AN: Here you go, a little more to our saga.
This one is a Merle/Andrea chapter.
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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Merle hadn't exactly felt like talking about the whole situation much as he'd listened to Andrea and Michonne tell what had happened between the two of them and this man…this man that Merle had never seen or never paid attention to if he had seen him.
So he'd kept quiet and stewed over the entire thing until finally he'd dismissed himself to go back to his house…and Andrea had trotted along behind him, her heels clicking on the sidewalk in the quiet neighborhood as they made their way down one driveway and up their own.
Merle went straight into the kitchen and got himself a beer out of the refrigerator, flipping off the top and pitching it toward the sink to throw it away later. Andrea came through the door right behind him and took her coat off, hanging it one of the hooks she'd hung up near the door. She bent, flipping her heels off one by one, and held them in her hand.
And she looked good. She looked incredible. And if Merle hadn't felt the way he did about the whole situation it would be all he could do to keep his dick under control long enough to get her ass bent over something.
But he didn't like the idea that she'd been out there…in public…after he'd already told her that her ass was spoken for, rubbing all over some damn man that he didn't know and didn't care if he ever knew.
His mind was racing, even as he looked at her coming out of that damn red dress from every fucking direction, wondering what in the hell she'd done with the son of a bitch. Had she kissed him? Where the fuck had he touched her?
And Merle leaned against the counter and sucked on the beer, already mentally calculating how many more he had in there…sure it was more than enough since he'd laid off drinking as much as he once had and when they'd moved in the house a couple of the guys from work had come over, all baring more beer than he could barely get into the refrigerator and leaving most of it behind.
Andrea stepped toward him, smiling. She was damn proud of herself.
But as soon as she put her hands on his chest, he cringed a little and turned his head so he didn't have to look at her, drinking his beer out to the side.
And she backed up, looking like he'd slapped her right across the face.
"Are you mad?" She asked.
Merle turned to look at her then. She looked like a whore with her red lipstick smeared and her face painted up. He cringed again.
He knew about Andrea's past…or at least some of it. He'd chosen, on purpose, not to know about much of it. What he heard in rumor was one thing, but he just didn't want to know all the gory damn details about it.
"Go shower," he said.
Andrea wrinkled her brows together.
"Don't be mad, Merle," Andrea said. "I just did it to shut him up…I didn't sleep with him…Michonne saw the whole thing."
Merle nodded slightly.
He knew that he needed time to process this and he needed time to process it alone or he wasn't going to come across smelling as much like a damn daisy as she wanted him to…as much as he'd been trying to make himself smell like one. He didn't like what the hell she'd done. He could live with it, but he didn't like. And he was going to need some damn time to swallow it down without her standing there, painted up like a whore, looking at him like he was supposed to think it was some great thing.
And he wasn't touching her when he didn't know what the hell she had all over her from this fucker…she had him all over her ass…and Merle wasn't in the mood for this assholes sloppy seconds.
"Go take a fuckin' shower, Andrea," Merle growled.
Andrea backed up a step farther from him and Merle wondered what his tone of voice and facial expression conveyed to her. He wondered what she thought he was capable of. With the irritation coursing through his veins in the moment, even he wasn't sure what he was capable of.
But Andrea nodded and then she turned, disappearing through the house to take a shower. To wash off her night's escapades.
And Merle drained the beer he was drinking and went back to the fridge to get another.
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Andrea swiped at the mirror with the towel and wiped away most of the steam that had built up there from the shower. She'd turned the water up as hot as she could stand it and her skin was red and pink from the scald.
She frowned at her reflection in the mirror.
She looked, without the makeup and with her hair still dripping water from a poorly done towel drying, older than her years. She knew she did.
She'd heard old women say before, when talking about one woman or another, that time had not been kind to them or that they showed their age. And Andrea felt that both were true for her. She wasn't any older than Carol or Michonne, and both of them looked younger than she did…fresher.
But she'd always felt like, with the makeup, she could create an illusion. She could paint herself to be the picture of what she wanted to be. And it hid lines here and it hid dark circles under eyes. It hid evidence of the life she'd lived.
And her body wasn't too bad. She felt like she was more overweight than she probably should be. She certainly wasn't one of those rail thin models that she saw on television and she wasn't anything as small as what Carol had been before the alien life form had abducted her body. But all in all, her body wasn't bad. She had enough breasts to get the attention of someone looking for that…and she had enough ass to offer up a handful if that was your interest.
And that's what she'd relied on for most of her life. There wasn't really anything remarkable about her except that. And men wanted that…they would do anything you wanted as long as they wanted it…the problem was that they could so quickly lose interest in it too, especially once they realized you had absolutely nothing else to offer.
But at least she'd had that. And it had gotten through her a few difficult situations. It had gotten her a place to crash a night at a time when she had nowhere to go and didn't want to sleep in her car. It had gotten her a few meals she would have done without otherwise. It had gotten her rent money…gas money…money to tuck back for when she couldn't find an interested wallet walking around.
And for the most part that's all she'd ever let herself see any of the men in her life as. They were wallets. Just like getting bubblegum out of the bubblegum machine required you to turn the crank, to get the money out of the wallet you had to do a little work for it.
But she'd seldom really thought of them as human.
She'd told herself that it didn't matter either. She didn't think of them as human and they didn't think of her as human. She got what she wanted from them and they got what they wanted from her. Regardless of what the Bible beating moralists would say…it was just business. And Andrea could make a hell of a lot more in a night with somebody with deep pockets than she could pushing alcohol.
Maybe she hadn't ever been ashamed of it, like she said…or maybe she had always been ashamed of it. Really, she didn't even know for sure anymore because she'd spent so much time trying to manipulate her own feelings…and trying to convince herself that she felt the way she wanted to feel.
Tonight, even, she'd felt proud of it. Seeing Philip Blake with his hands in surrender, knowing that she and Michonne had shut his smug ass mouth for good. It had made Andrea feel good. It made her feel good about herself that she could do that…she could get the asshole into a corner that he couldn't get out of. And it had made her feel good to do something for Michonne. She had nothing to offer her…she had nothing to offer anyone, really…and any time that someone is important to you, you want to offer them something.
But now she didn't feel good about herself…and she didn't feel proud. Despite her shower, she felt dirty. She felt old, and used up, and washed out…and she felt like "age hadn't been good to her" and "time hadn't been good to her" and "life hadn't been good to her."
Merle had pushed her away and she hadn't thought that it would hurt so much. He'd pushed her away before…plenty of times. More times than she could count he'd told her to fuck off or go fuck herself. And it hadn't hurt.
But he didn't tell her to go fuck herself this time. And he didn't tell her to fuck off. He didn't offer her any words and those words would have been better than his facial expression and better than the lack of words.
Merle was only quiet when he didn't have something to say…and he always had something to say unless it was really important.
Or unless he didn't think you were worth his words and his time.
Even though Andrea didn't want to admit it to herself sometimes, and even though she struggled with it a good deal, she knew that she loved Merle.
He'd never said it to her…and she'd never said it to him…but she meant it.
And knowing that Merle knew what she'd done and knowing that he disapproved, that he might entirely disapprove of her now, made her feel lower than she'd ever felt before.
She could go out there, and she could pretend that she didn't care, but she wasn't going to be able to pull it off well. And she hated to think what would happen if Merle couldn't accept this.
Andrea reached in the soap dish where she'd dropped her necklace before she'd gone to help Michonne. She ran her thumb over the necklace and then put it back around her neck. She hadn't worn it because she hadn't wanted to have it on while she was doing what she was doing.
She'd known that Merle wouldn't approve, deep down, but she'd wanted to do something for her friend…for both Carol and Michonne, actually…and something for herself. Philip Blake was a man that had drug her through the mud on the stand. He'd dug his fingers into wounds that hadn't fully healed for Carol. And he'd threatened Michonne who, although she may have done one or two things that weren't on the up and up in her career, had never hurt anyone for as much as Andrea knew.
She'd known that Merle might not approve, but she'd hoped that he could overcome his feelings on the subject…and she'd wanted to see Philip Blake squirm and knew that they had something to hold over his head, something that would keep him from messing with any of them.
Andrea sighed and found her robe, wrapping it around her and tying the well-worn strings around her waist. She couldn't hide in the bathroom all night, and the more that Merle drank, the more likely it was that whatever was going to happen was going to be explosive, and she didn't want that…although she'd accept his anger, his words, or his yelling to his silence and disapproving stare any day.
Still, she had to face him, for better or for worse.
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Merle was sitting on the couch and nursing another beer. He'd lost count of the ones that he'd had already, but he knew that he'd had more than a couple because his head was swimming with the feeling of being that one step beyond buzzed.
He'd have a headache in the morning if he stopped now. But he wasn't sure that he was in the mood to stop.
And he didn't have to stop if he didn't want to. There was no last call here and no cut off. He was king of his own damn castle, even if this shit wasn't paid for yet.
For the first damn time in his life, Merle Dixon had a real house. It was a real damn house and he might owe the bank money on it, but he wasn't paying rent. When he was done making payments, if he ever finished, this would be his…out and out.
And for the first damn time in his life, Merle Dixon had a woman that warmed his bed…every night. He had a side of the bed. He'd never had a fucking side before. His side was wherever he parked his ass, and whether the bitch he was with rolled to one side or the other, it didn't matter. She'd be gone before too damn long anyway because he'd never believed in letting them stay the whole fucking night…and if they did on accident, then they were out with the so called rooster's crow.
The woman that warmed Merle's bed, though…she was a fucking enigma to him sometimes. And he was admitting to himself, even through his beer haze, that it was partially his fault perhaps.
He'd drudged up a Madame and expected to a make a lady out of her. And that wasn't how that shit worked. The truth was that he could put it behind him, though, and move on. He'd certainly had his share of women…and she'd had her share of men…and maybe neither one of them needed to count the numbers together. Maybe it would work out better that way.
But he had the gnawing feeling…that he assumed was either worry or the mixture of two brands of beer that didn't like to play nice together…that it wasn't behind her. He didn't know if he could be sure, especially after tonight and after feeling that it was understood that she would move on from that life, that she really had moved on.
What if this wasn't her last rodeo?
And Merle chuckled to himself, alone in the living room, to think that somewhere along the line he'd become exactly what the hell he'd always swore he wouldn't be. He'd become the jealous asshole that wanted his woman. His woman. And he wanted her all to himself. He didn't want a single greasy motherfucker's hands on her.
It didn't matter how damn many there had been before. He could consider that shit water under the bridge along with every pussy he'd ever picked up…but it mattered to him how many there were now.
And he wanted to be the only damn one that so much as looked at her like that…and he didn't want to have to worry about it.
Merle got up from the couch and went back to the refrigerator, tossing his empty beer can in the general direction of the sink and ignoring the fact that he missed and it bounced, clattering to the floor. He got another beer out, cracked it open, and made his way back to the couch, sinking into it.
He thought that Andrea might have drowned in the shower…but he wasn't sure he was in the best condition to go and try to save her if that were the case.
A moment later, Andrea came sauntering into the living room, her bathrobe tied around her and her hair a tangled mess of soggy curls.
Merle looked at her in the semi darkness, having not bothered to turn a single one of the lights on, and sucked on his beer.
She looked different than she had in the red dress and the makeup…different even than she looked when she worked the Watering Hole…but he liked the way she looked like this.
"How many have you had?" Andrea asked, shuffling closer to the couch, close enough that the edge of her robe brushed Merle's leg.
"Not enough," he said.
Andrea hung her head and fiddled with the belt on her robe.
"I'm sorry…" Andrea said.
Merle sighed. He wasn't as angry as he had been, if he'd really been angry at all. He couldn't remember now and figured the sink full of empty beer cans might have something to do with it.
He swallowed and reached a hand out, catching Andrea's robe and pulling her closer to him.
"Ya didn't fuck him?" Merle asked, wincing at his own question.
Andrea shook her head.
"D'ja kiss him?" Merle asked.
Andrea bit her lip and nodded.
"I done told ya once," Merle said. "Don't'cha duck ya fuckin' head at me."
Andrea raised her head just enough so that she wasn't obviously ducking it, but she was still looking down at him.
"I just wanted to put him in his place…" Andrea said.
"An' ya did that, didn't'cha?" Merle asked.
Andrea nodded and he could tell that she was fighting back tears.
"Yeah…" she breathed out.
"Got it the hell out'cha system?" Merle asked.
Andrea looked at him, this time locking her eyes with him. She nodded.
"For fuckin' good?" Merle asked.
Andrea nodded again, sucking in a breath.
"I don't…" Merle stopped and drank down the rest of the can of beer in his hand, reaching over and putting the can on the floor beside him. He yanked at Andrea's robe, almost pulling her down on top of him. She leaned, putting her hands on the couch behind him so that she was leaning over him, her breasts almost in his face. "I don't wanna fuckin' share ya ass an' I ain't gon' fuckin' do it," Merle growled at her. "So I'm tellin' ya right now that'cha either with me or ya can keep runnin' ya ass around…but I ain't toleratin' it no damn more."
Andrea moved, sitting on Merle's lap then, straddling him with her knees on either side of his legs. Her face right in his. She took his face in her hands and held him so that he was looking directly at her.
"I'm not running around," she said. "I did what I did because I wanted to help a friend…I've never had friends like I have now before and I wanted to do something…and I wanted Philip Blake to suffer for being the asshole that he is…but I'm not running around."
Merle stared at her, her eyes darting back and forth as she tried to focus them on him with as much intent as possible.
"I haven't fucked another man since you came to town," Andrea said. "And I'm not about to start now."
Merle swallowed and reached his hand up, tangling his fingers in her curls and tugging them. She kept her eyes locked on him, even when he tugged her head to the side. He narrowed his eyes and pulled her toward him, locking his lips with hers, her tongue sliding into his mouth.
She tasted like toothpaste…the mint a stark contrast to the sour taste of his own mouth.
Merle kissed her roughly and then pulled away, breaking the kiss but not untangling his fingers from her damp curls. Andrea swallowed, her neck bent back enough to show the movement, and watched him.
"I'm takin' ya ta bed," Merle said.
Andrea nodded slightly, as much movement as she was allowed without yanking her hair.
"An' when I do," Merle said, "that's the last a' all this shit. We put the fuckin' past in the past an' we leave it there. Ya ain't responsible for it…but'cha responsible for any damn thing that happens afterwards."
Andrea swallowed again.
"Ditto," she said.
Merle sucked his teeth and wrapped his arms underneath her. She must have anticipated the move because she wrapped her arms around his neck. He stood, somewhat surprised that he didn't topple back into the couch with her like he'd expected, and she wrapped her legs around his waist.
He started toward the bedroom, hoping he didn't bust his ass and have to explain this to a single damn soul. Part of the way there he chuckled.
"What?" Andrea breathed, her mouth near his ear.
"Ain't 'xactly like carryin' ya cross no fuckin' threshold," Merle growled.
Andrea chuckled softly in his ear.
"I'll take it," she said, pressing her face against his neck as he finished the journey.