One More Night (Richonne Story)

Someone Tell Me Why

Do you want me to call him an asshole?"

"Yes."

"Well, then he's an asshole," Maggie said it as she clinked her glass tumbler against mine.

She'd been surprised to see me show up on her doorstep, one day early and with my bottle of emergency vodka in hand. We were sitting on the cream-colored, Darby Wool shag rug in her living room with the bottle of Grey Goose Vodka, Triple Sec, lemon juice, sugar cubes, a bowl of lemon wedges, and a tin of half-eaten Topsy's butter popcorn.

The sun had set some time earlier and neither of us had bothered turning on the main lights. The flashing of the multicolored Christmas lighting strung up across the fireplace and tree gave the room a cozy and festive mood. Noah had claimed the couch since our arrival and was content sleeping the evening away. Rick must have taken him on a long walk while I was at the station.

"Do you want to know what I really think, though?" Maggie asked.

"Nope," I said with a pop. "I rather keeping drinking and bitching about how all men are assholes."

"You can say that again," she agreed with a snort, "Glen keeps ridiculous long hours, twice as long as me, we are like passing ships at sea. When we are together, he doesn't have much energy to do anything and to top that off he has a gross picture collection." She held her cell up and showed me an enlarged picture of a severely burned and bloodied hand, surrounded by surgical tools. "He likes to show them to me at dinner."

"That's just wrong." I covered my eyes, and we began giggling all over again.

"Seriously, Michonne," Maggie said pointedly. "I think Rick's an idiot, but I don't think he's an asshole."

I rolled my eyes and gave no response. She's supposed to be agreeing with me here.

"He's helped you, hasn't he? Stayed with you despite legitimately freaky fucking things happening at your house?"

"Yes..."

"Hasn't asked for anything in return?"

"No."

"He's admitted he has feelings for you."

"Well, yes, but that doesn't detract from what he did, or didn't do, rather."

"And what did you call the sex before?"

"Mind blowing." I pulled out the lemon wedge from my glass and sucked on it.

"Damn, remind me to ask you more about that later. He's also fucking hot."

"Tell me about it," I said, a little regretfully. "Being with him sometimes feels like punching above my weight."

"Oh, please. Don't bother selling yourself short, you have an amazing rack and an ass that won't quit."

"Sure, just gloss right over my sharp intellect, great wit, and skills why don't you?"

"Alright, alright. Those things too. I just think you need to remember you both met under freaky circumstances. You skipped all the normal relationship, get-to-know-you stuff. You gotta expect there might be hiccups."

"Some hiccup."

"So what... he married someone – years ago, mind you – for slightly less than honorable reasons. Big deal. Sounds like that bitch made him suffer enough."

I grimaced throwing back the rest of my drink with one mouthful. I had definitely crossed the line from tipsy into the drunk territory.

"It's not that."