One More Night (Richonne Story)

Family, Friends, and Something Else

Anyone who's stayed any length of time in a hospital will tell you sleep is a futile endeavor. It's a never-ending orchestra of strange sounds, the hiss of oxygen; the grinding bleep of the heart monitor; the rhythmic tapping of feet walking the hallways; the off and on the murmur of conversations passing your door. But it was the hourly observations which bothered me most; regardless of how quiet the nurses kept their movements, I was always wide awake the moment they were beside me shining their penlight on my file, fiddling with my monitors, and inflating the blood pressure cuff around my arm. It was a routine I was familiar with from those weeks spent at Grams bedside. It stirred awful memories and triggered a terrible mix of nostalgia and dread.

I slept fitfully that night and stirred after midnight, though sometime in between my hourly observations, an accompanying murmur of a male voice chimed in. A male voice which I knew...Very well.

"It's okay... Let's just... Tomorrow we can..." The words faded between hisses and beeps of the medical equipment in my room.

I winced, pulling myself up in bed from where I'd slumped down during sleep and grabbed my remote. I pressed the nurse's call button, waited a moment until it chimed and I turned it off again. The little light outside my door in the hallway flicked on and then off. I did it again, on and off in repeated succession multiple times, the chime ringing down the hall and the light flashing. A single set of jogging footsteps echoed off the floor and a familiar frame filled doorway way.

"Michonne." My name sounded like a sigh of relief passing his lips.

"It's me, what's left of me," I said wryly.

He let out a dry, tired laugh. "Can I come in?"

Nurse Debbie Warren appeared behind him. She moved around him, looking like she didn't know whether to cry or pull the security alarm.

"It's okay," I said to both of them. "He can come in. We'll be quiet."

"Five minutes," she said, arms crossed.

I switched on the lamp beside the bed. Morgan sat heavily in the chair beside my bed and dropped his head in his hands, dragging his hands across his dark wavy hair. "You're okay." He exhaled raggedly.

I reached over and touched the back of his hand lightly. When he looked up his eyes were puffy rimmed and glassy.

"You look a hot mess," I said, it's unlike Morgan to be unshaven.

He cracked a grin. "Woman, have you seen yourself?" He looped his fingers with mine before I could withdraw my hand. "What happened? I tried calling you...left a ton of messages, we all wanted to stop by on our way back from Atlanta, but you never answered...So I called Maggie; finally, she called me late that night telling me you'd left that morning and hadn't come back. She was hysterical, going on about Noah leading her somewhere...so Carol called her mom to watch the kids and here we are..." He shook his head slowly in disbelief. "Is your ankle broken?" he asked, observing my strapped ankle, still elevated on multiple pillows.

"No, but...but I might lose some toes." He looked alarmed and I felt something inside of me crack. With a wobbly voice, I continued, "Have you ever seen frostbitten feet? They're so disgusting... So, there goes wearing sandals ever again. And they had to shave a patch at the side of my head so they could glue my head where I busted it open. I also have claw marks on my arm that is definitely going to scar." I pinched my lips shut before I started sounding even more pathetic. I didn't even care about those things, not really, but somehow at that moment the idea Rick might not find me as attractive as he used to, completely devastated me. Urgh. Priorities, girl. I had mine all messed up.