, Dean," Michonne said. She looked around the bedroom, half listening to the man on the line. She realized the pajama pants that she was searching for were still in the laundry room. Damion could spend his day here, but apparently he wasn't capable of doing anything around the house for her while he was doing it. "No, that wasn't the deal. You've had them all day, the deal was no nights. You don't even have cribs. Dean, one hour or I'm going to have Shane Walsh at your door so fast your head will spin."
Stripping her shirt off and throwing it into the dirty clothes basket, Michonne turned and started through the house in her underwear, stopping long enough to silently lecture Damion about not using a coaster.
"No, you bring them. I don't want them in the car with Cookie or Cupcake or whatever the hell your little girlfriend's name is. One hour, Dean," Michonne said. She hung up the phone without saying goodbye to the man and continued her trek into the laundry room to fish out her pajamas. She dressed in her tank top and pajama pants before coming back through to the living room and plopping on the loveseat. "Let me guess, you didn't find a job today either?" She said, rubbing at her temple.
"Tried, babe, but there just isn't anything in Sweet Junction," Damion responded, packing his mouth with more potato chips. Michonne made a mental note that she hated potato chips and never intended to buy another bag once he'd finished inhaling that one.
"Damion," she said with a sigh, "you can't tell me that in all of Sweet Junction you can't find not a single job."
"What'cha want me to do, Michonne? Wash cars for a living?" He asked.
"It would be doing more than holding my sofa down," Michonne growled. She checked the clock on the wall, taking note of the time in case she really did need to call Officer Walsh to get her kids back from their worthless excuse for a father.
"What the hell is wrong with you today?" Damion asked.
Michonne rolled her eyes toward him and considered all the possible answers to that question. She could begin with her sudden regret that she was dating a man child and it was only two months since her divorce from the last man child had been declared final. She could follow that up with the fact that she was tired of telling said man child to stop using his clothing as a napkin and to stop putting glasses on her mother's antique coffee table without a coaster. If she really wanted to, she could go further into the fact that she had a really bad headache and desperately wanted her daughters to be home and said man child to disappear back to the bachelor pad that he occupied at night. And that wouldn't even begin to touch what was bothering her about work.
Michonne sighed and opted for the latter, not feeling like going through the movements of a break up at this particular moment.
"Work," she said. "I've just got a headache."
"So take somethin'," Damion slurred through a mouthful of potato chips. Michonne curled her lip again. She got up and went to the kitchen in search of Ibuprofen. Mostly she just didn't want to be looking at him any longer. "What happened at work that's got you so pissy?" Damion called from the living room.
"Someone came in today. I haven't really seen her in a while, and it was just a shock," Michonne said. She downed the pills and stood at the sink finishing the glass of water. She looked at the dishes in the sink, noting that the only one that was hers was the juice glass from this morning.
"Who was it?" Damion called.
"Carol Peletier," Michonne responded. "She used to be Carol McAlister, she's married now to Ed Peletier."
"The guy that owns that shit construction company in town?" Damion called back. Michonne headed back to the living room to cut down in the amount of yelling across the house that was taking place and also to check the clock.
"That's the one," she said, coming in and flopping back in her place on the loveseat.
"So what about it's got you stirred up?" Damion asked.
"She wants to leave her husband," Michonne said. "You should have seen her, Damion. It's just not right that a man would beat a woman like that."
"What's it got to do with you, though?" Damion asked.
"She wants me to help her with the divorce, of course," Michonne responded.
Michonne was quiet for a moment, half-heartedly turning her attention to whatever it was that was on television. When she got quiet Damion turned the volume up. It was some kind of stupid sitcom, probably one that she wouldn't like even if she was paying attention. She couldn't focus on the television, though, her mind kept drifting back to Carol and how beat up she looked.
"You know," Michonne started, Damion turned the television down again in response, "Carol was always that girl in school. You know the girl. She knew everyone's name. She was friends with everyone, at least to some degree. She was always nice to everyone, even the kids that other people bullied. She worked at the Dairy-O from the time she was probably fifteen," she said. She realized that Damion most likely didn't know Carol. He hadn't grown up in Sweet Junction so he didn't know everyone like most of the lifelong residents did. "Now she's living with some asshole that thinks her face is a punching bag," Michonne continued. "It just doesn't seem right."
"It's her own fault for letting it happen," Damion said. Michonne shot him a look.
"What did you say?" She asked.
"I said it's her own fault. If she hasn't done anything about it then she must not mind it all that bad," Damion said. Michonne craned her neck, his words made her skin crawl.
"Let me get this straight," Michonne said, sitting up. "You think that it's her fault that a man three times her size beats her?"
"She could always leave," Damion said.
"That's what she's trying to do!" Michonne responded. She realized that she was raising her voice now.
"I'm just saying that women like to go blaming those kinds of things on men, like the woman doesn't have anything to do with it," Damion said. "It's always the man's fault if there's fighting going on in the house or if there's cheating. No one really stops to ask what the woman's doing to make these things happen."
"It is Ed Peletier's fault," Michonne growled, her temper rising. "Carol couldn't hurt Ed if you tied the man up first. For crying out loud, she was the kid that wouldn't kill bugs on the playground because they might have little bug families! And are you saying it's my fault that Dean cheated on me?"
"I'm not saying all that, Michonne, untwist your panties," Damion responded. "What I'm saying is that you don't know the whole story. Besides, I don't know why you're getting all worked up over some girl that used to work at the Dairy-O, what's it even matter to you?"
"It doesn't matter who it is, Damion, no woman should have to go through that because some asshole man gets off on it," Michonne responded. "And it's not her fault, either."
"Sorry I said anything," Damion said. "I can see that this is very important to you." Michonne didn't miss the hint of sarcasm in his voice.
"I think it's time for you to go home, Damion," Michonne said. "Dean's going to be here soon with the girls and I'd just like a quiet evening."
"I thought we could order pizza, put a movie in for Anjelica or something," Damion said.
"I want to be alone, Damion," Michonne said.
Damion finally took the hint and got up from the couch. He left his mess there, but Michonne didn't say anything. She'd be more than happy to clean up yet another one of his messes if he'd just leave her alone for the evening. Damion crossed the room and leaned down to kiss her. She offered him a small peck to appease him and didn't move from her position on the couch.
"I hope things go better with your Dairy girl tomorrow, so you won't be so bitchy," Damion said.
"Fuck you," Michonne whispered, not loud enough for him to hear. She stayed in her position until she heard the door close. She listened for his car cranking and pulling out. She checked the clock again, noting that Dean had exactly twenty minutes to get there before she called the police station and reported him for kidnapping. She was not in the mood to be jerked around today.
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Daryl heaved one of the cardboard boxes through the door and put it on the torn linoleum floor in the kitchen. Sweet Junction Apartments wasn't all it was cracked up to be, but it was the only place in town to rent, and Daryl certainly wasn't looking to buy a house in this hell hole.
He'd almost moved all of their boxes in from the back of the truck. The farmer, Hershel, had been nice enough to advance him part of his month's salary on good faith when Daryl had explained to him, shortly after receiving a job, that he and his brother had nowhere to live except the cab of the rusty Ford.
Daryl looked around the place. The apartments advertised that they were furnished. Being the only apartments in town, however, he assumed they could say whatever they wanted. The place was a dump, and that was comparing it to the other dumps that he'd lived in. From the smell of the place the previous tenant had been a goat, and not a tidy one at that. Daryl didn't consider himself the cleanest man on the face of the Earth, but even he had the urge to run down to the Stop N' Shop and buy all the disinfecting supplies they had.
It would have to do, though, there wasn't much in the way of options.
"Home sweet fuckin' home," Daryl growled to himself. His stomach growled and he realized they didn't have any food in the house. Furthermore he had no idea where Merle was. He hadn't seen him since they'd parted company that morning, each heading in the direction of their possible new jobs. Daryl had two options, he could either go to the grocery store, which he hated doing, or he could check out the thriving metropolis of Sweet Junction and see what there was to eat around this place. One would benefit Merle, the other wouldn't.
Daryl reached in his pocket and felt the sweaty bills that he had crammed in their earlier. Merle could fend for himself. It wasn't like he was above spending a few bucks on himself to score some shit, whether they had it to spare or not. Daryl figured he could at least splurge on a burger and fries.
Daryl turned and left the apartment, pulling the door shut and pocketing the key, though he didn't bother to lock the door. He had all ideas that very few people lived in the beautiful units of Sweet Junction Apartments, and if any of them wanted any of the worthless shit crammed in the nasty hole that he now called home, he figured they probably needed it more than he did.
Daryl descended the stairs two at the time and came out onto the street. The red Ford was parked nearby, but he decided to walk instead of drive, mostly owing to the fact that he had no idea where anything was, but also owing to the fact that he didn't have money to keep putting gas in the truck and Hershel's farm was more than a fair stroll from their apartment building.
As Daryl strolled down the street he thumped a cigarette out of the pack that he carried in his shirt pocket. He returned the pack and lit the cigarette, taking in the sights around him, which weren't many. This place was dead, that much was for sure. He continued along, seeing a few people, most of which nodded at him as though they knew him. There didn't appear to be any large number of fine dining establishments in the area, but finally he stumbled upon a little place called "Lula's Diner" that boasted to have the best burgers in town. Daryl assumed the claim was probably based on the fact that they were the only burgers in town.
Daryl pushed into the diner, hearing a bell sound on the door. Inside there were a few old men sitting around and talking, but otherwise the world famous diner looked to be unoccupied.
"Have a seat, hon', I'll be there in a minute," someone called. Daryl looked around, unable to trace where the sound had come from.
He looked around. There were booths or tables. The tables all offered hard wooden chairs that appeared built to be outside, and they didn't look inviting, though that was not to say the cracked red seats on the booths looked all that plush. Daryl finally selected a booth by the window and slid in, nodding his head slightly in response to a nod that he received from an old man with a beer belly seated a few tables over. Daryl looked out the window and watched the few cars driving up and down the street and the people who passed over the sidewalk, stopping from time to time for an impromptu conversation. Daryl felt like he'd just landed in the middle of some kind of shit version of Mayberry.
"What can I get'cha hon'?" A woman's voice brought Daryl out of his daydream and he turned to see a young, thin black woman holding a notepad and wearing a red and white checked apron. He almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the apron. The woman's nametag declared that she was Jacqui.
"What's good here, Jacqui?" Daryl asked. Jacqui smiled at him.
"You new here?" She asked. Daryl had the sneaking suspicion that he was going to get asked that a lot. Apparently there wasn't new blood in Sweet Junction very often.
"Yeah," Daryl said. He picked at the plastic checked table cloth a little.
"Cheeseburgers pretty good," Jacqui said, "unless you're in the mood for breakfast. We got the best omelets in town."
"Yeah, I saw ya got the best burgers in town to," Daryl said. Jacqui looked at him as though he'd just said the most bizarre thing in the world and he felt bad for a moment for questioning their claim to burger fame. "Just gimme a burger an' fries," he said.
"You want cheese?" Jacqui asked.
"Burgers come without cheese?" Daryl asked. Jacqui smiled at him.
"What to drink?" She asked.
"Milkshake," Daryl responded. "Strawberry if ya got it, whatever ya got if strawberry ain't OK."
"OK, just a couple of minutes," Jacqui said. "Oh, and welcome to Sweet Junction, hun'."
"Yeah," Daryl responded. He went back to looking out the window. Now he'd be working as a farm hand. It was the first time he'd had a job as a farm hand. He'd been just about everything else that you could dream of, but this was a first. He wondered how Merle was doing with his new friend Ed. Merle was pretty good at construction, and if he'd found himself a new drinking buddy he'd likely be thrilled with that.
The one good thing about the location of their apartments was that they didn't live too terribly far from "The Water Ho", so that meant that Merle could stumble home whenever he pleased and Daryl didn't have to worry too much about what his crack head brother was up to and whether or not he was going to get busted for DUI again. He didn't know what the jail around here was like, but if it was anything as old fashioned as everything else, Merle was likely to end up hung at the gallows if he wasn't careful.
When Daryl's food arrived he sat munching on the burger and staring out the window. The old men in the place had taken a sharp interest in him and their stares made him uncomfortable. From time to time he glanced at the front of the diner where Jacqui appeared to be rearranging things and filling shakers to kill time. Daryl wondered if it was just the time of day or this place never picked up.
Daryl ate in silence and when he'd finished his food he sucked down the rest of the milkshake, momentarily deterred by brain freeze, and slapped down enough money on the table to cover the bill and leave a decent tip for his new friend Jacqui. He got up and gestured at the woman on his way out the door. He headed back in the direction of the apartment, determining that he would wait there until it was late enough to go searching after Merle at "The Water Ho".
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When Daryl finally pushed open the door of the fine drinking establishment, it didn't take him long to locate Merle sitting at the bar and schmoozing the blonde from the night before. Daryl strode up to the bar and took a seat on the stool next to his brother.
"Well…hello there baby bruthah," Merle drawled.
"Did'ja actually go to work, or was ya just here all day wastin' money?" Daryl asked.
"I went ta work," Merle said. "Been workin' hard all day, don't'cha worry yer head 'bout me."
"We're apartment 12 in them shitty apartments 'bout three blocks from here," Daryl said.
"Oh? New residents of Sweet Junction Apartments?" Andrea asked, leaning over the bar. "What can I get'cha handsome?"
"Nothin'," Daryl said.
"Don't be such a pussy, Derlina," Merle said. "He'll have whiskey, sugah."
Andrea served the drink and walked off to tend to another group of customers. Merle poured himself another shot from the bottle sitting near him.
"Where's ya pal?" Daryl asked.
"Had ta go home," Merle said. "Said that hell cat he's married to was causin' trouble, went ta check it out. That one must be a handful. He's been talkin' 'bout her all day. She's been runnin' 'round with every pair of pants in this fine town."
Daryl took the shot in front of him and nodded a little.
"Don't make it right for him ta go braggin' 'bout beatin' it outta her, though," Daryl growled.
"Yeah," Merle said, "I don't think he oughtta go poundin' on her neither, but it ain't none a' my business. Man's just payin' me an' pickin' up our tab here. Besides, ya know men like that, they a lot more talk than anythin' else, lil' brothah, don't'cha lose no sleep over a piece a' pussy ya ain't even tasted."
Daryl shook his head at his brother and took another shot that Merle poured for him.
"Speakin' a' pussy, Derlina, ya oughta have a talk with that Andrea. She's eyin' ya real good an' if ya play ya cards right, ya might just get'cha a good taste," Merle said. "'Cause if ya ain't man enough ta take it when they throw it at'cha, I might just have ta steal it out from under ya." He ogled the blonde. Daryl cast her a look. She was waiting on a table of rowdy drunks who were getting more than an eyeful of tits, but she was glancing, every now and again, over her shoulder in their direction.
"If ya want it, take it," Daryl said. "I ain't got no interest in it."
"Ya one sorry excuse for a Dixon, boy," Merle said with a laugh.
Daryl got up from the stool.
"Maybe so, Merle, but I don't want nothin' she's handin' out," Daryl said. "We're apartment twelve. Ya better get'cha fuckin' ass home 'fore too late or ya gonna lose that job, whether Ed's ya pal or not."
Daryl turned to leave the bar and head back to the trash heap apartment they'd be calling home. He heard Merle laugh behind him.
"Why don't'cha just go on home then an' be a good lil' housekeeper. Me an' Ed got us an understandin', don't'cha worry 'bout that," Merle called.
"Don't'cha bring nobody back with ya, neither," Daryl called as an afterthought before continuing through the bar and out the front door.