Chapter 5 – Michonne

4 years later…

“Michonne, babe, are you here?”

“In the bedroom!”

At the sound of his voice, Lily, the teacup Yorkie that Rick got me for my birthday shuffles down carefully from the bed where she’s hugged against my side, to welcome Rick home.

“Hey, Lily girl. What’s your mama doing huh? You been a good girl today?”

I can hear him clicking his tongue to call to the tiny dog, then the sound of her toenails clacking against the hard wood floors disappears, as I’m sure he’s scooping her up as she begins yapping in response to his questions. His footsteps grow louder as he moves further into the apartment, and begins shuffling around in the living room. Probably dropping his work bag on the kitchen table, and kicking off his loafers. Then the tired groan of relief as he exhales at the feeling of being home washing over him. Relaxing his muscles. Easing the tension headache forming in his head from his lengthy commute home, creating those fine crinkles in his forehead and around his eyes. Most of his work days end this way, with his routine so predictable that I don’t have to physically be in the room to witness it to know how it goes.

Los Angeles is a beautiful town. We love it here for the most part. The weather is great, the views are spectacular, and being so close to the water is fun. But, the traffic, and the cost of living nearly kill all of the other pros making our existence here an interesting tradeoff.

I’m still in school full time, my current job which is really more of an internship doesn’t pay much, and Rick’s salary is only in the mid fifties, so we struggle a bit financially. Not as much as we did at first, when we were still attempting to maintain two separate households. But after we got over ourselves, and our self-imposed drama, and I moved in with Rick full time, we began doing a little better. Admittedly not much, but better than before, which is good because things are about to change again.

Not long after moving here to the west coast, Rick and I came face to face with the stark realities of change. Evolution. Things are better now though. We don’t dwell on the hiccups. Just keep moving forward, embracing the peaks and valleys in the progression of our lives together.

With Rick working out near south LA in Leimert Park, and me mainly on USC’s campus a few miles southwest of downtown finishing up my capstone project, and working my internship not far from there, we have worked our way into a schedule. Getting up nearly two hours earlier than either of us was ever used to before, and going in opposite directions, meeting up in the evenings at home, or out with friends. We are for lack of a better word, settled.

“Hey, sweetheart. How long have you been home?”

Focusing in on him as he comes through our bedroom door, I have to stop myself from the breathy giggle that wants to erupt from my lips at just the sight of him in his khaki slacks and sky blue button up. The soft coloring of the shirt makes his eyes pop and appear as precious and coveted as the deep shading of lapis lazuli. Which makes all the sense in the world I suppose as I skim his patrician features, marveling at how each of them alone is beautiful, and together creates, at least to me, the most handsome man ever. Then considering that the stone is eyes so closely resembles represents honor, wisdom, honesty, all qualities that I would attribute to Rick.

Even though I’m a bit fatigued, I can’t help but respond to the stirring in my body for him. The telltale flutter in my heart that watching him watch him, surveying me in the same loving manner that I hope he recognizes as I gaze upon him, my emotions turning to a puddle whenever he uses that deep baritone of his to call me sweetheart. Will I ever not be so in love with this man? So taken with how handsome he is? Feel so lucky that through years of friendship, we have found each other on the other side of this rainbow as lovers?

Realizing at the slight tilt of his head, that my dumbfounded perusal of my favorite guy has left me forgetting to answer his question. Shaking my head a bit, and chuckling at myself I finally answer him. “A few hours. I left work early. Just feel icky. Tired.” I mumble from where I’ve dug myself deep down under the blankets on our king sized bed. Stretching my limbs, groaning at the release of tension and draining my muscles, I get a little shiver at the cool tingle from the soft sheets and blankets brushing against my warm naked skin.

Stopping to take a seat on the edge of the bed next to where I’m propped against a mound of pillows, Rick holds Lily in one arm and leans in to drop a kiss to first my forehead, then lowering his gaze to my lips, follows with his kisses there as well. Smoothing the back of one hand over my cheek where my face is poked out from the cluster of blankets surrounding me, he gives me a concerned smile. “You’ve been working very hard lately. You could use a break. Kleinman didn’t have a problem with you leaving early did he?”

On the tail end of a long yawn, I cover my mouth and mumble, “Actually no he didn’t. I submitted my final draft for the illustrations on his latest issue, which he said he loved. And he looked over my storyboards for Zombie Slayer and said this might be one of my best issues, so there really wasn’t much to do after I hit publish on that sucker. Now I’m all yours.”

“I’ll take it.” A brilliantly white grin, wide and reaching to the soft crinkles at the corners of his eyes, curves Rick’s pink lips “And I’m proud of you. Everyone loves Zombie Slayer, just like I told you they would. Most of the kids I work with read it. They all think it’s pretty awesome that ‘The Famous Michonne Anderson’ is my girlfriend.” His eyes glide lightly over my face, as the deep coloring seems to sparkle with what Sasha once called the insipid sappiness of a lovesick man, and his smile grows into something even more joyful. More pretty than any man should be allowed to be, the gentle lines and angles of his handsome face evidence how much he’s matured. Age wise. Personally. Professionally.

While my online comic series, Zombie Slayer, has gotten wildly popular, the kudos for that success are not solely my own. Rick’s love and support, over the bumps and bruises of our time here, have earned him more than the right to be proud of what I staunchly assert is a shared achievement. During my first year here in Los Angeles I was pretty overwhelmed with the demands of college, living with roommates, navigating a new city, and being in a new relationship. A decidedly grown up relationship. Even though Rick had been my friend for most of my life, we didn’t know each other as adults. As lovers. There was a huge adjustment period for us, and admittedly we didn’t always manage the stressors so well.

It wasn’t until one night, nearly a year after struggling to maintain our new normal, when Rick dropped by my apartment unannounced, did it all come to a head…

“Mmmm… This wine is good, Zeke. How the hell can you afford it though?”

“The producer for this commercial I just shot was throwing this party at his house. Huge mansion up in Malibu. Anyway, he said he invited me and some of the other actors to add some ‘diverse’ faces to the crowd. You know to show some of his colleagues he invited that he’s down with the brown I guess. He didn’t use those words but I know what it means when someone says it would be nice for some new faces to be there. Industry speak for we need our black folks to show up and give us some street cred!” He gives me a knowing look, then continues, “Anyway, so he was giving away bottles of wine as like, party favors that night. So I took two bottles and decided to share them with my favorite Georgia peach.”

“Well I guess since it worked in our favor we will just be thankful for your brown face and enjoy it! I really needed a night to kind of relieve some stress, ya know?” Sipping from the glass in my hand, I enjoy the slight bitterness of the dark Cabernet Sauvignon easing down my throat, warming my chest. I’m fairly new to wine as previously my party girl drink of choice to get quickly hammered was a few shots of tequila. But I’m trying to refine myself these days. And the tart acidity of the bold drink is helping me to forget the eerie sense of being off balance lately.

“Come on, girl, lets get rid of some more of that stress and dance.” Reaching for my hand, Ezekiel wiggles his fingers to encourage my exit from the comfy couch where I have been posted up since he knocked on my door thirty minutes ago, announcing his arrival with two bottles of wine, and an old DVD of Mel Gibson’s Hamlet to watch and get a little drunk. I’ve never seen this version, and though Mel Gibson is not really an actor that I enjoy or follow, I have to admit that he looks pretty damn good as the sulking Dane out for revenge. And well, Zeke does his very best to bring the movie alive in my living room with his own performance of his favorite lines.

“Zeke, I’m not in a happy dancing mood right now.”

“Michonne, of course you are my dear.” He scoffs at my reluctance, and pulls me into his chest with one arm, and presses pause on the remote with the other, halting the movie as Mel Gibson sobs and rails at his fate as he realizes his uncle has murdered his father. Staring down into my face, his lips first stopping at my eyes, then hovering lower to my lips, then back to my eyes, Ezekiel takes a deep breath. “Doubt thou the stars are fire; Doubt that the sun doth move; Doubt truth to be a liar; But never doubt I love.”

Shaking my head, I try to play off the not so subtle undertone of his words, “Zeke…”

“No matter, dance with me, Michonne. You’re going to have to move those prettly little feet.” He grins, his wide smile affectionate, mirth tugging at the corners.

“Zeke, there’s no music playing.” I remind him.

Switching back to his regular voice, he chuckles. “Oh yeah! Hold on.”

Rushing over to the speaker that rests on the little side table where his phone sits, Zeke clicks through a few options and lists on the screen of his phone, then selecting a song, cranks up the volume, and instantly a catchy old school jam I’ve heard my parents play before erupts into the quiet room.

“Outstanding
Girl, you knock me out
Excited
It makes me want to shout…”

At first I stick to my guns. I’m really not in a happy dancing mood. Sasha ditched hanging out with me tonight in favor of some new guy she met when she went to the emergency room a few weeks ago for bronchitis. I suppose I can’t blame her. Bob is a pretty nice guy. He’s older like she prefers, and he’s a doctor. They have been out together nearly every night this week, despite her hectic schedule as a budding actress, her third shift job tending the bar at a club on campus, and the full time class load she’s pursuing at USC. She seems to be balancing things quite well here, and I have to admit that I’m a little envious at her ability to do that and still remain herself. In fact, Sasha has attempted to talk me out of this hiatus I’ve foolishly pursued with Rick, noting that it isn’t everyday that you see a love like ours. And more ominously, to be careful what you ask for.

Finding myself alone tonight, as I have many nights since Rick began finding his own way without me, that little voice in the back of my head, the one with the wings and not the horns, gently whispers in my ear that Sasha is probably right. Posing the question that teeters on the tip of the cupid’s arrow piercing my heart, asking me when I’m going to push my pride aside and get my man back. On the other hand, the one with the horns is no help, and censures the very idea of bowing out of this ill-devised separation, instead encouraging me to go even further and see what kind of trouble a single woman can really get herself into out here.

I shook off the naughty voice’s suggestion, but I do wince at the simple fact that I am still alone.

With Paul and Aaron also out, I was initially hoping to catch up with Rick, but he wasn’t available either, only offering me a quick text response that he was busy with a work thing. Which seems to be the impasse we find ourselves at a lot lately. Me running around on campus, him saving the youth of Los Angeles one community based program at a time. It’s not that I’m not proud of him for throwing himself into his work. He’s doing such an amazing job. But if I’m honest I do miss him, and how close we were when we first moved out here. Before.

Upon arriving in Los Angeles it seemed like Rick was wherever I needed him to be, whenever I needed him. Driving me around town, attempting to learn the layout of things together, even after spending long days working and driving between the five locations where he managed the after school programs. If I called or said I needed him he was there, scooping me up, making sure I was safe, happy, had whatever I needed. It was almost like he could sense the anxiety in my bones from the newness of being in a strange place, unhinged from the only world I’ve ever known, from the family that has loved and nurtured me. It was even common for Rick to spend a lot of his nights at my apartment, even though the main office that he worked out of was around the corner from his apartment on the other side of town.

Inseparable is the best way I could describe it. And it felt like old times again with he and I running around LA like we used to do in Atlanta. Me holding on so tightly to him. Him allowing it. But it was different now. Our circumstances are different.

It became a running joke with my roommates, Aaron and Paul, that Rick was more of a bodyguard than a boyfriend with the way he would soberly stare down other men who tried to get close to me. Even on purely friendly terms. I hated the joke, even though I had to admit that I allowed Rick’s possessive behavior. Delighted in it sometimes. Rick didn’t care how Aaron and Paul teased us, probably liked the comparison even, though eventually it began to rub me wrong. Made me feel childish. Immature. Like some fragile, porcelain doll kept high on a shelf. Or a little girl who was lost and unable to adjust to my new life in a manner that was more acceptable than hanging on to my boyfriend as though he were some sort of childhood blankie. I was losing my purpose. I was losing me. Out of fear of losing him.

It wasn’t just my unease about Rick finding fault with choosing me, or choosing LA. It was more than that. Lying in wait behind this new world’s curtain number one was Rick. My faithful, loving, best friend, boyfriend. He represented what was comforting and familiar. I needed that when I missed my family. When I got feedback on my homework and it wasn’t always as glowing as I was used to it being the majority of my past academic career. And if I’m being honest I felt like I owed him my time. Rick moved out here for me. Gave up every certainty in his life, for a world teetering on hopes and dreams, just to be with me and to give us a chance at this new romantic life together.

Behind door number two was a complete unknown. What would a life on my own terms even look like? How could I throw myself into this new existence, completely untethered from my old one, and still survive? I simply wasn’t equipped to do both. At least that’s what I thought.

But didn’t I have to try? I questioned myself and motivations constantly, until finally I made up my mind, and I tried to quit him in a sense. Just give us a break from each other. From old expectations and new demands. This wasn’t about Rick. Rick was perfect. Understanding. Loving. Trying his best not to suffocate me even as he was alone himself. That was the problem. He made it so easy for me to transplant my Georgia state of mind to California. Rick was everything I could have ever hoped for. So much so that he couldn’t see how it was hurting him too. How I was preventing him from living a full life as well. I had done this. Me. A toddler unwilling to part with her pacifier. As usual I greedily took advantage, and accepted whatever Rick was offering. This was about me using him as a crutch. About my inability to really embrace college life. To cast myself into the sea of new faces, friends, and experiences, and live.

Michonne had forgotten how to be the fearless, unafraid girl who had applied to a school on the other side of the country, simply on the strength that I was convinced of my own ability to make it big in a town that chews people up and spits them out for a living. Where had that girl gone? I blamed her disappearance on love. On the comfort of it that made me complacent, fearful to move outside of its embrace. Fearful that if I stepped too far away from Rick I would lose him. To regret that he had come here for me. Lose him to the beautiful California women, thin, sun kissed, blondes, all seemingly lying in wait to snatch him up should I ever be so foolish as to relinquish my hold on him. Even just a tiny bit. Yeah I remember his thing for the actress Scarlet Johansson, and I remember what kind of girls he used to like before me.

The break was my idea. A concept I devised on my own after an admonishment from the professor of my Introductory Innovator’s Forum course where I had been asked to research and present on contemporary artistic solutions to the social and political divide. After calling me into her office and criticizing me for what she deemed lazy, permissive, pedantic thinking that only supports archaic constructs of what collaboration currently looks like, versus opening my mind to what it truly could be. To be an artistic innovator, a truly forward thinker, I would have to release my thoughts from what I currently know, and what is comfortable. I had to break my mindset in order to think freely.

Somehow that equated to my personal situation and I decided unilaterally that a break would give me exactly that. I would be free. Rick would be free. But we could still see each other when we could make time. If we could make time. But there would be no hard and fast rules. Our relationship could be approached in a progressive way. And maybe this would even afford him some space for himself. Of course Rick argued with me at first, tried to plead his case. He was hurt, upset. Angry even. Accusatory, wondering if there was another guy who had taken his place. But in the end, after the tears, mine, and the counterarguments, his, he couldn’t dispute the hard facts of my logic. I had to figure out who I was, and how to make this life truly my own. There had to be a healthy way to do that, and hopefully, maybe, in the end still salvage what was left of us.

I promised that I still loved him. He vowed that he felt the same.

We stumbled through it. We still are. Stumbling that is, through the concept of how to be together, but not. How to love someone so desperately that they are apart of what keeps you alive, but needing to unplug from them at the same time.

I didn’t fold though. I didn’t retreat from the challenge. I acclimated. I made new friends. I took on a work study job in the library. I studied and partied, and even dated a few guys here and there. A friend of Aaron’s named Siddiq, who though handsome, and kind, was the perfect man for someone, just not me. I survived on a diet of denial and sacrifice, only calling and texting my love when I absolutely couldn’t bear not hearing his voice. Seeing him occasionally when the pain of not laying my eyes on his face or feeling his touch physically disabled me. I missed him all the time. Missing him now.

It did work in some respects though. I seem to have hit my academic stride at school. My work gaining me some pretty consistent kudos. One of my illustrations, a charcoal smudging of Rick that I finally completed earning me a spot in a lauded USC showcase of student art, reserved mainly for post-graduates. It felt good to succeed with my schoolwork, with my social life, but I fear that I’m failing at love. And that hurts most of all.

I may have taken this break up too far. He’s living a life without me. My periodic crashes into his life are probably not enough to sustain him. He calls and texts me still. Still ends every sporadic date with a kiss and the much desired words to satisfy my slothful heart. I love you, Michonne. Always have. Always will. Haven’t heard them in awhile though. Yeah. I may have taken this break up too far.

It’s what has me off kilter now, and in my shorts, I teeter a bit in Zeke’s arms, feeling the dizzying effects of a slow coming buzz clouding my brain. But I make it to the middle of the carpeted living room, watching as Zeke momentarily releases me and pushes the coffee table aside. Then he’s back in front of me, and I feel the steadying structure of his hands around my waist as he pulls me in close to his chest, probably closer than he should.

“Girl, you're looking sweeter now
You got it every day, girl
Wish that I could love you now
In a special way…”

Mouthing the words to the song, his deep voice carrying the lyrics well, I allow my eyes to drink him in as he’s grooving his body back and forth, closely against mine. I settle on him for a thoughtful moment. Ezekiel is a handsome man with his café latte coloring, nicely put together body, prematurely graying locs, and a bright easygoing smile. While I know that he seems to have romantic inclinations towards me, I have tried to keep him at a distance. I don’t feel the same way about him that he probably feels for me. We hang out every once in awhile, we’ve kissed. But nothing past that. Hell even the few kisses I allowed felt odd. False against my lips.

On the other hand, I do enjoy hanging out with him as a friend. Working at the Los Angeles Zoo and Botanical Gardens during the day, and as an actor at night, he always seems to be in the know about what’s going on in the city, and he’s constantly prepared to pull me into the fold of his fun loving existence. Ezekiel is carefree and spontaneous, dedicated to simply living in the moment. In my opinion, all of that is a bonus in his favor, regardless of his often ridiculous backslide into Shakespearean prose at the oddest times.

I’m not as put off by his casual drift into theatrics as Sasha is. She’s not really a fan of his, always commenting that he’s a little too dramatic, too LA, too always around for her taste. She might be right. But he’s not permanent. Zeke is the temporary methadone fix to help me detox from my dependence to Rick. In my heart there is still only Rick. Always has been. Always will be.

But today, when I’m exhausted from working on my online comic series, when I’m struggling to find a mentor, a better paying job, and smarting from the lack of time the man I love has had for me lately, I just need a fun way to fall back from everything. At least until I can figure out how to fix what I may have broken.

“You light my fire
I feel alive with you, baby
You blow my mind
I'm satisfied…”

Allowing Zeke to direct the winding of my hips to the music, feeling the catchy vibe of the old school classic moving through me, loosening my limbs, I’m smiling. Sensing a freedom underneath the melancholy I’ve felt since I last saw Rick two weeks ago. We’ve both been too busy. So for now, being here, letting loose is the closest I have gotten to feeling like myself, relaxed. For that reason, I lean into Ezekiel, and allow the wine and the music to soothe what ails me.

Hands over my head, I close my eyes to the dull brightness of the single lamp giving off just the slightest bit of illumination. Just enough for me to see the impressive whiteness of Ezekiel’s smile directed just at me. Aglow with the same affection and appreciation I see glimmering in his eyes. It momentarily releases me from my woes, until I sense his arms growing tighter around my waist, hands traveling south.

I’m not that drunk though. Not that free from Rick. These hands are strange. They are not the hands that belong resting possessively clutching the cusp of my ass. It’s in the second that his kind smile and eyes transform with something else clouding them, his lids drooping to focus them in on my lips, my face, that I skip my own eyes away from his, that I’m literally saved by the bell.  

“Leave it.” Ezekiel softly pleads in a smooth deep cadence, his smile never faltering.

Gently pushing Zeke’s hands from my body, I give him a quick reassuring grin of my own. Moving away from him and towards the front door, I offer a few words over my shoulder. “Hold on. Let me get this.” Pulling the door open, I find my best friend standing there. As handsome as ever.

Turning his head towards the opened door, from where his gaze was focused on the parking lot before, as though he was contemplating walking away, Rick gives me a quick nod of his head. “Hey. I heard the music out here in the hall. I’m not disturbing you am I?” he asks hesitantly, as though he is somewhat unsure of his decision to come here. Hands shoved into his jeans pocket, Rick doesn’t make the expected move to sweep his eyes inside of my apartment behind me, to see what’s going on. Doesn’t drive his eyes over my body in that familiar way I’m used to. Instead he keeps his blue gaze painfully still, focused on mine. His tone cordial. Almost professional, distant. 

Sound doesn’t leave my mouth. I cannot form the words to answer his question. Seeing him here has my blood rushing through my body. I want to hug him. Kiss him. Wrap my body around his firm, muscular form and tell him I love him. Ask him if he’s missed me. Perhaps I don’t even want to know the answer to that question. Life has carried us in its palm here, to another coast, the other side of the country, together. But it has also separated us. Kept us alone together.

“Um, no. I was just uh listening to music. Watching a movie.” In seconds I can sense that my form is shadowed by Ezekiel looming behind me, and the waving cascade of Rick’s eyes looms higher and focuses above my head and behind me to narrow in on him. Watching is all I can do at this moment. Waiting for him to do something. Say something. Elicit that spark of possessiveness that has always been so characteristic of his personality. Show me that he still cares. There is no sign of the tell tale flare of his thin nostrils. Pursing of his lush pink lips. His countenance does not betray him. Rick’s subtle smile remains unfailingly calm, as though he has simply just dropped in on an old friend.

Jerking his head upwards in the way that men do towards Ezekiel, Rick takes a long, deep breath. “How you doing?”

“Good.”

“Rick, I um… Would you like to come in?”

Raising his hands, palms facing me as though he would object to my invitation, Rick’s stare doesn’t leave where Ezekiel stands. “I don’t want to interrupt your…thing.”

“No interruption, man. Come on in.” Ezekiel places his hands on my shoulders and moves me aside, maintaining the connection long after Rick has come inside, and I’ve shut the door behind him.

 The music is still playing, creating an ambiance that is more jovial than the awkward tension in the room calls for.

Targeting his stare at first on where Ezekiel maintains his post behind me, appearing to protect me from something. Someone. Rick’s face is flushing, reddening despite his unwillingness to express the emotion he’s clearly holding inside.

“Looks like you had a nice evening going here. Wine. Movie. Music.” Gesturing to the bottles of wine on the side table next to our glasses, and the movie paused on the television, Rick’s doing his best to remain unflinching, demeanor stoic, distanced. But then there is also a slight flicker of something heated lying in wait there in his eyes, just below the cool ice of his stare as he looks my way and finally sweeps my form, taking note of my tight fitting, heather gray USC t-shirt, and jean shorts. A pair that he always says he loves but hates. Loves because of the brevity of their length, stopping just below my ass, and showcasing my legs. Hates for the same reason.

It’s the laser focus of his glare that makes me nervous, causing my words to become a stilted mash of only slightly intelligible phrases. “Just blowing off some steam. Wine is Zeke’s. And mine, but uh-”

“You don’t have to explain your personal life to me, Michonne. In fact, I’ll make this quick. Here is the business card for someone I think you should reach out to. His name is Richard Kleinman. He writes-”

“Graphic novels I know. He’s really popular. Written some issues of X-Men for Marvel. The Waking Immortals. How did you get his card?”

“He’s sponsoring one of the after school programs I’m launching. It’s a graphic arts and creative writing workshop type of thing. Anyway, he and I were just out for drinks to discuss the structure of the program, and I told him my Michonne writes comics. Does illustrations. Showed him some of your drawings on my phone. He wants you to reach out to him about a possible paying job apprenticing with him. He seemed real excited about what he saw. So…here you go. Call him.” Extending his hand out to me, the stiff card balances between his long fingers, the once flat disinterest in his features is now animated into a delighted expression. Bringing back to life the pretty boy handsomeness that I adore. His hair is a little longer than I’m used to, with loose chocolate curls tucked behind his ears. Beard is growing in, and he’s wearing his black framed glasses, giving him the true LA hipster look. With his blue jean button up straining across his wide chest, I’m not going to lie, he’s causing a familiar ache in my belly, the telling tightness of my nipples in the cups of my bra. The heated exhaust of my anxiety at him finding me in my apartment on what appears to be a date with Ezekiel, sputtering to an aroused stall.  

Inching out of Ezekiel’s hold, I amble slowly towards Rick, and never look back. “Zeke, can you excuse us for a moment? I need to talk to Rick for a second.”

“Sure, yes, that will be fine. I will be here when you return, Michonne.” He answers jovially, but skepticism causes just the tiniest hint of a waver in his voice.

I grab Rick’s extended hand, catching the jolt of something kinetic, a thrilling electricity at the slightest touch of our skin. Circling my fingers around his wrist, I pull him towards my bedroom.

“Mich-” Before Rick can fully get my name out, I’m pushing him down on my bed and kissing him. Full on. My lips fuse over his, sucking in his excited breaths, tugging at his lips, tangling my tongue with his. The fervor of my hungry movements caught him off guard, but I can tell by the way his hands are clutching my ass and my neck, that he’s just as famished as I am. Resting his hand possessively over my breasts, kneading them roughly in his palm, Rick finally pulls his mouth away from mine. “What are you doing?” He questions on the edge of a series of raspy, hurried breaths.

Standing between his wide spread legs, I’m a ball of fire, my form growing weak with need. God I want him so badly right now. I can’t help it. I can feel my pussy growing wet with the anticipation of him filling me, thrusting his cock past the puffy folds of my drenched sex to open me wide enough to accept all of him. I’ve missed him. Missed us.

Pushing my body into his, encouraging his gruff hold on my form, I offer myself back to him. “I’m done taking breaks.”

Tilting his head a little to the right, in that way that is classically Rick, he utters in confusion, “What?”

“Do you still love me, Rick?”

“Of course. Always have. Always will. What is this about?”

“I’m sorry if I hurt you. I just-” Twisting my fingers absentmindedly in the soft cotton at the hem of my t-shirt, I almost can’t maintain eye contact with him. I hurt him so deeply, I can see it. “You said…you said you told Richard Kleinman that your Michonne writes comics. Am I? Am I still yours?” I ask, deathly afraid of the answer.

“Of course. Michonne, sweetheart... I-”

Tears freely flow, curling from my eyes in tiny droplets that I quickly try to dismiss. “I’m so sorry. I didn’t know how to find my way with you.” Anxiously my right leg bops, dances nervously up and down in a twitch that’s in synch with the racing of my heart. “Please…”

Rick’s face is softer now. More open. His eyes no longer hold the steely freeze from before, and instead they are stirring currents of ocean blue waves. “Babe, I know. I understand. At first I didn’t cause my feelings were hurt, but… I get it.” Laying his palms flat, curving around my thighs, he presses firmly against them, putting an end to the nervous tic. “I’m to blame too. As long as you needed me, I could keep you close. Keep other guys away. That was selfish, but I would let you go to make you happy. If that’s what you needed. I would do anything.”

“I need you. That’s what I need, Rick.” I sniff. And I do. I mean that. Not until I saw him standing at my front door did I feel right. Back to my center. “I need you so badly…” I proclaim, easing my body to my knees, prostrate in submission. With my apology alive on my tongue, my heart in my hands, and the remnants of my wine high still coursing through me, my movements are driven in accord with the desire that only Rick inspires.

“Michonne, sweetheart, what…? Oh fuck…”

I can’t move my fingers fast enough I think, as they fly over the belt buckle, zip and button of his jeans. A flurry of hurried movements eventually makes me successful in my endeavor to release Rick’s cock from his underwear. Instantly he grows hard, heavy in my palm, a red flush of blood coloring the long, thick flesh with the evidence of his arousal.

“I missed you, Rick.” Pressing my face into the warm nest of thick, dark hair around his cock, I inhale the scent of him, the heady musk that will forever remind me of him. With one hand gripping his balls in a light grasp, and the other circling his dick in an attempt to fully fist his impressive size, I cover him with the plump flesh of my lips. Pressing the tip to the crest of my lips, easing my tongue out just enough to flick over the hole at the tip. Rick releases a slow hiss of anguish from between his teeth, his features pulled into a focused frown. Remembering the many times that we have been together, that Rick has patiently instructed me on how to pleasure him, I know what he needs and I inch my tongue out fully, and flatly graze it slowly along the underside of his dick. Stopping at the head, I rotate the blunt cap, bathing it softly with a mix of sucking kisses and licks until it glistens, sloppily wet with my saliva. The head is wide, fat, the column intimidating even, seeming thicker, lengthier than when I had it last. It makes me eager to devour him, to accept the challenge of throating him, then shoving my pussy down onto him until I’ve swallowed every inch. Branding him with the saturating stickiness of my pussy.

My hair is loose, falling in long ropes around my face, obscuring me from Rick’s full view. I know he hates that. He wants to see his large cock disappear down my throat. With one hand, he carefully caresses the side of my face, thumb lightly grazing my cheek, then raises it higher to snugly grip a hold of the hair that falls in my face. With the other he holds the meaty column at the base of his cock, positioning himself at the entrance of my mouth. “Don’t tease, sweetheart. Suck it. You know how.”

I do.

Relaxing my jaws, I create a slick cavern within my heated mouth, willingly accepting Rick onto my tongue, the cap nudging the back of my throat. Sucking in I create tight suction, and begin the slightest up and down friction of my tongue and lips. My other hand cups and rolls his heavy sack, causing him to arch his back and begin a gentle push further down my relaxed throat. I maintain this rhythm, up, down, slowly twirl my tongue.  

“Fuuuuccckkk…” Rick groans, his face twisted in pain. Pleasure. His grasp of my hair grows tighter with each tortured growl, until I’m certain he’s ready to explode. I’ve only swallowed a few times, never really mastering how to accommodate the push of his cock so deeply in my throat, with the spray of his cum, without choking. But I’m eager to try again today. I sense my own possessive urge over his essence, anxious and feral, tickling at the very center of my heated core. I want every drop. Leaning forward to make eye contact with me, Rick pulls my head up some as I lift my eyes to his. “I’m gonna cum, babe. You want my cum in your pretty mouth? Or you do want it on these lips,” he asks, his voice thick with that deep Georgia accent, grazing his thumb against where my bottom lip is cushioned around his dick. “Or your breasts? You want my cum splashed across those dark nipples?” Reaching his hand lower he palms the heavy fullness of my breasts, jerking easily with the movements of my upper body to greedily suck every drop from him.

Shit. My thighs squeeze and rub against themselves without me even consciously trying, adding pressure to the ache building in my clit. I can’t decide which option I want. Hell I want them all. I want all of him, and the ridged coarseness of his crudely posed questions is making me feel naughty, every bit the sex starved mad woman who would gladly agree to whatever he wants.

Simply nodding yes, binding the ring of my lips on him, I can feel the tightening of his sack in one hand, and the telling pulse of the veins coursing over his flesh. It happens swiftly. An eruption of Rick’s cum, squirting in thick concurrent ropes in my mouth. It’s more than I can quickly swallow, even with him seemingly trying to pull back some. The sticky fluid begins to leak from the corners of my mouth, easing thickly down my chin.

Hollering, growling, rumbling in exquisite agony, my lover is coming apart with each spurt of his essence. “Ahhhh! Gotdam!” Gently, slowly, I ease his cock from my mouth, releasing the head with a plop, though I keep it resting against my lips as I lick him clean. He’s panting, heaving, chest rising and falling with each breath. “I don’t know what’s going on, but…thank you.” he laughs, but his eyes skim my face as though he is truly confused.

Placing his now flaccid cock back into his underwear, I withdraw from him. Using my thumb to dash away the trace of him on my chin, and into my mouth, I back away slowly. “I told you, Rick, I’m done taking breaks. I can make all of this work. I couldn’t see how to do that before, but, I’m not whole without you, so I have to find a way.”

“I want you to do what’s best for you, Michonne. Not what’s best for me. I’ll be ok. But not if you push me away when it gets hard, when you don’t know how to deal, then want me back cause you can’t live with your own decisions. This shit…this hurt me too, ya know. Don’t…don’t take my love for granted again, Michonne.” Looking away from me he pauses, gathers his thoughts a moment. “We have to work together as a team. We’re best friends remember?”

“Yeah. Yes, I do. We are.”

“Yeah. Well…we won’t make it if we forget that. I love you, but… we can’t hurt each other. Ok?”

“Ok.” I gulp at his astute admonishment. “I didn’t know how else to deal with so much…change. I want us to be us again, I won’t hurt you again, Rick. I’m sorry. Do you accept my apology?”

“You’ve got me, girl. You know I can’t stay upset with you. Even when you hurt me…I can’t.” The tiniest, saddest smirk covers his lips

“I won’t do it again. I promise. Rick and Michonne. Right? If you’re ok with that?” Pressing my back against my bedroom door I anxiously await his answer, my heart teetering on the brink of an attack. What if he’s found someone else? Someone older, more mature. Someone who’s not so scattered, afraid?

“I’m always ok with that, sweetheart. But…you need to get rid of your friend out there. And I don’t want to see you with him again. Seriously. He’s got a thing for you.” He sniffs, tilting his head, his lip curled in a bit of a snarl. “I don’t want to know what happened between you two. I can’t know or I might kill him.” Clearing his throat, and swallowing down a harsh breath, I can tell he’s struggling with his possessive temper, and his words. Adjusting his manhood that’s once again swelling thickly in his underwear, Rick focuses his eyes on mine, nearly burning me alive with the heat found there. “Hurry and come right back. I’m not done with you.”

With that, Rick drops back onto my bed, seemingly satisfied that he has said everything he needs to. Probably still a little confused and angry as well.

That’s ok. I’m a big girl, and I’m ready for my punishment.

Opening my bedroom door, I prepare myself for how I’m going to get rid of Ezekiel. I don’t want him to be the collateral damage of my messiness, and I find myself practicing what I’m going to say to him as I walk down the hall to the living room, moving quickly as the stickiness of my arousal gathers wetly in the seat of my panties in anticipation of whatever naughty punishment Rick is going to dole out next.

The living room is empty. The music has stopped. The TV is off, and it’s as though Ezekiel was never there. Turning my lead left and right, I initially think he might just be in the restroom, but after calling his name a few times, I conclude that he is simply gone. And I don’t know how I feel about that. About possibly losing my friend at the expense of regaining my lover. But I make up my mind that I can’t dwell on it. Vacillation and uncertainty has never served me well, and if this time apart from Rick has taught me nothing else it has shown me that I have to cherish this love, this time with him. Rick isn’t just a guy, or a friend. Rick is the man I love and I’m going to honor how special that is. How special he is. Rick is my home.

Current day…

Pulling my thoughts back from that day, when I finally found a way to soothe over the unsettling unrest of my life and make peace with change, I have to grin at how well things have gone since then. Inching a hand from the blankets, I run my fingers through the curls resting on the collar of his shirt just the way he likes. Scratching my nails against his scalp, I can feel him begin to release the tension of the day and relax against me.

“How was your day?”

Allowing my touch for a moment, Rick drops another kiss to my lips, releasing Lily on to the floor, then rises from the bed. Unbuttoning his steel gray shirt, and removing his black slacks, he disrobes down to his tight fitting boxer briefs. Even though I’ve seen him naked hundreds of times, I never tire of the sight of him. Unassumingly handsome, lean, fit, his body is masculine art. It’s why so many of my non-comic based pieces are of him. Capturing the classic beauty of his rugged jawline. The slightly curved line of his long legs. Hair kissing his body here and there, spreading over his chest to highlight the broad musculature of his pecs. Curving down across his flat abdomen to where his elongated cock hangs thickly between his thighs. God he’s beautiful, and I feel a naughty thrill accompanied by a blush of shame that I’ve been caught ogling him and not listening to one word coming from his mouth.  

“Michonne? You’re not listening, girl!”

“I am! You said uh…”

Laughing he shakes his head, “Shameful. Treating me like a piece of meat.”

“A very delicious piece of meat though. And I was listening. Kind of.” I protest, knowing damn well I didn’t hear a word.

Walking away he dismisses me with a wave of his hand, and walks into the bathroom. “Whatever, Chonnie. Like I said, you weren’t listening to me telling you that I finally submitted my grant for that after school carpentry program I’m trying to get funding for. Hope to hear something soon for it. Ya know some of these kids have a very good eye for making furniture, the design part anyways. I would like to get the equipment to be able to teach them how to actually make something from their designs.” I can hear his elevated voice filtering into the bedroom from where he continues to disrobe in the bathroom.

Even though my body feels tight, weary, drained of energy, I gather the comforter around my body, and waddle into the restroom to join him. He’s standing in front of the toilet bowl peeing, leaning forward with one hand flat to the wall and the other around his cock. I chuckle to myself because I can remember a time when we first moved out here four years ago, and the thought of being in the restroom while the other one handled their business was a foreign concept. Not anymore.

“Well that’s good.” I respond over the sound of the toilet’s whooshing of swirling water in the bowl. “Proud of you. You know, we need to talk about what we are going to do after graduation. If we decide to stay here, you can finally apply to the police academy if you want to. Maybe make things in LA more permanent?”

“Yeah, I don’t know. I did want that once, but when they didn’t respond to my application and this job came through first, I think it was fate. I prefer keeping the kids out of jail instead of locking them up.”

“Makes sense. And it fits you. You’re good with the kids. They all really love you.” I comment, somewhat hopeful that maybe I can segue this conversation into an important subject that I need to discuss with him. It’s one that we have had before, when he first came home from college, and I got on the pill. When we both decided that children were not a subject we wanted to deal with then. But now…maybe things have changed? They have changed. At least for me.

“I love them too. I like this job. I don’t mind LA. We could make a go of things here. Permanently.” His words are weighted with an unspoken vow, a promise to continue on this path of intertwined lives. And that gives me hope that what I need to tell him will be a welcome surprise. “It’s expensive here though, but it’s just us and if Kleinman is serious about hiring you on full time next month we should be able to work things out pretty well. Maybe even get a nicer place.”

“Yeah. It could get tight if there was more than just you, me, and Lily huh?”

“Absolutely. You know money problems, wanting more when there’s not more to have, that’s what got my parents in trouble. Sent them to Atlanta when everything they had was right there in KC. Sometimes things are just perfect the way they are. Why mess with that when everything we need is right here. I’m not losing that again.”

“No you’re not. I’m not.”

“Damn right.”

“But, sometimes you don’t know how much better something could get until you have it. Right? Like you think you don’t want it, but then you do want it, cause things change. Like you didn’t want a dog, but you changed your mind and got me Lily.”

“Lily’s just a dog. Not a kid. Kids are much bigger life change than dogs, Michonne.” Hands on his hips, Rick’s eyes are on mine, probably trying to figure out what the hell I’m talking about. And I know I should just come out and say it, but I’m not going to lie…I’m scared of his reaction.

“I’m just saying, Rick, it’s kinda maybe the same. Maybe.”

“Maybe. But that’s not us right? All that drama my parents had, I don’t want anything to do with that. Me and you, just like this, is what I want. No kids, no fuss, no drama. It’s all pretty perfect right? We’ve got everything we need already, sweetheart. Who needs kids when you treat Lily like a little baby anyway?” He pulls me close, and begins nibbling on my neck, pushing the blankets off of my body, disrobing me until I stand before him naked. Roaming his hands over my form, gripping my ass in a tight squeeze in his palms, Rick begins a series of bites and nips on the side of my neck and collarbone, until his phone begins ringing in the bedroom. Kissing underneath my chin, not yet responding as though he’s going to answer the phone, he finally halts and moans in frustration, “Damn. That’s my dad’s ringer. Let me go grab that. You, should probably get dressed if we’re gonna make bowling with Sasha and Bob.” He reminds me, speaking softly into my ear, tugging on the lobe with his teeth and smacking me on the ass before he rushes to grab his phone.

Rick’s kisses have warmed me up after the cool reception of me introducing a subject into our conversation that historically has gone about as well as this one did. Not very well. I hear him from the other room grumbling that he missed his father’s call and he didn’t leave a voicemail.

“Did you miss him?” I ask, craning my neck towards the bedroom.

“Yeah, and he didn’t leave a message. Must not have been important. I’ll call him back later.”

It’s odd for his dad to not leave a message. Despite the fact that he was a little wary about Rick moving to LA with me, he has been nothing but supportive ever since. Even visited us last year for Christmas when we couldn’t afford to fly home. He stayed for a week with us, and went sightseeing. When we took him to Beverly Hills he even swore that he saw Halle Berry leaving the Chanel boutique and wanted to circle the block two more times just to see if he could catch sight of her again.

After one night of tossing and turning in our couch, trying his best to get some actual rest on what he dubbed a poorly crafted piece of furniture, he even bought us a new one stating that no one should have to suffer with the second hand piece of furniture we purchased at a garage sale last summer. It was apparently his Christmas present to us, on top of the other many things he bought while he was here. We knew he was just trying to help us get settled, and though I could tell it made Rick somewhat uncomfortable, thinking that his father felt that he wasn’t handling his business, I could tell that he made peace with it when his father mentioned that he was really proud of both of us, and what we were doing out here together. That made a huge difference for Rick who up until then had a certain uneasiness about his father coming to visit.

Things are good with them, with all of us now.

Stepping out of the pool of blankets gathered around my feet, I shiver at the cool air brushing across my skin, closing one eye as I smart at the feeling. Standing in front of the mirror, completely nude, I’m taking note of my body, it’s changes. I’ve gained a few pounds since coming out here, mostly in my hips and thighs. And of course my ass, which Rick never lets me forget. My stomach is still flat, not as taut as it once was where the definition of my abs could easily be seen, but I suppose I have to chalk that up to good eating and good loving.

I’m no cook, not really. I can make a few things well enough. Spaghetti. Baked chicken. But Rick is excellent at it, and with us both trying to save money he cooks most nights. On Monday he made some buttermilk fried chicken that I shamelessly ate more than my share of. Which I’m surprised he didn’t notice. Rick notices everything. If he did notice, he certainly didn’t say anything about it. About my increased appetite. Sensitivity. He’s kept quiet about any changes he may have noticed, but I suppose time will tell.

XXXXXXX

“I’m so glad you guys could make it. You know we just need to win tonight, and then we make it to the championships.”

“Oh, we’re gonna make it to the championships. These guys haven’t won a game since Dr. Martinez broke his hand. We got this.” Sasha proclaims, reaching over the small table between us to give me a quick high five with her left hand. Scooting back into her place on the couch next to Bob, she grabs his arm, circling it with her own, and looks up loving to her boyfriend. “And…we have an announcement. Right, Bob?”

“Yes. You want me to say, or do you want to say?”

“One of y’all spit it out!”

“Well wait, let’s hold on until Rick gets back with the food. Your order was so big he’s probably gonna need an extra thirty minutes.” Sasha teases. She’s not lying. I guess I went a little overboard with my order of cheeseburger, fries, onion rings, and large chocolate milk shake. Again, Rick didn’t say anything, only blinked a few times and mumbled that I must have missed lunch. I did not miss lunch. I’m just…hungry.

Just as Sasha and Bob were laughing at my expense, and I was pretending not to care, Rick made it back from the food counter. “Alright, I’m back. Here’s a few pizzas, and they will bring your order out, sweetheart. They had to make some more onion rings.”

Rick winks at me as he places two large pizza boxes on the table in between the two black leather couches at the Lucky Strike bowling alley on Olympic. It’s a pretty swanky spot that had we not joined this bowling league sponsored by the hospital Bob works at, we would never have come to, usually preferring the less expensive Gable House Bowling Alley closer to Long Beach where they also have my personal favorite, karaoke. But, Bob talked us into moving our bi-weekly couples’ outings here after a few embarrassing evenings on the karaoke machine belting out power ballads and old school pop songs. It was a good move because here we play for free, get cool matching team bowling shirts with our names on them, and got to kick some ass as well. Well Bob and Rick kick ass. Sasha and I eat, talk smack, look cute, and with our hefty handicaps, more than makeup for our lack of bowling prowess.

“Ew, that pizza smells disgusting.” I wince, a nauseated feeling coming over me at the sight of the tomato slices still bubbling on the bed of mozzarella cheese covering the first pizza everyone goes for.

Pulling a slice up towards his mouth, with cheese and sauce dripping on his chin, Rick gives me a dubious side long glance. “What? It’s a margherita pizza. You love that kind of pizza.”

Reaching over I dab at the mess on his chin, wiping away the evidence of the pizza that is apparently no longer on my list of faves as its causing a sickening rumble in my stomach. “Well there’s something off about it today. It just smells weird.” I try to cover, not ready to fully broach this topic with Rick again after the less than positive way it went earlier. “Anyway, thank you for taking care of my order, baby. Sasha was making fun of me again cause I’m hungry.”

Briefly looking up towards where Sasha is sitting close to Bob on the other couch, Rick licks his fingers free of sauce and grease from his pizza. “She did what?” Leaning over he shoves his feet down into his bowling shoes and ties them up, then pats his lap for me to place my feet there so he can tie mine as well. “Leave my baby alone, Sasha.”

“You baby her too much, Rick.” She shakes her head, watching as he tugs lightly on my shoelaces, then ties them in a double knot. “I’m just saying, keep eating like that and you won’t be able to fit into your maid of honor dress.” She shrugs as though she hasn’t just dropped a major bomb. “And with me starting on this new soap opera next month, you know those starlets are going to be gunning for your role, Chonnie!”

“Sasha! What?”

“You heard me. I want you to be my maid of honor. Bob and I are getting married in the spring next year, and I need my best friend there with me.” Jutting her left out out towards me, she shows me the large rock glittering on her finger. “I was waiting to see if you would notice. I’ve been waiving my left hand around since you got here!”

“Awe!!!” Before I can help it tears cloud my vision. “Sash!”

“Congratulations, guys! That’s awesome! Good job, Bob. That’s a hell of a ring.” Rick exclaims, as he takes a look at the sparkler as Sasha rushes over to our side of the table and wiggles her fingers his way then mine, bumping him further down the couch to make room for herself between us.

“Thanks, man. I can’t make you my best man cause my brother Avon would kill me, but I’d be real honored if you would stand up with me and be a groomsman.”

“Absolutely!”

While Rick and Bob seemingly settle things rather quickly around the wedding, and move on to talking about strategy for bowling tonight, Sasha and I are still cozied together chatting about her announcement.

“I can’t believe you’re getting married. This is just amazing!”

“Yeah I can’t either. Ya know it’s all been so effortless with him. He’s just always so easy going and positive. I think going to AA made him that way, and with him getting settled at the hospital finally, I guess he just was ready.”

“What about you? Are you ready to be someone’s wife?”

“I think so. Yeah. I love him. And outside of the drinking, which we made it through together, Bob and I seem destined. Like you and Rick.”

“Then I’m happy for you. You’re getting everything you’ve ever wanted. Good acting role on this daytime soap, a husband. LA has been good to you, girl.”

“And to you. Everything has worked out for you. Don’t you see that?” She smiles, dropping her eyes tellingly to my stomach then back to my eyes. “When are you going to tell him?”

“Huh?”

“When are you going to tell, Rick?”

“Huh?”

Just as Sasha is about to lay into me about my secret that may not really be a secret, at least not to her, I hear Rick on the other side of her on the phone. His curt responses catch my attention, and put a halt to the banter between Sasha and I as I turn his way and make eye contact with him over her head as he finishes his call.

“Ok. Ok. I’ll be home tomorrow.”

XXXXXXX

“Grandad, hey. Where’s my dad? Mom?” Rick asks impatiently, hurriedly rushing through the front door of his grandfather’s house. After a long last minute flight from Los Angeles, with a two-hour layover in Phoenix, Rick is antsy, tired, impatient to understand what’s going on.

“How about you simmer down, and I get a hug from my favorite girl before you start with all the questions, Rick. I haven’t seen her in months.” His grandfather answers, halting the brusqueness in Rick’s flurry of questions.

Leaning into the welcoming hug from Rick’s grandfather, I wrap my arms around him, nuzzling into the warmth of his large, soft body. His smell, a mix of Old Spice and chewing tobacco, so familiar, dredging up memories of the many hugs we’ve shared before. The affection going both ways between us as he taught me to ride a horse. To descale a fish, and to shoot a bow and a rifle. He’s my grandfather too, and he’s always made that perfectly clear to anyone who might ask. “Hey, Granddad, how are you?” I ask, pushing up on my toes to kiss his cheek, now covered in a full stark white beard.

“Meh. Not too shabby. Feeling much better now that I’ve seen my favorite girl.” He winks, but I can tell that something is off with him. His tone is low, reserved, much of the boisterous boom of his usual self is absent. And he hasn’t even bothered to hit me with one of his jokes. Something is seriously wrong, but so far everyone seems reluctant to say exactly what that is.

Last night when Rick’s father called he would only say that Rick should come home as soon as he could. That it was important. So we did, with Rick whipping out his emergencies only credit card and booking two last minute tickets back home. Jumping my eyes over to where Rick stands next to me, with his hands dancing impatiently at his hips, I know he’s itching for his grandfather to finally tell him something.

“Granddad, sir, what’s going on? Are you ok?”

“I’m fine, son. First, I want you to come on in the sitting room and have a seat. Calm yourself after your long trip.”

“I’m calm.”

Quickly moving to his side, I brush the back of my fingers across his bearded cheek to get his attention, and hopefully to soothe some of his irritation. “Rick, honey, maybe just let’s take a moment and relax. Want me to get you something to drink. You have sweet tea, Granddad?”

“Does a bear shit in the woods?” He sardonically responds in that thick Georgia accent of his, raising his white eyebrows over his eyes. And I can tell he’s trying to lighten the mood. Something is definitely wrong.

I grin and give a short snort at his response, but Rick’s face doesn’t crack. He’s unsettled. Anxious. Long fingers scrape against each other impatiently at his side. Moving him towards the sitting room with his hand in mine, I urge him to sit on the old cranberry colored sofa with the last quilt his grandmother made resting across the back. “Have a seat, baby. Let me get you a drink.” I drop a kiss to his forehead before I walk out of the room, and into the kitchen. I’m familiar with where everything is and I try to move quickly despite my own jetlag and minor nausea, to get Rick something to cool his nerves. Pulling down a glass from the cabinet and placing it on the counter, I stop for a moment, closing my eyes to the bout of dizziness that grabbed a hold of me just that fast. Thinking that maybe a Tylenol will help, I open the cabinet to the left of the refrigerator where I know aspirin and the like are usually kept. Immediately I’m caught off guard by the large number of prescription drug bottles neatly lined up filling out two separate shelves.

It’s like a medicine cabinet in here, with much more than the bottle of aspirin that Granddad takes daily, and the old bottle of acetaminophen that’s probably been here for years. Now there are numerous dark orange bottles affixed with labels that carry names I can hardly pronounce. Arepitant. Dolestran. Cytoxan. Idamycin. Navelbine. All prescribed to Dana Grimes, who as far as I know has never lived here. What is all of this? Running my fingers over the bottles, I’m transfixed by my attempt to make sense of what I’m seeing, and instantly I wish my parents were here instead of on their overseas rotation for Doctors Without Borders so I could ask them about this. I don’t have to wait long though, as I hear Rick’s voice raising loudly from the other room.

HurriedlyI pour him some honey sweetened tea from the pitcher in the refrigerator, and rush back into the sitting room.

“Where is she? Is she…? Is she in the hospital? Does Jeff know?”

Rick’s granddad has now been joined by his father, and they are both seated across from Rick, whose head is resting heavily in his upturned palms. No one answers his questions at first, leaving the room silent except for the near quiet huffs of Rick’s deeply distressed breaths. Rushing to him I take my place next to him on the couch, pulling him into the circle of my arms and holding him to my chest. I’m not exactly sure what’s going on, but given the prescriptions in the kitchen, and the name on them, I’m slowly putting it all together. 

Seated stiffly, his back erect, the ankle from one leg resting on the knee of the other as it dances nervously up and down, Rick Sr. appears tired. In his characteristic plaid button up shirt, blue jeans, and cowboy boots he simply doesn’t look like himself. The dark, chestnut waves of his salt and pepper hair are not rakishly brushed away from his face as they usually are, showcasing the chiseled jawline that my own mother has marveled at a time or two. Instead they are simply there, swirled about his head in a disheveled mass that you can tell he’s rumpled mercilessly by dragging his fingers through it. He’s sporting a ragged look with dark circles dragging under his sapphire eyes, and a wild greying beard that I have never seen on his handsome face. A face that now resembles his own father’s in such stark fashion that I have to wonder how I never noticed it before. 

In these few moments as I’m slowly massaging my fingers through Rick’s hair, our breaths syncing as his heavy upper body laying across my own, molds into mine. Rick Sr.’s cool, watery eyes close briefly as he appears to be trying to steady himself, to find the reserves to offer up something else, more answers for Rick than his tired soul can gather. He wears his emotions, so clear and transparent as he finally opens his eyes, and gulps down a few breaths. He’s tired. He’s hurt. But looking to his own father for strength, he leans forward, hands clasped together, hanging between his thighs he offers some final words that change everything.

“She’s weak, Rick. Your mother is very sick. She’s upstairs resting now. She had another treatment yesterday, even though right now her numbers haven’t moved much. The doctors want to increase the chemo, take a more aggressive approach. They’re optimistic that might work, but right now it’s not so good. That’s why I decided to tell you boys now. She…she didn’t want me to say anything just yet, but I can’t take care of her on my own anymore. Your granddad can’t do it, your grandmother in Florida is too old herself. I’m doing what I can but I still have the farm, and the business. I need help, son. I hate to do this to you but, I do. We do.”

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The warm water feels good rushing over my skin like the nourishing tears of a warm summer rain. Though the droplets seem to be irritating my nipples and breasts with their pelting cadence, I turn into the stream, needing the sensation to awaken my numbed senses. The rest of me needs the relaxation it’s offering, and I slowly close my eyes, feeling the releasing tension of the day washing away, then swirling down through the drain by my feet. My head is pounding, stomach twisted in knots despite the large dinner I made for everyone as Rick’s parents explained everything to us. It makes me think of my own news I need to share with him, that now seems to pale in comparison to his mother’s breast cancer diagnosis.

Dropping my chin to my chest I roll my neck as the water filters through my lengthy locs, the weight pulling me down further. A cool draft of air rushes in suddenly, announcing Rick’s arrival in the shower. Immediately his arms wrap around me. His hold so constricting and tight as though he needs its steadying presence to hold him upright. One arm locked around my waist, hand resting on my stomach, and I wonder if he can sense any changes in my body, or is it too soon? His other arm is across my breasts, firmly kneading them in his hold, even as I wince a little at the dull ache in them. Head resting on my shoulder, Rick finally seems to take a moment and stop, the water cleansing him of his thoughts as well. Allowing him the respite he has been unable to find since we flew out of LAX at 6 this morning. Not even taking a nap on the plane, he’s clearly worn out now. It shows in the restless way his eyeballs dance under his lids. The way he seems unbothered while the water gathers on his eyelashes, heavy drops falling in fat bulbs down his face.

I don’t move. I don’t speak. I just try to be his peaceful anchor in this moment when the world is spinning around him. We’ve been here before. A juncture where Rick is tossed about, a tiny boat in the vast, tumultuous sea. He tried to come across as put together at dinner after his initial breakdown. Seated at the dining room table, composed, he picked at the baked chicken and broccoli I made as his mother detailed her current health situation. Stage two breast cancer. Chemotherapy after she had a lump removed last month. No they didn’t tell him and Jeff because they thought perhaps with the lump being surgically removed, and the outlook initially so positive, they wouldn’t have to. But now, there still are some identifiable cancer cells, and chemotherapy should help to attack those cells. The treatments are weakening Dana to the point where she has taken a long term leave from the bank, and because of how anemic and fragile she now is, Rick’s father has stepped up and brought her home with him to take care of her.

It’s admirable, romantic even that Rick Sr. has put his life on hold to take care of Dana, and it reminds me that underneath the bitterness from how their marriage dissolved, they did love each other deeply at one point. Together at the head of the table, his hand lovingly caressing the top of hers, they are the couple that they were when we were younger and we would occasionally catch them alone somewhere in their house kissing. Or the one time during a sleepover I woke up in the middle of the night to find them dancing slowly together in the living room, a scratchy jazz record orchestrating their movements. Seeing them today was a throwback to that time, with the way that Rick Sr. helped Dana earlier to take a seat on the loveseat next to him, where they wordlessly curled into each other, her hand held delicately in his lap with his thumb caressing over her much smaller one. Without fanfare they appear to have picked up their relationship somewhere between falling in love and breaking apart. But now, as he whispers to her, asking her if she needs something else. If she needs a cup of that herbal tea she likes. Or when he gently lowered his towering frame to pick up her frail form effortlessly, as though she weighed nothing, and carried her upstairs to the bedroom that they are now sharing together, I could still see the same love there. Perhaps it never died, just laid dormant, waiting on them to rediscover each other again? It warmed me to see them like this, but also struck me as macabre, an injustice so lurid that it saddens me at the same time to think that it took something as serious as death trying to close its grasp on Dana, to bring them back to each other.

Turning my head slightly to watch Rick, to gauge what he might be feeling right now. What he might need, I’m caught off guard by the sudden kiss he plants to my lips. Fusing his lips over mine, he wastes no time thrusting his tongue into my mouth. It’s the most delicious of kisses. Demanding, overwhelming my senses with him covering me from all angles. His breaths become mine, tongues tangling as his hand travels lower from my belly to the juncture of my thighs. Flipping us so that I’m facing the back wall of the shower, he nudges my head over to the side as he moves his mouth lower to feast on the tender skin covering the column of my neck.

Feeling as though the pleasure resulting from the vigorous sucking and biting of my skin might cause me to faint, I place my hands flat to the white tiles along the back of the shower so I can steady myself. But there is truly no worry, his grasp of my body is so snug, my back is practically molded to his front, where I can feel the rise of his lengthy cock brushing against my ass.

Rick slides his hand between my thighs and lightly slaps the thick wet flesh, encouraging me to part my legs for him. As I accede to his wishes, he lifts my leg up higher, resting it on the edge of the tub, to open me to him, and instantly I can feel the pads of his fingers strumming repeatedly over my clit. I’m humming, buzzing underneath his touch and his kisses that nip and tease behind my ear, biting and sucking. Arousal grows in my core, making me feel wild, unhinged, needy in my pursuit to put out the flames of my desire, and to soothe Rick’s own ache. Reaching behind me I fist his long cock and begin a slow steady jerk of the steely flesh, rubbing the head between the cheeks of ass to heighten the sensation.

“Mmm…hmm…”  

Hearing his wordless groans of excitement over the rapid cadence of my own panting breaths, I can feel an orgasm creeping with intensity beginning in the protruding nub that Rick’s long fingers seem intent on deliciously punishing with firm, quick strokes. The bliss of his movements sends a warm thrill rapidly coursing out through my limbs. The zing of pleasure is exquisite, and it stiffens my limbs, tightens my grip on his cock. But it’s not enough for me, I need more of him. I need penetration to deepen the pleasurable sensation. To feel his blunt thickness making its way through my tight walls, pushing the head to find the deepest part of me.

Widening my stance, I center Rick’s cock at the entrance of my pussy, and breathe out a long satisfied sigh as I push myself back onto him, impaling myself to complete fullness. An exhale escapes my lips at the feeling of utter fullness, of being so profoundly connected to the love of my life, it seems as though I might almost die from the breathtaking joy of it all. Of the first few rough pounds of his cock into me, an attempt for Rick to root himself balls deep. His favorite place.

“Ah…ah…ah…ah!”

“Gaaaa…aaahhh…”

“Rick! Oh gooooooood!”

Greeted by the rough rumble of Rick’s growls, I’m responding to the press of his hand to curve of my spine and bending a little at the waist, arching my back just enough to lift my ass up into his groin, and grinding. Swiveling my hips, I’m bouncing and popping to meet each hard upward thrust that sends my breasts jiggling, my body pressing closer and closer to the slippery shower wall.

“Cho…Chon…” Rick grits out between his clenched teeth, the only partially intelligible words he’s spoken since entering the shower, bringing with him the overwhelming caul of sadness that has draped him since earlier in the day. Right now all I can do to try and throw off it’s hold on my lover is to give myself to him. To envelope him in all the love and warmth I can, shield his melancholy spirit with the intensity of need to protect him from even his own feelings. Distract him with a moment of pleasure. God I hated to see his face fall, his eyes grow glassy with each word of his mother’s confessed diagnosis.

Raising my arm, bowing my body in an arch as I take each hard pump of his hips, I find my hand resting along the back of his head, his feathery wet hair clumped into my fist as I pull his face forward. Turning my neck so I can face him, I lick at his lips, then mumble a stuttered command. “Rick, mmm, baby…fuck me harder! Yeah, yeah… Oh god…please!” I blow out a long breath as he obeys my wishes, bending his knees and increasing the pace of the pistoning thrust of his hips. Wildly banging his groin against my ass harder, with more focus than before, his heavy balls wetly slap at my puffy pussy lips in synch with the heaving shove of his dick into the abyss of me. “Ple-plea-please… Oh god! Rick!”

I’m begging now, which I know turns him on, makes his conquest of me border on a savage pillaging of my body that usually leaves us both a satisfied mess. He’s biting down on my shoulder, my neck, my cheek, the pain just this edge of exquisite, and I can’t hold on any longer. My arms drop weakly, with only one arm strong enough to reach out to the shower wall again. The press of my palm, the only thing preventing me from collapsing, as Rick’s hands are both gripping the mounds of my ass, kneading the flesh, pulling the cheeks apart as I’m sure he’s watching my canal greedily consume every inch of his impressive length.

Glancing up over my shoulder from where my head is hung low, nearly banging on the wall with each of Rick’s forceful plunges, I can see his face twisted in anguish. Water dripping down the slope of his long nose. Over the planes of his handsome face. Dripping from the sweeping fan of his long, spiky eyelashes, and over his mouth where his lips are curled into what can almost be described as a snarl. His eyes are focused though, his gaze steadfastly transfixed on the urgent and powerful ramming of his cock into my pussy. The clap of my ass continues to hypnotize him, transfix him while its swallowing every inch of his veiny thickness as he runs his palms almost reverently over the swell of each then up to my waist.

Swiveling my gaze back down to the floor, I watch the water glide in steaming rivulets through the hair traversing Rick’s long legs, across his bunched calves, over his long feet as he uses them to push my feet further apart, opening me even wider for his exploration. His desire to slip further, and bury himself impossibly deeper inside of my depths. It’s as though he’s trying to simply lose himself inside of me.

Giving as good as I’m getting, I lift on my toes, and find the last reserve of strength to propel myself back onto him. Winding my ass in a rhythmic twist, my pussy creates a slippery gyration over him that has Rick raising his hands to my shoulders to hold on. Taking back his control of our coupling, he’s fucking me with wild abandon now, and I’m moaning, whimpering almost as his grip only grows harder, tighter.

With a few jerks of his hips, and a final lunge upward, hitting that spot where pleasure and pain swirl and intermingle in an erotic yin and yang, a thunderous, animal-like howl leaves my lover’s lips as he tosses back his head. Literally spent.

With that the heaving force of his upper body is brought down on my back, blanketing me in orgasmic bliss as we come together. His arms wrap around my shoulders and waist, pulling me into him in a restricting clasp. Fusing our bodies together in a way, as though he needs the reinforcement of my energy to sustain himself. Pitching forward a little, I understand his need and support the both of us against the shower wall as I can feel his thick, sticky cum bathing my womb with its heat, the overflow of his load easing down my thighs.

In the still of the moment, only the shower water hitting the tiles makes any real sound outside of the speaker attached to my phone, softly playing Norah Jones ‘Come Away with Me’ in the background.

“Come away with me in the night
Come away with me
And I will write you a song…”

Wearily his forehead is pressed into the back of my head, his chest pinning my form into the wall. Pants, short at first, coming in rapid succession, lengthen into long breaths, gulps of air sucked into his lungs with each rise and fall of his chest. We stay frozen this way, still locked together in a lover’s embrace, my core unwilling to release him from the still spasming cradle of its tight squeeze over him. Our heartbeats synching and seemingly beating as one.

It begins as a formless puff of air from his lips onto my neck. Pillowy soft at first, then it grows in intensity, until it’s a forceful gasp. A long tired cry. Exasperation, desperation, doleful sadness in my lover’s tears. In this moment there is nothing I can say, that I should say to attempt to stem this outpouring of profound sadness. I don’t move, I don’t speak. I simply allow him this moment to spill his tears to mingle with the wetness of the shower water, a cathartic washing away of the reality that’s pummeling his emotions with pounding blows.

Poor Rick, he needs this. This moment to simply free himself to feel the emotional brunt of his mother’s surprising diagnosis, without the watchful eyes of his father and grandfather expectantly analyzing his reaction for any sign of weakness. Of an immaturity that would signal his inability to respond to this life-changing news with the stoic stiff upper lip of generations of Grimes men before him. But Rick isn’t like that. He feels life so deeply. His emotions so big, so ebullient that sometimes they live in every disgusted curl of his lip. Every questioning tilt of his head. The telling burst of a red blush that showcases his delighted arousal. Rick’s handsome face is a canvas that tells in the most beautiful manner, of human expression, the story of one man’s emotional journey. And right now, in the privacy of this shower, where it’s just him and me, his best friend, his lover, he feels safe enough to let those feelings leak in streams of frustrated tears. To fall from his trembling lips in frightened groans of uncertainty. And as I turn around at the sound of his voice, so small and defeated, the words almost crippling him, I witness the pain swirling plainly in his eyes as he blinks slowly at me and declares with crushing finality, “I have to stay.”

Grabbing his face in my hands, my palms cupping his rugged jaw as the steam of the heated shower billows around us, I place my lips on his as though to halt the decision in his words. “Rick... I wish I could, but…”

“Not you. You go finish what you started in LA. I have to help take care of her. Take care of things here. I have to.” Closing his eyes as though the misery of this revelation is too much to bear, he continues, steeling the wavering of his deep voice, more to convince himself than me, “They need me to help. Please tell me that you understand.”

“Rick, whatever you need to do to support your mother and your family, I understand. I’ll come as much as I can.”

“I know you will. And I’ll try to find time to come home as much as I can.”

“And I want to walk with you
On a cloudy day
In fields where the yellow grass grows knee-high
So won't you try to come

Come away with me and we'll kiss
On a mountaintop
Come away with me
And I'll never stop loving you…”

Needing to hide my own tears that are quickly forming, I rub my face across his, finally pressing my wet eyes against his cheek. Sorrow choking my words as I realize that I have to let him go. Rick won’t be coming away with me again. Not this time. “Your family needs you.”

“You’re my family, Michonne. Please don’t forget. Never forget that I love you more than my own life, but I have to… I have to do this.”

“I could never forget, Rick. This isn’t the end, baby, we can figure this out. We’ve come so far. I’ll go back to LA and graduate in a few weeks, and then we will just…we’ll find a way. Ok?”

“Ok. Yeah. You have to finish, and get that job with Kleinman, and then…I don’t know.” Sadly shaking his head, he has yet to open his eyes, possibly afraid of what I will find there. Or perhaps of what he thinks he will find in mine.

“And then your mother gets better and we keep living, Rick, all of us. We fight for us, and we keep living. You’ll come home soon.”

“I will, and when I do I’m going to marry you.” Nodding his head, finding a reserve of positive certainty, his blue eyes flash open with a spark of the tiniest bit of hopefulness. “Here, take this.” Pulling off the simple gold band that Rick has worn on his right hand since his parents divorced, and his father gave him his old wedding ring, he pulls my hand from his face and places it in the center of my palm. Closing both of his hands around mine until my fingers hide away the precious metal, he lifts them to his lips and seals his promise with a kiss.

“I’ll wait for you, Rick. Forever. I love you. Always have, always will.” I vow in a series of kisses that I reverently place in whispered prayer across his face, his eyes, his cheeks. His lips. My hope that the power in those words will plant themselves like fertile seed in his heart, growing tall and strong enough to shield him from the days of doubt that are surely to come.

“I love you too, Michonne. Always have, always will.” Rick promises, finally resting his forehead against mine,

Those four words were the promise that held every optimistic intention that our love could survive this separation. That neither time nor geography was a strong enough barrier to keep us from being together. Hadn’t we we already successfully rode this wave of friendship and love across the country and back again? Hadn’t we surpassed the expectations of those who considered our ambitions too high a wall to scale together, to come out the other side stronger than before? More importantly, we had a piece of our love tucked safely away that grew stronger, healthier, more viable with each passing day. No unexpected illness could blot out the blessing of that.

But life has a way of laughing at the best laid plans, at stomping out the shiniest of wide eyed hopes and dreams, and leaving them as collateral damage under the rugged boot of life. And unfortunately, our love story was no exception…

End of Part I…