Chapter 3 – Michonne

"Michonne! Michonne!"

"Mike?"

"Hey! I'm so glad I caught up with you before your flight left. I wanted to see you and tell you I'm sorry."

"Wha-"

"Hello, Michael." My father greets Mike as he finishes grabbing the last of our suitcases from the trunk of my Uncle Joseph's Cadillac Escalade. With a welcoming smile, he's offering him his hand. Mike grips it, then my father heartily slaps him on the back.

My dad likes Mike. He has since I brought him home the first time he asked me out on a date. I told him that I'd never been on a date before, but that he would have to get through my parents if I was ever going to actually go on one. And he did. Never even hesitated. He showed up on my doorstep on a brisk, Saturday afternoon in October to take me to a movie. Dressed in blue jeans, and a dark red Polo sweater, he was met at the front door by my mother as he offered her flowers, a bouquet of salmon pink tea roses. Her sorority's flower. Of course that warmed her to him immediately, and with a soft, kind smile, one that showed her bright white teeth, the same one often found on my mother's beautiful face, she welcomed him into our home.

Not one to say too much, my mother is the shy, quiet one of my parents, the pair of doctors, affectionately known between Glenn and I as "the docs". My mother once wanted to be a dancer, and her movements still carry that marker of gracefulness. But, when she hit puberty, much like me, her body filled out in a way that made it difficult for her instructors to still see the sophisticated swan in the way she carried her newfound womanhood. She's told me this story many times, usually as a way to encourage me to pursue my dreams, even when obstacles present themselves. The dancer who used her body movements as a form of art is still in her, evident in the way she moves. The length of her stride, the delicate prance of her step. Her body is still so full of music, that you can almost hear it when you watch her.

Add to that, the picture of a woman of average height, and dramatic beauty, and the picture is of what I consider to be the prettiest woman I've ever seen. Her hair is cropped short, a crown of tight coils, sprinkled through with grey. With sculpted, high cheek bones, full lips like my own, skin that glows the same rich color as a coffee bean, and large round eyes of the same shade, she's simply gorgeous. Not in an intimidating or false way either. It's a mother earth vibe that radiates from her energy. When I draw pictures of her, it's always with the intent to convey the warmth emanating from her. It's in the way she will always follow her smile with a touch, one that always reaches her eyes, with a gentle pat of her delicate fingers on your arm. It's all very reminiscent of romantic, southern charm and gentility.

With her you're always safe. It's what her patients like about her. Her calming spirit. It's what Glenn says about her when he gushes on why he loves and adores his Umma so much, affectionately using the Korean phrase for mom for her. He doesn't remember his biological mother, and as he has divulged to me many times, our mother, Vivian Anderson, is as in his blood as Hyun-Ae Rhee still is. My father simply thinks it's because he spent the whole first year of his life strapped lovingly to her chest in a carrier all the time, but I think it's all just saying the same thing. My mother is…pretty awesome.

My father on the other hand, a self professed "Bama" who stands at a hulking six feet and four inches, with huge hands that were once used for throwing touchdowns, and are now for saving lives, is much different. Sporting a similar dark roast coloring as my mother, and also a doctor, that's where the similarities end between the pair who have been married for twenty years, and together for just as many, having gotten married only one month after meeting. Raymond Anderson is a man's man, who everyone loves. It's impossible not to once you get past his intimidating stature, and become introduced the lightness of his charm. Gregarious, and full of laughter and charisma, he normally keeps his long dreadlocks pulled back, and his beard, greying quicker than his thick hair, cut low. But it's his piercing eyes, tilted a bit at the corners, that give off the appearance of a hawk or an eagle. And that's kind of how he is underneath all of those big smiles, and that booming voice, always watchful, assessing, keeping his eye on everyone and everything. I suppose that goes well with his nosey nature, and his need to always be in the know, and in control of his surroundings.

Together they are a formidable team of doctors, and the best parents in the world. Loving and caring, they are fiercely protective of those in their world, but have no problem welcoming others with open arms. And that's what they did with Mike.

As the son of Georgia's only black senator, he knew exactly how to win them over with his kind smile, eloquent words, and overall charm. All of the same things that I found so wonderful about him, my parents seemed to like as well, with the addition on my end being that he's ridiculously handsome.

"Doctor Anderson." He nods at my father and accepts his handshake as he switches what appears to be a book of some kind, from his right hand to his left.

Standing next to me, a frown dipping his features as he watches Mike make nice with my parents and uncle, Glenn blurts seemingly out of nowhere "What are you doing here?" A short giggle erupts from me as a blatant look of embarrassment crosses my father's face, and curves my mother's lips into a smile that accompanies a questioning side eye to her son. "Not to be rude, but this is the airport, dude. We're leaving…?"

"Glenn, hey buddy, yeah I know that." Mike laughs, and grins down at my brother. "I just wanted to see my girl before she left, wish her a good time."

"Didn't you do that last night?" Glenn wonders aloud, "I mean, you literally just saw her. Overkill much?"

Rubbing her hand over my brother's head, and ruffling his short black hair, my mother redirects Glenn, knowing that his hackles are up. He's no fan of Mike's. "Glenn, why don't you help your father get a cart for all of this luggage? Let's give Michonne and Mike some privacy to say goodbye."

"Thanks, Mom." I mumble, watching as Glenn obeys my mother's suggestion. My family animates like a well organized team, hustling the bags curbside, and getting them all pushed away into the airport terminal. The only thing left is my small roller bag, my purse slung across my body, and Mike.

His eyes are on mine, lovingly caressing my face in the silence between us that is buffered by the hustle and bustle of travelers, arriving to greet loved ones. Tearfully saying goodbye to others.

Finally reaching out to touch me, Mike takes a gentle hold of my chin with his index finger and thumb. Leaning in, his body is angled down towards mine, and he places the softest kiss to my cheek, the bristles of his mustache lightly scratching my skin. "Mimi, I'm sorry."

"Mike..." I eek out, my voice low and soft, seemingly dampened under the sincerity of his apology. His follow-up kiss to the corner of my lips, and the delicate way he's cupping the side of my face with his warm palm, throws me off a little.

"I would never hurt you intentionally. I was frustrated, and hurt that it felt like you were rejecting me." Dropping his head, as though the weight of his shame is holding him down, he takes both of my hands in his. "I panicked, and it was immature, and hurtful to you… and I hope you can forgive me. I will do anything for you to forgive me."

"I forgive you. It just… you were too rough with me."

"Jesus, Mimi, oh my god!" Mike closes his eyes, the thought of my admission seems to punish him. Holding my face, framing it in both hands, his touch tentative, halting, he swallows a harsh breath. "I love you so much, and you didn't deserve that."

"No, I didn't." finding the strength to hold my words steady and firm, I assert myself. "And I didn't like it. I won't let you treat me like…like I don't have feelings, and desires, and needs. I do."

"I know…"

A deep voice breaks into our conversation, a welcome interruption for my part. "Michonne, honey, it's time for us to go. Tell Michael goodbye." My father says from the sliding glass doors that will lead me away from Georgia, and away from Mike.

Looking up to him from the black Chuck Taylor's on my feet, I remind Mike that time is up. "You heard my dad, I gotta go."

"I know. Um… I brought you this." Holding out the book that is in his hand, I realize as he's pressing it into my palm, that it's actually a moleskin journal. It's beautiful. It has a black and gold Parisian mosaic pattern on the cover, my initials inscribed in bold calligraphy across the right corner, and a package of my favorite Sakura Pigmon Micron pens held to it with with a black satin bow. I'm speechless. "I wanted you to be able to keep a record of your adventures in Europe. Everything you see, hear, taste, touch."

My mouth is hanging open. I can't help it. This is…this is an amazing gift, and the only way anyone would ever know how much this gift is perfect for me would be if they listen to all of my ramblings, comments, and oft hand mentions of things here and there. "You've been listening to me."

"I hear and remember everything you say. I record everything about you. Keep it all right here." He taps his temple, and smiles, a sad, regretful one that does no justice to his beautiful face.

"I don't know why you want me to write down all of this stuff, Mike, you've been to Europe before."

"I know, but… I love to rediscover the world through your eyes, Mimi. You have a light in you, I just want a piece of it for myself, ya know?"

"Michonne." My father calls me again, his tone now impatient, not leaving room for me to dally any longer, no argument allowed.

"I'm sorry, sir, I've kept her too long." Dropping a tiny kiss to my left hand, he seems to stop in his tracks. Staring for a moment, he sniffs, frowns, then replaces it with another weak smile. Clearing his throat, seemingly scrambling to recover, he drops my hand. "Have a safe trip. Please call me when you return, Mimi. I'll be waiting for you."

As quickly as he was here, seemingly out of nowhere, he's gone. A few of his long legged strides carries him to the first cab he sees, his tall form disappearing inside.

I'm too stunned by everything that just happened to move as quickly as my father would like, and I instantly feel his firm touch on my shoulder. Wrapping his arm around me, my father, my most favorite guy in the whole world, must sense something warring inside of me. My emotions a ragged mess.

"Do I need to kick his ass about my baby girl?"

"Huh? No, Dad! No…"

"Ok, just asking. I may be a doctor, but I know how to kick ass. I used to play football ya know."

"Yeah, Dad, I know."

"And I will. I'd do anything for my baby girl. You know that right?"

"Yep."

"Just checking. I only say something because I noticed that you didn't come in until very early this morning and that's not like you."

Putting my hands up, waving them to protest his assumption, I quickly answer. "I wasn't with Mike all night, Dad. I promise."

"So where were you? And before you give me an earful about you being an adult now and your mother and I needing to respect that, I just want to remind you that the only people in our home who can stay out all night partying are named Vivian and Raymond. So, again…?"

Sighing heavily, feeling the weight of his arm symbolically growing heavier on my shoulders, I close my eyes and tell him the truth. At least what I can tell him without withering under the embarrassment of having that kind of conversation with my father.

"I was over Rick's. I had him pick me up from Mike's and we hung out all night."

"Ah, young Mr. Grimes strikes again. I should have known. There was a time when your mother and I thought you guys would outgrow your friendship. I guess you did there for a little while with him hounding behind every skirt he could get up under." My father chuckles, his amusement rumbling deeply in his chest as he laughs. Though his smile is wide at the thought of Rick chasing after random girls, mine is not. Maybe sensing the stiffness that overcame my body at the thought, and that I'm not joining in the laughter, my father stops us where we stand. "Hey, baby girl, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I grouse on a weak shrug of my shoulders, not really ready to explain the swirl of emotions blowing through my heart.

"Ya know what? Your mama and I know what it is, Chonnie. We've always really known, I think we all have, including Dana and Rick Sr. We only thought you guys might outgrow just being friends, because we figured that eventually it would become something else. You weren't making him the star of all of those comics you were writing for nothing."

"What? You did?" eyes growing wide with surprise, I can't believe what I'm hearing. I guess they were paying attention to all of those stories I wrote and comics I illustrated. Yeah, I suppose it wasn't really that difficult to figure that the lead in my cowboy comic I wrote was Rick. His name was Mick after all. Gotta work on my originality, I promise as I recall the comic book I wrote about a cowboy, with a female side kick who worked his way as a mercenary through the wild west, solving crimes, and punishing bad guys. I suppose that's the way I've always seen Rick, as the star of even my imagination.

"Yeah. When Rick Sr. and Dana broke up a couple years back, that boy took it bad, real bad. The first person he ran to was you."

Pushing my locs back over my shoulder, and pulling them into a ponytail, I'm sifting through my father's recollection, pulling into my brain its truth. "That's cause we're right next door though."

"No, that's cause you're his person. Have been since you tried to permanently put a crook in that nose of his." He smiles, the memory of that day seemingly clear in everyone's mind as the start of something between Rick and I. "If I remember correctly that fall he broke his ankle playing football, you were the only one he let sign his cast, filling it with your pictures and illustrations. You're the only one he ever let drive that antique pickup truck his granddaddy gave him, and he's the only one who will taste your cooking and not tell you honestly how awful it is. That's love, little girl. Even I hate to let your mama, the love of my life drive my new Mercedes. And I don't know if I could have wifed a woman who can't cook." Scratching at his beard, he seems to be giving his own ruminations some serious thought, but shaking his head to himself, I suppose he agrees with himself and dismisses the audacity of a wife who would are have other talents than being his cook. Men.

"Dad, of course we love each other. We've only known each other for most of our lives."

"Do you remember how that boy avoided you like the plague after we came back from Hawaii? Turning bright as a beet every time he saw you bouncing around? Sr. called it then, said he was in love with my little Chonnie, but I didn't believe him just yet. I didn't want to, cause even though I love them Grimes boys like my own, I wasn't entirely thrilled with the prospect then. And I didn't accept it as the God's honest truth until he was ready to rip Mike a whole new asshole at Christmas when he gave you that ring. Remember that?"

Admitting that Rick's response that night did confuse me, I nod my head in agreement. "Yeah."

"You don't know men yet, little girl, not really. But that's not how a friend reacts. That's how a man responds to another man trying to take what's his."

"But, I'm not his."

"Tell Rick that. Boy was swelling up, huffing and puffing like he was gonna do something foolish up in my house. Like I said, I love him, but I'm the only one allowed to throw fists at 30 Northwood Avenue." Quirking an eyebrow at me, he's serious, but he's also making light of something that seemed pretty serious when it happened. I remember the way that Rick scoffed at the ring Mike gave me, his scowl palpable enough to cause thick tension in the room of family members and friends. "I'm just saying, you need to pay more attention, Chonnie. Rick isn't Ricky anymore, and you're not gonna be Chonnie much longer. It's an inevitability that I can't say I'm entirely comfortable with, but I know you can't fight something so obvious. I just hope that you be careful. I'm not ready to be a granddaddy. You hear me? And you tell Rick that too!"

"Dad! Oh my god!"

"I'm trying to be progressive here, Chonnie, damn. Your mama has been trying to get me to loosen up and see things for what they are, not what I think they should be. I would prefer that you remain untouched by any man until you're married, or I'm dead, but I don't think that's gonna happen. You're a woman now, just as beautiful as your mama, and you better believe that both Mike and Rick see that."

"I don't wanna talk about this anymore, Dad."

"I don't either, but as you kids say, whateva!" he tosses up his large mitt like hands, thumbs touching to make the shape of a W. "Long as you know, that we know there's something there. Maybe it's a little love triangle? I don't know. I just don't want you to get hurt. Ok?"

"Ok."

"Good! Now let's get this show on the road. I gotta get back to the ticket counter before your mother blows all our money on upgrading us all to first class!"

XXXXXX

"Why are you walking so slow?"

"What?"

"Come on, Chonnie! Stop looking at your phone and let's go! Mom and Dad will be pissed if we miss our flight. Moseying slow and wide legged like you just rode a horse or something."

Startled a little by how close his assessment kind of sounds, I shush him through what I'm sure is deep blush to my cheeks, and pop him in the head. I don't need him calling attention to me from our parents. "Hush, Glenn! I'm coming."

"That's what she said!" my little brother snickers, looking over his shoulder at me trailing behind him as I drag my rolling suitcase with one hand and stare at Rick's text message on my phone screen with the other.

"Ew!" I mumble under my breath at the thought of my little brother, only 15 years old, doing any of things that Rick and I did last night.

Reminiscing on our time together, I wince a little at the raw feeling of my sex, still a little tender, and the ache in my thighs. Still, I can't help but to grin at how wanton, and full of lust I was for him. His body seemingly created to give pleasure, leanly muscled, hard in all of the right places, dusted with just the right amount mix of golden and chestnut colored hair. How gentle his lips were, suckling at my breasts, my neck, my pussy. His touch firm when necessary, but more aggressive when needed.

Careful and respectful, yet sexy all the same, Rick somehow anticipated everything I would need to make last night the most memorable of my life. From the candles and music, to the bath, and the patient way he handled breaching my core, attempting to make his loving invasion less painful than it promised to be. It was a whimsical experience. Not just because I lost my virginity. Not just because I kind of enjoyed it, the pain and the pleasure along with the surprise that my handsome best friend is endowed like a horse. But mostly because of who I lost it to. I wasn't lying when I told Rick that I never thought he and I would be together like that. Never. Even as I harbored a pretty relentless crush on him in my early teens. Especially not as I watched him with the many girls who have come in and out of his life, each one probably assuming she would be the one to tame him. Never.

I'm glancing down at my phone for what's probably the hundredth time, eyes dancing over his words he's offered me not once, but twice now…

Rick: Hey…just wanted to say have a safe trip. And I love you

I love you.

My head is throbbing from lack of sleep. My heart is racing, it's beat a staggered and confused cadence, not smooth and certain like it usually is. My emotions are raw; I'm nursing my ragged feelings, freshly pummeled by this aggravating back and forth. They are agitated and all over the place. Mike. Rick. It's like going from a light rain, to a full on thunderstorm, and I'm ill prepared to get through it, especially with my dislike of thunderstorms. My inclination during the darkness of a storm is to always find safety and shelter with my friend, Rick, but how could I turn to him to understand and make sense of it all, when he's the cause of my indecision. I've never been a position to have to choose. How can I?

Meandering through the busy airport in my sweats, prepared to try and be comfortable on our long flight abroad, my feet conduct a slow shuffle forward. Not paying attention, still studying Rick's words on my phone, perhaps hoping to find the answer to my conundrum in their brief declaration, I suddenly find myself bumping into my little brother. Standing in front of me, blocking me from going further, he's glancing down between me and my phone.

"You and Rick texting, huh? Or is it that asshat Mike? Can't he just leave you alone, damn he just saw you like five minutes ago."

Sucking my teeth in exasperation, I glare at Glenn, tilting my head as I narrow my eyes on him. "Why are you so nosey, Glenn?"

Turning his red Atlanta Braves ball cap backwards, he scoffs in that newly deep, adolescent voice of his at my accusation. "I'm not nosey, I'm just curious."

"Nosey."

"Whatever."

"Why don't you like Mike? Hm? He never did anything to you."

"He's just…too slick ya know? Fake. Like nobody is that perfect. Always smiling, and kissing up to the docs. Mom and Dad act like he can do no wrong, and you're always making goofy puppy eyes at him. It's ridiculous."

Shaking my head, I deny his accusation, even if I kind of know better. Mike is pretty, how could I not make puppy eyes at him? "I don't do that."

"Yeah you do. Rick mentioned it too at Christmas. He hates that guy."

"I know. Don't remind me. Rick is not a fan." I mumble under my breath, an uneasiness rumbling in my belly, reminding me of the predicament I've placed myself in. On one hand Mike is…everything I've always wanted. And Glenn is right, he's almost perfect, unrealistically so. But now, he's messed up, and that kind of makes him more human to me. More fallible? More normal than his carefully curated persona would lead others to believe. And he did apologize. I gotta admit, his overture to come all the way to the airport with such a thoughtful gift really seems to show how earnestly sorry he is for how things went down between us last night. Maybe it was really just a mistake?

Then there's Rick… and what we've done. How can I forget that? How could I ever ignore the fulfillment of one of my heart's deepest desires? Rick is the man I have always wanted. And now, I've had him, and he is absolutely everything I always imagined he would be. And a lot more.

"That's cause he can see through him too."

"Maybe." Bristling a little at the idea, I also know that while Rick may seem so astute at finding flaws with Mike, he seems completely oblivious to Lori's. And that right there? That gives me pause. "He doesn't seem to be able to figure that out about Lori though." My voice carrying more bite and snark than I intended as I mentally add a hash in Rick's cons column. Red check mark for you there, buddy.

"Hey, I heard he's home cause he was breaking up with her. She went one way and he went another for spring break. Then Jeff texted me this morning and said he had another chick in his room last night, wearing her out! But then he heard him on the phone with Lori just this morning! Rick has always been good with the women, man."

Bucking my eyes wide, I can't believe that Jeff and Glenn know so much about everything. Those two gossip more than any girl I've ever known. "Jeff told you that? Did he say who the girl he was with last night was?" I ask, nervously fidgeting with my phone and not making eye contact with my little brother. Rick was talking to Lori after I left?

"Huh? No, he didn't say who she was. Just that it sounded like Rick had her climbing the walls!"

"Hm. You and Jeff are so nosey."

"Not nosey. Girls are nosey. Boys are curious."

"That's sexist, and untrue. You're both nosey, and you gossip too much. I should tell Mom." I threaten, moving my roller bag up closer to me to find a seat. Trying to dismiss the part about him being on the phone with Lori, I add, "You guys shouldn't worry so hard about who Rick was with last night. If he wanted you to know he would tell you. And who cares about Lori anyway?"

"True. Seems like no one likes Lori."

"Right. Mrs. G doesn't even like her. Who knows how Rick feels about her." I inch my shoulders up, still trying to convince Glenn as I unsuccessfully attempt to do the same for myself about her too.

"He would probably tell you how he feels about her though. The real question is, did you tell him that you were with Mike last night? All night?"

"What? Why would I tell him that?"

Stopping to drop down into one of the cushioned blue chairs in the middle of a row to the right of the gate where our parents are chatting it up with another couple, Glenn props his legs up on to his small carry on bag. "I didn't say anything to the docs, but I know you didn't come in from your date with Mike until early this morning. Dad would murder you, so I got your back, but yeah…" Taking a long swig from his bottled water, he focuses his eyes on me, and raises his brows, communicating that he knows something that will remain between us. Glenn may not be my father's son biologically, but he is every bit as nosey and as good of a secret keeper as our father. Either way, he's got my back.

It has always been that way with Glenn and I. He is my little brother, but he has big brother instincts. He'd better never hear anyone talk bad about me or anyone in our family. He easily earned himself a black eye once when he got in a fight with a kid two years older and fifty pounds heavier, who said I had a fat ass.

I'm the same with him. Being the Korean-American son of a black family in the south isn't easy, and he has been picked on many times. From kids questioning why he's with us and where his real parents are, to adults making their snide, micro-aggressive comments about how diverse our family is, Glenn has had to deal with a lot in his short 15 years. And some of that is just par for the course. But, I have a soft spot for Glenn having to maneuver through the obstacles of a life that has already been rough on him. I don't tolerate it very well. I have beaten up my share of kids who would seek to make my little brother feel some kind of way about who he is, and where life has placed him. I won't have it.

Glenn is trustworthy though, and has kept close to the vest, probably sweating to death under the pressure of the secret fact that I had a pretty serious crush on Rick a few years back. That I had allowed Mike to come over for a swim one evening when our parents weren't home. That one weekend when I was supposed to be spending the night at Sasha's, that I was really in Huntsville, Alabama with Sasha visiting her big brother Tyreese for homecoming, who is in college at my parents' alma mater, Alabama A&M. For that reason, I don't doubt that he will hold this secret, that's not really a secret, as well.

"Well…thanks for not telling them, but Dad already knows I was out all night." I mumble, bursting Glenn's bubble and placing my ear buds in.

Clicking on Amerie's 'Why Don't We Fall in Love' from the playlist Rick put together for me last summer when I first got my car and needed some good songs to ride around to, I allow my head to drop onto the back of my seat and close my eyes. Shutting out the world. Sometimes I do that. Just take off, ride around, listening to music, thinking, alone with my thoughts. It's a habit I picked up from Rick. He would often disappear for hours after his parents divorced. Sometimes he would invite me, and we would just exist together, coursing our way over Georgia's scenic back roads. The landscape's colorful foliage, and skyward reaching trees gifting us with the perfect escape among nature's beauty. No words needed. The silence communicating everything in what's not said.

There I go, my thoughts circling back to Rick and how intertwined our lives have always been. He's on my mind so heavy that I almost confess to Glenn that I wasn't with Mike, but all that would do is send him sniffing around to figure out who I was with, and I don't need Glenn asking questions. It's not that I'm ashamed of being with Rick, it's just that… Like Glenn said, he has a reputation. He's popular, he's a ladies' man. He's been with lots of girls. I don't want Glenn to feel some kind of way about Rick, and maybe worse yet, that I'm just another notch on Rick's belt. A thought that I'm having a little myself. Another red check in that cons column. Damn.

"So many things I'm goin' through
So much that I wanna do
It startin' to become so clear to me
Tomorrow ain't really what it seems…"

It's not like I'm Rick's girlfriend now, because he has a girlfriend. Lori. It's not like he's my boyfriend either, because well…I have a boyfriend. Mike. A boyfriend that until last night I loved, that I was pretty serious about. Serious enough that I did want him to be my first. Why should I question that love now? Don't I still want to be with him I wonder, remembering the feeling of giddiness I have always had when I'm with him. When he's cracking jokes, and telling me how pretty I am. How smart I am. How much he loves me. I'm wearing his ring aren't I?

Or maybe I'm not. Checking my left hand to admire the pretty ring that Mike placed on my finger as a symbol of his promise to me, I find that it's missing. Missing? Is that what threw Mike off when he kissed my hand? The fact that his promise ring seems to have tellingly vanished from my finger rips a slight panic through me, gripping my chest as I dig around in my purse, frantically searching for the ring. Maybe I took it off to wash my hands and left it in my bathroom? I was in a rush to get showered and dressed once I snuck into the house after leaving Rick's. Rick.

Rolling my eyes, and dropping my forearm over my forehead, I recall the push of his hands, nimbly twisting and the shoving the delicate metal to the ground and away from me. Why would he do that? Why didn't I care when he did I question to myself, countering my own consideration of Rick's motivations? Instantly, I reach for my cellphone and quickly my fingers fly over the screen, punching out a text to him.

Michonne: Did I leave my ring over there?

Rick: Yes

Michonne: Can you put it somewhere safe for me until I return?

Rick: Why?

Michonne: B'cuz

Rick: Cuz what?

Michonne: ... 

Rick: You don't need it anymore

Michonne: Um why don't I?

Rick: Why would my girl need another guy's ring on her finger?

Michonne: Your girl?

Rick: My girl. You feeling ok? Get some rest on the plane. Love you.

Well damn.

"So many days I've thought of you
It's about time you knew the truth
Got to act quickly, you and I
We fall in love, so many reasons why…"

Feeling a nudge at my shoulder, I look to my left, and see my little brother staring at me with a confused furrow to his brow. Moving his lips, I can't hear him over the music blaring in my ears. He pulls the bud from my ear and the music dims, only pumping in one ear, the sound uneven.

"Why are you smiling like that? You look crazy." Shaking his head back and forth, he points to my phone. "Mike put that foolish grin on your face?"

Shaking my own head at him in response, I place my fingers over my lips, embarrassed by how easy I'm responding to Rick. God, I get it now. I get why so many girls have lost themselves under his spell. To Rick Grimes. Is that a check in his pros or cons column?

"Rick?" Glenn questions at first, then changes it up as though coming to some realization of his own. "Of course it's Rick. I should have known better. It's always been Rick." He answers, and places the bud gently back into my ear, the music evening back out in surround sound. Glenn's right. It's always been Rick. Gold star in his pros column for sure.

"It takes such a load off to let you know
That you're the only one I never want to go
Think I never did know what to do
A love I never felt, now I feel with you…"

XXXXX

"So what are the guys like in London?"

"Uh, I don't know. Really polite. Pale."

"Did she say pale?" Sasha questions, turning to Rosita but with her thumb jabbed towards me.

"She did. And now I'm so uninterested in a European vacay."

"I mean, not as tan as the white guys here cause duh, not as much sun. But, I mean, not ugly or anything. Just paler than the guys here. I wasn't really interested anyway."

Tossing her dark hair over her shoulder, Rosita checks herself in the mirror in her locker. Puckering her lips, and looking over her pout she asks, "Cause of Mike? He's been MIA since you left. Spencer said he didn't want to hang out or nothing. He's so whipped!"

"Um…"

"Nevermind, I already know the answer to that one. I gotta motor. I have PE and I need to fake cramps to Coach Dale. You know he's not gonna ask too many questions and will let me just blow the whistle for everyone else's time trials if I tell him I'm PMS'ing. So gullible. Bye bitches." She waves, flouncing off down the hall in her snug jeans, and cropped top, her stride capturing the attention of all of the guys who wouldn't dare take a peek at her if Spencer was with her. Which he usually is.

"I'm outta here too. I gotta go gather up all of Abe's things and dump them in the trash before ROTC."

"Wait, what the hell?"

"Oh you weren't here for the dramatics. He told me he's been deployed to Afghanistan. I'm not pissed, I just know I can't deal with that. We're already gonna be separated when you and I leave for LA in a few months anyway, so I'm just stopping the bleeding before it even starts, that's all. Everyone knows that long distance relationships don't work." Crossing her arms across her chest, the heavy canvas like material of her camouflage ROTC uniform makes her appear more stern than her diminutive stature would make one think possible. She purses her lips and shakes her head at, seemingly dismissing the alarm that's probably stark and apparent on my face. "Don't make it sound so much worse than it is. I know you artsy fartsy types are so emo about everything. But me and Abe ain't like that. He knows the deal."

Digging in my locker for one of my sketch pads for my next period art class, my voice raises in defense of her assessment. "I'm not emo."

"Yes you are. You feel everything so deeply. Sometimes a thing is just a thing, and not a big thing. Get it?"

Shoving my located supplies down into my bag, and standing up to face her, I check over my shoulder to make sure no one is standing behind me at the next locker. Lowering my voice conspiratorially I lean closer to Sasha and confess. "No I don't get it. But, I do have to tell you about…a thing. I did…a thing."

Manicured eyebrows raised high on her forehead, Sasha is suddenly very interested, her body language switching lanes from bored to intrigued. "A Euro thing?"

"Um, no a before Europe thing. A big thing." I answer, holding my hands flat, about eight inches apart.

Twisting her face in confusion, Sasha tilts her head, not fully understanding what the hand movements mean. "A touchdown? You doing the touchdown hand movements cause it's a Mike thing? Like about him playing football? What am I missing here?"

Groaning, remembering that Sasha sucks at charades, and has caused us to lose many a game night with our friends, I frown at her terrible interpretation of what I'm trying to tell her. "Ah no, tried that… This is a different, but pretty big thing."

Exasperated with my non-committal answers, she blurts out, "This shit is so confusing, girl. Please just spit it out, Michonne."

Hemming a little, my lips pulled between my teeth, I close my eyes and just spit it out, "I slept with Rick!"

"Huh? Rick? Rick – Rick? Your neighbor Rick? Hot older guy, 'oh he's my best friend nothing has ever happened between us' Rick? That Rick?"

"Mmhmm…"

"And is that the big thing, or is it a big thing? Like a 'Big Dick Rick' thing?" she asks, hand on chin, studying me as I bashfully peep at her from between my fingers and hide my face behind my hand. Making the raised and flat hand gesture again, only about five inches or so apart, Sasha lifts her eyebrows as she gestures with her chin at her hands. "This big?"

"Bigger." I move her hands further apart, to approximately the seven to eight-inch range and nod my head, affirming that this is the big thing. The Big Dick Rick thing.

"Wha? Damn! He looks like he's average, but he constantly has these hoes itching and scratching after his ass like they're high on catnip for a reason." Shaking her head, Sasha whistles and gives my body a scrutinizing sweep. "So how's your kitty? He beat that up didn't he? Geez. That's why you all emo and shit today."

"Damn, Sasha, why you gotta make it sound so crude? It was actually very beautiful. He was gentle, and sexy, and he had a whole romantic vibe going with candles and whatnot. It was really sweet."

"I bet he was. So was it what you expected?"

"More than that." I answer, wistfully recalling the look on Rick's face, a blissful smile curving his soft pink lips as he was inside of me, buried so deep I could feel every inch of him stretching me, molding me to the shape of him. "The sensation was really painful at first. Intense as fuck. But there was something else, like almost pleasure. I don't know, I kept feeling like just so close to something."

"Orgasm."

"I guess? When he was fingering me I did get a feeling, like a quick rush over my body."

"Orgasm."

"Yeah, not from the actual sex though, so maybe I wasn't doing it right?"

"What could you have been doing wrong? You spread 'em and he does most of the work. Unless you're on top. I hate being on top cause Abe's lazy and doesn't even play with my breasts if I'm on top. I'm like hello, this is not a holiday, big man!" sucking her teeth at the thought, Sasha seems less than impressed by Abe right now.

"Well, I don't know, it wasn't bad. The first time was rough, like it hurt pretty bad even though Rick tried to distract me from it."

"How?"

"Just saying… stuff." I scurry to answer, not wanting to admit that Rick told me he loved me. I don't know why I don't want her to know that. I just…it felt like something special and magical just for us. "The second time in the tub was better, I was on my knees. It didn't have that tight, burning feeling from the first time though. And the last time was…pretty perfect I think." And I can't help it now, I'm smiling from ear to ear with the memory of that last time in middle of the night fresh in my mind. It's almost like my brain can conjure Rick's hands gripping my thighs, pushing them back. I can feel the weight of his body pressing me down into the mattress as he twisted and wound his hips until his pelvis was close against me, grinding against my clit. Whispering to me how much he loved me, loved this. Praising my body, my breasts, my lips, everything. I'd never heard Rick talk like that, a tortured strain rasping each word over his vocal cords. It was erotic and exciting… "So yeah, yes, it did hurt like hell and I could barely walk the next day, but you know I had to try and hide it from the docs, and Glenn's nosey ass was asking all kinds of questions."

"Oh yeah I could see that. You know he's like an extension of your dad and notices like everything."

"Oh man, don't even bring up my dad. He's on to me and Rick."

"What's he on to? Is he your boyfriend now? I thought he had a girlfriend? And I thought you already had a boyfriend?"

"It's complicated."

"Complicated because you know him and you know his reputation with girls? Or

complicated because of the fine black man coming up the hallway behind you right now?"

Sasha brings up a good point, two points that I reminded Rick of myself, and with that I feel the need to pull myself back from the precipice of doing something foolish. Of losing myself, my pride, everything I have going with Mike, to focus on a thing that might not be a thing with Rick. Or perhaps it's just his thing of the moment. It wasn't difficult to sense that he is finally growing weary of Lori, but that doesn't mean that I'm looking to take her place as his flavor of the moment. I hate to say it, but Rick Jr. is a lot like Rick Sr. Since his mother and father divorced, his father has not been without female companionship. Is that honestly something I want for myself? Like Sasha said, when is a thing just a thing and not a big thing?

I'm dragged out of those thoughts quickly, not given more than a few seconds to wallow there before I can hear his footsteps approaching. "What's up ladies? Hey gorgeous." Mike ambles up behind me, pressing his hard chest to my back, and places a tiny kiss on the nape of my neck.

Witnessing the slight startle in my eyes, and probably the panic, Sasha pulls herself up from her lean against my locker, and straightens her clothes out. "Yeah…I'm out! See you later, Mich."

"Later, Sasha. Oh hey, still wanna go look for prom dresses after school?"

"Oh yeah. Don't leave without me, I'll ride with you!" Waving over her shoulder, Sasha takes a sharp right, heading to her sixth period ROTC class.

With his hands on my hips, Mike wastes no time in turning me around to face him. Lowering to me, he kisses me again, this time on the lips, and I can't help but flinch. Not a lot, not so much that he seems to be able to notice. Just an imperceptible hiccup of my body at him advancing on me in a way that was once so familiar, and desirable, but now feels foreign. Odd.

"How was London, baby? Did you have a great time? I can't wait to see what you put in the journal." There is no way in hell I'm letting him look at that journal, and I'm actually feeling a little embarrassed blush coloring my cheeks as I think of what I wrote there. The explicit way that I've documented a full account of my first, second, and third sexual encounters with Rick. Erotic, and in enough detail that I think it might rival one of my mother's Zane novels that I nabbed when I was sixteen. Couldn't make eye contact with her for a full week.

"I didn't really get a chance to write much."

"Hm. Yeah, probably busy sightseeing. So, um, speaking of prom, what colors do you want to wear? I was thinking purple, or lavender or something soft like that cause that just really pops on you. You have that one lavender cashmere sweater that just lights up against your skin." Swinging his thumb across my collarbone that's exposed by the low cut V of my t-shirt, Mike seems mesmerized, hypnotically entranced, and sincerely focused on my lips. Licking his own, he doesn't even give me a chance to answer. "You know what? It doesn't matter what color you pick, you look beautiful in everything don't you? Listen, I gotta run to Calculus. Mr. Dugan is giving a test and if I get done quickly I can leave early, so… Talk later?"

"Um hm." All I can do is nod, as I offer him a tight lipped agreement to talk to him sometime later.

"Cool. Later, Mimi." With a swift peck to my lips, he's gone, and I can't help but to remain frozen in place as that eerie sensation of something being wrong blankets me once again. Shit.

XXXXX

"Why don't I just swallow each and every ounce of my pride
Everything you do I wanna feel again
Ain't no use for us to pretend…"

Listening to what is probably my favorite song by Amerie again, I can't help but consider that this song is the soundtrack to my life right now. Especially as I continue working on a sketch of Rick that I started while in London. It's not a full on drawing of his face. Instead it's his profile, partially obscured in shadow as he sleeps. For all of the years that we have been sharing a bed, usually when a thunderstorm rolls through and the sound and fury of it clapping and banging in the clouds unnerves me, reminds me of the night that Glenn's parents died in the car accident that led him to our family, I have never really looked at him. Watched him. I don't know why. Maybe I was afraid of what I might see there, unvarnished, unhidden by an implicit need to veil his feelings from me. Did I know his true feelings were there all along, brimming like sticky pools of love in his cool blue irises? No, I don't think so. Had I known, it would have been less of a moral imperative to hide my own feelings for safe keeping.

But that night, ensconced in his hold, held tight against his body, I dared to see what my father says was always plain. How relaxed he is with me. At ease with me in his space, knowing him, the real him. The him that has fears, and desires, needs, and dreams. The Rick that is not afraid to simply exist without the pretense of being a certain kind of guy, his affable nature more visceral and sincere. How could I have missed this Rick when I was pining away for him all these years, injured over and over again by the bee like sting of having to watch him with other girls?

I suppose that doesn't matter now I guess, using my middle finger to create shading across his high forehead. It's a technique that leaves only slight definition to differentiate between the silky strands of fine curls, toppling over and across his hairline, intruding on the masculine beauty of his face, and the dramatic sweep of his sandy colored eyelashes, rimming his closed eyes and covered in shadow. I hesitate for a moment, pulling my hand back from the drawing, wondering how to capture the depth of his spirit. Can the viewer see what I know to be true about Rick? That he may move with seemingly effortless grace through the day, but at night, when he's sleep, or when he's alone, or with me, he is not the ladies' man. He is not the most popular guy in school. The country boy with awe shucks good manners, and a cut hard body, decked out in t-shirts and jeans. Rick is more than that. He's a man who has unabashedly cried with his head in my lap when his parents divorced, his mother's depression to heavy a burden for a young Rick to bear. He is a man who knows that I will only eat scrambled eggs if they are cooked hard enough to make me forget that they were once baby chickens.

I know this man, and he knows me, and try as I might to convey that through my art, it seems as though the padlock around my heart that houses these little pieces of him, won't let me share it with the world. The thought elicits a grin from me. At the same time, as though his ears were burning knowing that he was heavy on my mind, my phone vibrates, alerting me to a new text message.

Rick: Hey I need to talk to you

Michonne: Ok, what's up?

I hesitate a moment before I respond, recognizing what could be an ominous tone behind those few words he's pushed my way.

Rick: Come outside. The back door.

Michonne: ?

Rick: Please

A hum, a thrill begins buzzing inside me, electrifying my limbs to force movement on my part. My brain may be stuck running through the million different scenarios of what his request means, but my core is shaken with the prospect of seeing him again.

Rick doesn't disappoint. Under the pitch black sky of a spring night in Georgia, with only the overcast luminosity of the moon's haze offering any clarity, stands Rick beaming a smile brighter than the moon could ever hope to be. At me. It's a grin more handsome than any I've ever seen, but I don't get a chance to appreciate it for long. In mere seconds he's backing me up to the side of the house, snatching me up and wrapping his strong arms around my body. Clad in his regular t-shirt and jeans, there is a minute chill clinging to his clothes that belies the heat emanating from his body to mine. It's that familiar feverish temperature he always seems to have, a fiery blaze of warmth stoking the life force that is Richard Grimes Jr.

"I had to see you. I couldn't wait another minute." He answers the question I haven't gotten around to asking, his words pushing the damp heat of his breath into the sensitive skin of my neck. There is no time for coherent thoughts to form, and intelligible words to fall. The urgent call for my soul to connect with his is too critical. As soon as he pulled me in close, I was trapped by how his larger body blankets mine.

"I can't believe you're here." For a moment my thumping heart makes me giddy, too excited to see him. It's as clear as if I was a puppy with a wagging tail, as I grin and push my body into his, seeking his touch. His protection from the chill of the night creeping up my legs, and under my nightgown. But then I come to my senses a little, those red check marks in his cons column coming to mind, and temper my response to one more fitting of friends instead of lovers.

I try to wiggle free of his commanding stance boxing out the world around us, and sidestep him, crossing my arms over my chest, protecting my heart from him. Holding tightly to my hip, Rick doesn't allow me to move away, but he briefly glances down, seemingly taking note of the change in my demeanor. He gives me a little space, removing one hand from my hip and placing it next to where my head is resting against the reddish colored bricks that make up my house. No longer able to hold his piercing stare, fearing that he can see more of me than I'm willing to share with him right now, I look away, down to where my bare feet and toes kiss the front of his boots. Fidgeting with the ruffled hem of my nightgown I break the thick silence between us, asking the question skipping through my brain. "What about your classes, and whatever you have going on in Knoxville?"

"I left campus right after my last class so I could get to you as fast as I could. Did 80 the whole way here. And I don't have class tomorrow until 4. So here I am." Playing with one of the ropy locs of my hair falling out of my topknot, he twists it around his long index finger. "I wanted to be here when you got back from your trip, but I had a paper to finish. I'm sorry."

Inching my shoulders up to my ears, an attempt to signal that what he's saying is of no real importance, I continue to elude his searching gaze. Petulantly, I remember Sasha's words about long distance relationships not working, about Rick being a ladies' man, and I remember that I don't want to be just another one of those ladies. Injecting probably a little too much of my newly formed attitude into my tone I finally answer him. "You don't have to be. It's all good."

"I told Lori about us."

"What!?"

"I told her how I feel about you. How I've always felt about you, Chonnie."

"Why? Why would you do that?"

"Because I love you, and despite how you're behaving right now, I know you love me too. And because I want this thing with us to work." Lowering his face to mine, our foreheads touch, a simple press that connects us, and forces me to look up at him. "If that's something you want."

Oh Rick…

"Yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yes." My smile is too big, the grandness of it taking over my face as I try fruitlessly to hide it with my fingers. Joyfulness is crowding inside of me, stomping out any doubts that are holding on for dear life. I feel so silly, and girly, and ridiculous. Emo as Sasha called me. But when I look at Rick he's sporting a similar grin, one so brilliant that it emboldens me to lean into him and steal a kiss. A tentative one at first, just a peck against his smile. His bottom lip is soft, pink, plump, an adequate compliment underneath my fuller pair. Something pushes me to do it again, to press my lips to his once more, to savor the taste and the sensation for a longer time. So I do.

This Michonne is brazen and bold with my kiss, licking my tongue out to lave its slickness between the seam of Rick's lips, an entreaty to accept my intrusion. Rick does. Not only does he eagerly open his mouth, he sucks my tongue inside, literally stealing my breath away. It's as though my own explicit need for him has ignited his own passion, and he's all over me now. Gripping my ass with his left hand, holding me in place as he grinds against my womanhood, my breasts crushed tightly to his heaving chest. Rick's right hand is behind my head, keeping me steady as he turns his own head to deepen our kiss.

Nothing has ever felt like Rick. Nothing. There is zero thought of anything but him, and the way he's making me feel right now. Hungry. Alive. Needy. Out of control. So out of control in fact that I barely recognize the moans erupting from my mouth and into his. Nor do I understand myself as he sweeps his hand beneath my thigh, hiking it higher, and I simply give in to the lust coursing through my veins and wrap my legs around his waist, my arms around his neck.

Rick's surprise is momentary, only briefly catching him off guard as he halts our kiss for a second. Smiling while my needy lips nip at the two weeks' of beard growth shadowing his cheeks and chin, he's recovering quickly, thrusting both of his hands underneath my ass to catch hold of me. Finding me bare underneath my nightgown, Rick pulls his head back, and studies me. Smirking, those blue eyes twinkling like the brightest star, he raises his brows high on his forehead. "Oh really?"

"Hm?"

"You out here in your nightgown with no panties on huh?"

"I- I was going to bed."

"Yeah, I'm gonna take to you bed alright." He promises, and begins marching me, with long steady strides, over to his house.

"Is your mother home?"

"Probably, but you know her, she goes to bed at 9:30 every night." Rick answers as he opens the side door that leads us through the kitchen, then down the hall to the left, directly to his bedroom.

Crashing down on to his bed, laying flat on his back, I'm sitting on top of Rick balancing myself with my hands flat on his chest.

"You're here. With me."

"Did you miss me?"

"Maybe."

"Maybe?"

"Maybe I did."

Tickling his hands over my feverish skin and rolling my nightgown up my waist, then over my head, Rick tosses it to the floor. Admiration, and what I'm learning is lust is clouding his gaze, swirling the blue of his eyes with a darker hue that I've only recently become acquainted with. "I missed the hell out of you." That perfect bottom lip of his gets pulled between his teeth while he roams his hands up and down my thighs, then up, higher, higher still, until they reach my breasts. Thumbing my nipples, Rick begins a slow circle of them, causing them to stiffen and pebble with arousal against the graze of his thumbs. "I think these titties are my favorite thing in the world." Inching his torso up, he leans in and presses his mouth to my breasts, his kisses sloppy and wet against my flesh. "Tell me you missed me." He firmly demands, the gruff of his husky voice sending a shocking zing to my most intimate parts. The rough abrasion of his beard skimming against my breasts causing me arch into his mouth's suckle.

With my head tossed back, I'm finding it hard to even gather my thoughts, my body becoming soft and pliant in his hands. Instead of the words Rick wants to hear, a low hum, the tortured moan of a woman falling into the abyss of pleasure, falls from my slightly parted lips. Unsatisfied with my incoherent mewling, Rick lowers one hand, a slow drag down my abdomen, until it stops at my womanhood grinding against his groin. "Tell me you missed me." Rick commands again, his voice deeper, with a sandpiper rough edge to it. "Say it for me. Tell me."

"I- ahhh…" is all I can manage against the sensation of his fingers playing against my clit, as two of his fingers are breaching my core, stretching me open. Stroking with the just the slightest hint of pressure between my sticky pussy lips, Rick has me falling apart. Feeling his cock growing steely beneath me I wish I was able to find my way through the cotton candy sweetness of this feeling dampening my thoughts. If I could I might be able to tell him that he's all I've been thinking about. That this, his touch, his smell, the nearness of him, has been dogging my dreams. Causing me to wake up disappointed to find that he's not there. Yes, I've missed him. I've missed my old friend, and my new lover.

"Rick…"

"Yeah, I like the sound of that too." He rasps, as he watches me through half lidded eyes, fall apart in the palm of his hand. Holding myself steady, leaning back with my hands braced on his thighs, I can't help but to allow the orgasm to move through me. Taking hold of me, sending my waist into a hard, circular wind, pressing my clit to the palm of his hand, chasing more of the pleasure that flows through me.

Withdrawing his fingers from inside of me, Rick makes a few hasty movements, careful not to topple me over and off of his lap in my weakened state. Coming down from my high, I peek one eye open to see what's going on, I see him removing his t-shirt, and trying to undo his pants. Seeing the hair sprinkled over his chest leading a path down his stomach and into his pants, sends a shocking thrill through me, and makes me want to explore him in a way that I was not allowed last time. I was too inexperienced, and scared, though I do recall the weighty heft of him in my hand. Really I still am afraid of how scattered he makes me. But now, I want to explore him more. I want Rick to shiver and fall apart, a scattered mess at my hand too.

More than anything I want this to work out. The wild feeling mushrooming in my chest is egging me on, filling me with the courage to give as well as I'm getting. To be as good as or better than any girl that has come before me. I have to be better. I need to be better. What I can offer Rick has to be insurmountable by any other woman. How else can I expect to keep him satisfied? No one else has ever been able to do that before. Not even Lori with her 'Suzy Homemaker' act.

It's not like I don't desperately love this man. Haven't loved him since I knew what that feeling was. Because God knows I have. I've dreamt of him loving me the way that I love him, with everything in my heart. Me going to his house, climbing in bed with him all of those nights I complained of thunderstorms wasn't just because I was afraid of the storms, it was also because the whistling roar of those storms didn't matter when I was with Rick. In his arms I was always safe, cared for, protected. When he spent those few weeks staying with us after his parents' divorce it was more than I could have ever hoped for. Every night that he and I slept huddled together, I would run my fingers through his hair, the strands easily sliding between my fingers, and I would dream that it could always be this way between us…and maybe one day, even more.

So now that I have my chance, I'm trying to swallow my nerves. Forget the women who have come before me, and the uncertainty of things ahead of me, and simply seize every small moment with him, hoping to turn them into an eternity of moments. A forever of Rick and me, just like this. It's a desire that I will never recover from if it doesn't work out, but I'm throwing my heart into this anyway. I don't have a choice but to love him, to need him. It's an inevitability that I'm weary of resisting.

My fingers itch to touch all of him. Brushing aside his hands from the closure of his blue jeans, I use my own to shakily navigate the button and zipper, eager to take hold of him. Withdrawing his cock, pulling his jeans and boxers below his ass, I find him already hard as a rock. The sight of him leaves me nearly breathless.

Tinged a pinkish red, the length and girth of Rick's cock is intimidating, and stirs the memory of him inside of me, filling me, stretching me impossibly to take all of him. My recall of which sends a tightening pulse to my pussy, that's still wet, damp and ready to accept all of this. Hungry for it really. So eager and ready, I run my fingers in appreciation from the thatch of dark pubic hair that covers his groin, and connects with the hair trailing from his chest and stomach, to the tip, blunt, mushroomed and dripping with a fluid that's silky and thick between my fingers.

Swallowing thickly with his eyes on the movements of my hand over him, up and down, as I try to keep it wrapped around all of him though my fingers and thumb don't touch as they form a heated ring around the veiny stalk. Rick's chest and face are flushing a bright red. "Michonne, shit…"

"I did miss you." Dropping a little kiss to the head of his cock, I savor the taste of the fluid leaking from the tip, licking it's flavor over my lips.

"Ahhh fuck… You're not ready for that, sweetheart."

"I am. If you show me how."

"There's no rush for that."

"I want to, Rick. What would you feel like in my mouth?" I wonder aloud, more to myself than to him. The thought makes me eager, twitchy. Anticipation drenching my mouth, salivating at the very idea of it. Licking my lips again in preparation, I move off of him, and over to his side. Leaning over his lap, with his dick still greedily grasped in my palm, I angle the cap towards my waiting mouth. Running the tip over my lips, I savor the velvety brush of the heated skin, so soft, but hard at the same time. Intimidating yet beautiful. How is that possible?

Delightful wonder is overcoming any hesitance or fear that might be lurking within. Instead I close my eyes, and widen my mouth, accepting the taste of him to my welcoming mouth.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck! Michonne…"

"Mmm…" I utter, his cock stretching the corners of my mouth as I try to ease more of him in. It's almost too much, and I can feel Rick eagerly fist a handful of my topknotted locs.

"Shit, slow down, don't gag. Fuck!" he commands, his voice gritty and struggling to be heard over the grunts that supersede his words. Guiding my excited swallow of his cock, Rick gently uses his grip to move my head up and down on him, preventing me from taking too much too quickly into the back of my throat. While it serves that point, his assistance does not lessen the excitement curling in my belly at the thick, and heavy feeling of him pushing against the back of my mouth, causing my saliva to bathe his length. It flows down between my fingers, where I'm fisting him snugly. "Like that, babe. Fuck yes, ahhhh! Your mouth feels so damn good on my dick. Relax your jaw, sweetheart." Rick directs, loosening his grab just a bit. The sting of his tighter grip is missed by me, and for some reason I find myself wanting it back. The zing of it spurring me on. "Just like that…" he praises, chanting the words over and over again, a quiet plea of encouragement.

Releasing me from his hold completely, I find myself getting lost in the cadence of sucking his cock. The up and down, in and out replicating the manner that he fucked me a few weeks ago. It turns me on even more. Rick can tell. His large hand is now skimming lightly down my spine, tickling the nerves as he goes. Reaching my bottom, he curves his hand to cup the cheeks, rubbing over and over, until I feel the intrusion of his long fingers between my pussy lips. Parting them, he eases his hand back and forth, stopping to apply pressure to the clit, then back towards the hole. Back and forth, back and forth, until I can hear the obscene sound of my wetness leaking over his hand as it smacks lightly against my flesh.

"You like sucking my cock, Michonne? That make you wet like this?" he queries on a stinging slap to my ass. Damn! I've never heard Rick say such things. It arouses me further, and I push my ass back into his grasp, some unnamed thing seeking more of that sting. "Answer me." He commands on another short slap of his palm, now tapping over and over again against my clit. God help me the pleasure is ripping through my veins, causing me to widen my thighs, welcoming more of his commanding touch on my womanhood. I need more. My pussy is greedy, dripping over his hand like my mouth is over his cock. A desire that I can barely contain seeks his fingers, for them to enter me. Cease their teasing slap of my clit and my ass, and breach my hole.

Grunting, trying to answer him around the thick flesh that fills my mouth, my pace quickens as much as it can with Rick's cock pressing into the back of my throat, my tonsils fluttering against the head. He must like that, as the next thing I know he's carefully pulling my head back. Licking his lips, Rick seems to be trying to gather himself as he holds me back while also taking his cock and rubbing the head against my lips. "So much I want to do with you, sweetheart. You're so perfect. Special to me. I love you too much. You know that?"

Lips slightly apart, I'm panting at this point, my senses so clouded over, I can't answer him. I can only nod my head a little against the strict grip of his fist still holding me firm. "I love you more." I finally add, finding my voice, though weak and soft.

"Come here." Hoisting me up to straddle him again, he's pulling my torso down on his chest, my breasts kissing his pecs as he devours me with his kiss. It's not rough, it's focused, steady, an eager exploration that melts my body into his. My hands are in his hair, threading themselves in his curls, when I suddenly feel him at the entrance of my pussy, thrusting his hips upward, pushing against the hole.

Despite how wet I am, it's still a tight stretch. He's too big it seems, and I can sense my petals trying to give, flowering around him, slowly attempting to welcome the widening plunge of him invading my core.

"Oww…" a hiss escapes between my clenched teeth and from my mouth to his at the tiny pinch of pain that accompanies our coupling.

Wrapping one arm around my waist tightly, and the other behind my head, Rick pulls me in tightly to him. Legs bent at the knee behind me, he's using the heels of his feet, to piston himself up into me. While the expansion of my pussy is somewhat painful still, it's as though it remembers our last time together, and with each pump upwards, the pleasurable feeling of him increases. I'm melting like sugar around him, my head nestled into his neck, the nastiest words streaming in whispered puffs to my ears from where he's licking at my lobe.

"Uh, uh, uh…" each panted grunt is punctuated by Rick's gyrations, by how he's digging up, lodging himself deeper and deeper inside. "I need you so bad, sweetheart." He mumbles, picking up the speed of his grind. Seemingly not satisfied with our positioning, he rolls us over, maintaining our connection.

Now on my back, it seems like his heaving plunges are deeper, harder, especially when he leans up and pushes my legs back until they nearly meet my ears. It's unlike anything I've ever known, the agony and the bliss. The syncopated cadence of his dick grazing my walls, his pelvis banging against my clit smoothly, the friction unbearably delicious. All I can do is hold on to my thighs, intent on keeping them pinned back so that I can accept more of him, enable him to sink further, to imbed himself more firmly in my core.

"This pussy curves so nicely to my dick, sweetheart. Feel that?"

"Yes, yeah! Yeah!"

"I can feel you clamping down on me, shit! Strangling my dick, sweetheart, gotdam…"

My legs begin to shake, the muscles giving up on me. How do I even describe this feeling? I don't know if it's an orgasm. The two I've gotten from his fingers were not as intense as this, this power that's so intense and overwhelming. Shocking my limbs. Stiffening my form. Blazing heat is emanating from my core, a response to Rick thumbing at my clit in rhythm with the bangs and twists of his cock. Spastic movements, steal my coherence, and that's it. Oh my god that's it. A wave of erotic currents erupts through my body, tickling my skin with a glistening sheen of sweat, as I bathe my lover with a gush of nectar as Rick holds himself over me. His arms are straight, pressing into the mattress on either side of me. Our hips surge together in a series of frantic waves, as I'm overcome with the finality of whatever this is that has bewitched me. Billowing and pulsating through my form as I feel like I'm dying and floating, ascending and falling, at the same time.

I reach out, intent on experiencing this cataclysmic ride with him. He falls into me further, my legs pushed impossibly high on his shoulders, his balls banging harshly against my ass. "Ah, ah, ah…. Rick… something's…ooooooohh…"

"Shh, babe, I know, I know, I feel that little pussy getting hot as fuck! You're still cumming all over my dick!"

Heaving, sucking down the thinnest slices of air, a few stutters is all I can muster under the pressure of Rick rooting himself inside of me. "I-I-"

"Oh fuck, uh, uh, uh… Fuuuuckkk!"

Crumbling like concrete during an earthquake, I'm taken down by an aftershock surging from where we are joined. Rick is so heavy, he's collapsed on top of me, his hair damply curled against the side of my face that he's holding, cupping the sides gingerly in his trembling palms.

There is no movement between us. No words are spoken. Just the stillness of the humidity of the sex drenched room around us, and the slight squeak of the stressed wooden frame of his bed beneath us. Sheets, wet, slick with our sweat and the essence of our lovemaking stick to my back, and leak from my pussy in a tickling stream down to my ass. I don't think he used a condom, but for some reason, right now, I don't care.

Despite the parched feeling of my lips and mouth, I attempt to speak. "Rick? You ok?"

I wonder, somewhat worried that he has yet to make even the tiniest effort to move. And wincing at the strain pulling at the muscles in my legs and thighs, at the way he has me folded in half beneath his heavy frame.

"Hmmm…"

Rubbing my hand over the top of his hair, through his sweat soaked locks, I try to gain his attention to my need for a little relief. Swallowing down a sandpaper like heave of air, I try again. "Rick, baby, you're heavy."

"Shit. My bad, sweetheart. Ahhhh…" he mumbles over the sweat against my chest as he pulls out of me, and wearily shoves his own body, face down over to the side, with his arm still hooked over my shoulder across my breasts. I'm thankful for the release of pressure from his frame on top of me, holding my legs in a petrified stance at my ears, but I'm also bereft without him filling me. How is it that I miss him already? "You ok?"

"Yeah, I'm good. Sore again."

"I'm sorry. I tried to be gentle, but you sucking my dick was…an unexpected treat. Kinda got me amped up."

Blushing and grinning, I'm thankful for my dark skin, and his unlit bedroom, as they give me cover from my outward displays of giddiness.

"You know you don't have to do stuff like that, right? I don't expect that from you."

"I know. I just wanted to."

Chuckling, he leans up on his elbow, and studies my face. Quietly, patiently, his beautiful eyes consume me from head to toe, as though he's cataloging me for later when are once again separated. "I'm the luckiest son of a bitch alive, you know that?"

"Why you say that?"

Stroking his free hand against my cheek, I'm keening like a satisfied kitten at his touch, pressing myself into it. "Look at you. Do you know how beautiful and smart you are?"

"Yeah, I do."

"I know you do. That confidence is all you, Chonnie. And it's sexy as hell. Everyone can see it too. Not just me."

Turning my body into his, curious at his admission, I snuggle against the expanse of his chest.

"But you're mine, sweetheart. I hope you put that guy on notice, because I'm not letting you go." Clearing his throat, his eyes dance away from mine for a moment, as though he's nervous about what he's about to say next, giving it some additional thought before he releases it to my ears. "This is…a long time coming. Do you know what I mean when I say that?"

"Not really."

"It means I've loved you for a long time. Circumstances were never right for us though. Now, I think they are. I'll be home soon, and I plan on giving you everything. I promise you that, sweetheart. You're my best friend, Chonnie, and I just want to share my life with you. Share everything with you. Finally, I feel like I can say that, and it won't spoil things because it's now our time to be together."

"You told Lori that?"

"I did. I told her that I've been in love with you for years."

"I've felt the same, Rick. At least since I was fourteen."

"I kinda knew that. You were too young, and I was too old. But now is perfect." Lowering is lips to mine, Rick places the most perfect of kisses on me. It's not frantic and hungry. No, it's a gentle fusing, the connection soldering our hearts together.

Rick begins to grind against my hip, his cock hardening with every lick or nibble of our lips. Dancing his fingers lower, they find themselves at the tender apex of my thighs.

"Shit!"

"What's wrong?"

"I forgot to use a condom again."

"Rick! We gotta do better about that."

"I know. I promise I didn't mean to."

"Me either. I didn't think about it, but you at least could have tried to pull out. My dad already made an embarrassing ass comment to me about not wanting to be a granddad yet. So mortified."

"Wait what? You told your dad about us?"

"Not exactly."

Halting all movement, Rick's brows are furrowed as he pins me with his stare. "What exactly do you mean then, Chonnie?"

"Just that, uh…"

"Say it. Whatever it is, just say it. Don't keep secrets from me."

"It's not a secret or anything. Mike showed up at the airport when we were leaving, and he wanted to talk is all. So when he left my dad was giving me the whole speech about babies and sex."

"About you having sex with Mike?" he almost yells in question, the telltale vein in his forehead making an appearance, letting me know he's getting angry.

"In general, Rick. Calm down."

"You're asking me if I told Lori, did you tell Mike about us?"

"Nothing yet. I haven't had a chance."

"What? How is that? I told Lori the morning you left here. Talked to her while she was in Cabo. But Mike came to the airport when you left, and you didn't tell him shit about us? I got that right?"

"Why are you yelling at me?"

Waving his hands expressively, then gesturing his finger to point at me then at himself, he asks the question that I know is torturing him. Hell its dogged my thoughts since I left his bed a few weeks ago. "I'm not yelling, but I'm getting really close. I don't understand. Maybe I'm missing something. Is this not what you want? Am I- am I not what you want?" That last bit breaks, his voice cracking under the pressure of what my answer to it could mean.

"That's not it at all, Rick. I'm new to this. Mike is only my first boyfriend. You're only the first guy I've ever had sex with."

"Only and last guy." He asserts, his voice booming with certainty.

"I'm not as experienced with men and relationships, as you are with women. I'm navigating this as best I can. I don't want to hurt him, he doesn't deserve that."

"What about what we deserve? This is our time now, and I'm sorry, but I'm not losing you. I'm not sharing you either."

"Nobody said that. I just need time to break it to him is all. Prom is coming up, graduation is coming up. We had a lot planned together, it's going to be rough for Mike."

"I don't give a fuck about Mike." Jumping up from the bed, he's agitated. Searching his messy room for his underwear and jeans, kicking things angrily out of his way as he goes. I forgot that Rick hates not getting his way. He's spoiled I guess, but not for the reason some might assume. It has nothing to do with him getting his way with girls, and everything to do with him needing things to be settled. Certain.

His parents' divorce hurt him deeply, the way things were left up in the air left him so unanchored, that even at 17 he wasn't really able to emotionally deal with it very well. Finding out that his father's branch of the furniture store here in Atlanta had crumbled, and that he wanted them to move back to King County, despite his mother having her own job here, and him and Jeff having lives of their own, was hard. But then even further, once his mother refused to uproot their lives, learning that his father had also been having a five-year affair with his ten years his junior secretary, was unfathomable. The irreconcilable differences that resulted from the fallout of the Grimes' marriage impacted everyone, leaving in its wake a depressed ex-wife, and two surly teenaged sons. No wonder Rick Sr. had retreated, tail between his legs, an order for child support, visitation, and alimony in his fist, and acrimony for how he destroyed his own family in his heart.

Rick's coping mechanism was to run away from it all, to retreat over to my house, and keep his distance until his mother and father had figured things out. Keeping a large breadth between him and his mother's depression, which frankly I think Rick shared a little of himself. So, I don't fault him at all. But as he stomps around his bedroom, handsome face twisted into a frown, I try to remember that while I don't owe him an apology for wanting to handle Mike my way, I understand why he's angry. Would I be so understanding if I knew that Lori was still waiting in the wings?

Standing from the bed, I watch my best friend grab up his jeans and attempt to shove his legs down into them. Reaching for him, I place my hand on his arm, and he stills at my touch. "Rick, I know what you're thinking, and you're wrong."

"You have no idea what I'm thinking."

"Yes I do. I know you like the back of my hand."

"Pfft."

"I know your favorite food is peaches, that you cry when you watch the end of Titanic because Rose was a bitch for not offering to share that door with Jack, and you think that me not getting rid of Mike yet means I'm not serious about you. But you're wrong. You have to be patient and give me time to fix this. I promise I will."

Hands on his hips, he's looking down the angular slope of his nose at me. My fingers skimming over his chest seems to soften the steel in his posture. Releasing the stone petrifying his limbs, he reaches for me, folding me into his body. With a kiss on my temple, he sighs out his apology. "I'm sorry, Michonne. I really am. I'm so close to having something I've dreamt of for too long to lose it, to lose you now. How could I survive that?" He wonders aloud a question I've asked myself about him. There is so much fear of loss and uncertainty swimming in the waters around us, it's danger threatening to rip our love apart with the sharp gnashing of a shark's teeth.

"You won't have to." I promise him, even as thoughts of everything to come that could put it all at risk, comes to mind. I bury those thoughts though. I stomp out their negativity with the love that I have for this man, and silently pray that I'm right.