CHAPTER NINETEEN
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀suffocate.

⠀There was a block in the road. An abandoned car and rotted tree. Converging together to make a problematic gate we had to try and open, thinking for a moment that this may be something telling us to go back, telling us that we left something behind. But I quickly squashed that minuscule thought.

⠀The thing was... we had left something behind... and we still had to keep going.

⠀My hands clasped together in my lap, and for most of the drive had been looking down at them. Watching as the ends of my fingernails dug into the tops of my hands, seeing how deep I could make crescent moons appear. But when Rick, Maggie, and Glenn instinctively rose from their respective seats and left the car to approach the obstruction, my eyes flew upwards.

⠀The new movement in my otherwise stagnant scenery seemed to have jolted me somewhat awake. Not that I had been sleeping. The long night had still left me exhausted and battling to keep my eyes open. But, then he went. And I had never felt more of a need to keep them open.

⠀A sort of... unsafeness had hit me. A feeling you get when you're on the edge of a cliff. That breathless push, hurtling you backwards. As if the muscles holding my ribs together were shakingly telling me to take a few steps back.

⠀Uncurling my hands, watching them tremble from bone to skin, I raised my gaze to the rearview mirror. Where the woman was in my sights, sitting adjacent to myself. Always far away.

⠀She was looking outwards to her left, eyes steadily looking above and below the window. She seemed to be tracing her eyes along with the barks of trees that littered our surrounding, no matter how far we drove.

⠀"Where did you go?" I asked, my voice just above a whisper. My throat was raw from all the crying I had been doing. It had left my face sticky and warm. My cheeks flushed and swollen. "Where did you go when you left us at Woodbury?"

⠀She now looked towards me, evidence of a fight on her skin. "To see the Governor," her words biting down on the air as she said his name.

⠀"But you didn't kill him."

⠀"I was stopped."

⠀"By what?"

⠀"Andrea."

⠀Andrea? Did she stop the woman from killing the Governor? I wasn't sure what our former friend had been up to, but that made it evident that she was charmed. The woman had said he had a way with people. He was a pretty boy. I wouldn't be surprised, with the evidence of how many people were cheering on the death of two men, that those people were loyal. Sickeningly loyal.

⠀I swallowed, yearning for a glass of water to clear my mouth of the awful taste that had started to build up in my mouth. "Jim Jones type you called him." She nodded. Now I turned in my seat to lean the front of my shoulder against it, eyes straight on her. "He was elected?"

⠀"That's what 'Governor' means, I guess?" Every word about him was bitter and less distant than she had previously been. "And they love their Governor."

⠀"Is that all they call him? Not his name?"

⠀"I don't think they even know his name."

⠀Names were things sacred to humans. Names meant we were a person, and that we were here — our two feet on the ground and a purpose.

⠀"Wait," I looked down for a moment. "What even is your name?" We had never asked, and she had never told. We had trusted her enough to take us to our friends but weren't even concerned about who she was.

⠀She let out a breath, the first real one she seemed to have a chance to in the last twenty-four hours. Then she spoke steadily. No bitterness, no anger. No distance. "Michonne."

⠀"Michonne," I repeated, letting my lips curl upwards for half a second. She was coming back with us, and I had a feeling she didn't really like being in other people's company. But, she had helped us at the end of the day. I was going to have to live with her for another night, at least.

⠀We couldn't leave everyone behind... hopefully.

⠀I pushed my hand outwards, palm facing upwards. "Marley Van Allen."

⠀To my surprise, she took my hand. Moving it down slowly, then up, then letting go.

━━━━━━━━━━

⠀When we eventually made it back, I saw Carl rush to the gate, an almost excited look on his face. A glistening spotlight was burning into my eyes from the car window, but from what I could see, Carol was there too.

⠀A sense of dread waded into me, shortness of breath. The woman there, waiting for us, regarded Daryl in as much high esteem as me. She would be heartbroken. They all would. Just as when she awoke from vanishment, I wasn't the one qualified to bear such bad news. I didn't even want to think about it. How everyone would be so confused as to why exactly he left. How we were one person down again, and by choice. Most had never met Merle. So most would be perplexed.

⠀I knew why... but I didn't want to think about it.

⠀A few things happened — Rick left to greet his son and to tell Carol the news. Maggie took the wheel, bringing us all the way home.

⠀All while that happened, I kept my eyes down, to my hands. Dark red had wound its way through the small cracks and wrinkles of my fingers, drying up and flaking onto my jeans below them. I almost didn't notice Hershel and Beth approach the car to welcome us home as we parked.

⠀The other people in the car quickly evacuated, rushing over to those people, arms wrapping around them. I felt that's what I should have been doing. And I wanted to, but for all need I had in my body to see those people again, it was weighed down by fear. Fear of questions... about what happened.

⠀And... I didn't want to think about it.

⠀Instead, I waited until all had left the courtyard in favour for the inside. The last to leave being Rick and Hershel, as they strolled side by side, words passing between them, but I wasn't sure what about, seeing as they left my tight space before I could hear any words.

⠀Eventually following the trail that would take me to the cellblock, I was taken aback in my steps as I came face to face with a bunch of strangers littering the cafeteria benches. I had been in mind to storm across the placid concrete, and straight to the cell I had chosen to reside in, but the sight of new faces simply threw me back in perturbation.

⠀As I looked at them, they looked at me. An open, almost inviting look on their faces, save for the man standing closest to me. Whereas the taller, and overall larger man just behind him stretched out a smile. The way it reached his eyes made me knew it was somewhat genuine. But, I didn't give any thought to give one back.

⠀Even though I was set on edge from the previous events, I actually found myself... not caring. Not caring who they were and what they needed. They were very clearly placed in this area on purpose; they didn't simply drop out of the sky. And therefore, it wasn't worth my attention to worry about it.

⠀There were thick steel bars between them and us, and with their lack of intimidating character and weapons... they were just not a problem I wanted my mind to bury deeply and let fester. It was already infected with thoughts of the Governor striding up to our gates, with all that cult-like fashion he had to string along his followers.

⠀I abandoned their presence and swiftly made my way into the cellblock, turning and shutting the gate just as quickly as my steps were.

⠀There was no effort in me to smile, and joyously reunite with everyone here. I was filled with exhaustion. And the coldness that had sunk into the very centres of my bones since we came back. Walking in that vast hall, I felt like a stranger, embedded in the walls like an unassuming painting. Not forgotten, but intentionally translucent.

⠀That small gust of wind that I thought about that morning — the one that could sweep me away — I felt it tiding around my ankles. Maybe it was the fact that I wanted it to, or that the skin on my bones weighed me down, telling me just to fall asleep.

⠀And so I wordlessly travelled to my cell, my eyes washing over whoever was in the room. Carl, Carol, Beth. I figured to others were hiding from the wash of almost fluorescent sunlight coming from the windows, as I soon was.

⠀Sitting at the end of the bunk, my spine deflated onto the firm mattress. My hair fanned around my head, stiffly flowing from its previous place around my cheeks: nothing but the bars and wires of the bed above in my view.

⠀I wanted to sleep. I needed it. But I couldn't. Something about the air around me. In this place. It made me want to hold my breath, maybe because he was gone. Or perhaps because I left him. I knew that something I did was carrying me away from sleep.

⠀Just when I thought I could fall into it, the cloth on my cell doorway was lifted by a metal crutch, revealing Hershel.

⠀Struggling to lift my upper body from the mattress, he took few steps inwards, not yet revealing his intention for being here until he sat beside me, propping his crutches up against the bed. I figured it might have been a medical matter, seeing as it wasn't a secret that I had been hurt.

⠀"Rick thinks you have a concussion." His voice was smaller than usual, hardly filling the large amount of space in the room. And I wasn't surprised by his words.

⠀Instinctively, my hand rose to the bruise around my eye, pressing into it gently for a second and feeling the soft, smoothness of the swelling. "I don't have a concussion." I was sure I didn't. I had experienced such a head injury before. Losing days and vomiting up the pain. I was sometimes grateful that I couldn't remember the reason behind it. "It was just a hard hit."

⠀It was then I saw that he held one of our torches in his hand, and his other came up to my back, carefully pushing the gentle side of his palm against my shoulders. "At least let me check you." His eyes held a feeling of almost... apology. Like he was sincerely sorry that I had experienced things severe enough for them to leave a mark. And I believed it; therefore, I shortly nodded.

⠀I let him brush my hair over my ear, and lift the torch much too large for his intention. I knew that the standard ones were the size of a pencil. But this was a checkup that lacked the fluorescent lights, and the needles. The thin, shamefully revealing nature of those gowns. The smell of alcohol and latex. When Hershel began and finished shining the light back and forth across my pupil, I almost expected him to ask me if it was really a fall down the stairs that made me lose track of three days. But he didn't.

⠀Instead, he smiled, letting his warm palm fall directly onto mine. "You're okay." The way he said it was like it wasn't for me to hear, because somehow he knew I wouldn't believe it. His words bounced from my senses back onto his, which my inkling was his intention.

⠀I couldn't smile back.

⠀"But you need sleep," his tightened cheeks fell, his face lowering in a gentle, commanding tone. "And get yourself cleaned up, we've got plenty of water for it." With those words, I thought of Lori for a brief moment.

⠀I nodded again, looking away as he struggled with his crutches to stand from his position. And as he started to exit, the next person who entered my mind was Maggie. About what Glenn had said about the Governor. About what he did. And I suddenly started to feel sick again about having entered that town.

⠀Like it had left a bacteria on my skin... one that I could not scrub off.

⠀Having decided that sleep was not entering my mind anytime soon, I quickly lifted from my seat, reaching over to the doorway, holding out the fabric curtain for Hershel as he was just about to duck under. "Is Maggie okay?" I rushed out, earning a small glance before he replied.

⠀"She's in her cell..."

⠀I wondered whether he knew. If Glenn had told him... or even she had. Had she told anybody what exactly happened?

⠀Weaving past Hershel's form, and into the open chasm which was the cellblock — bathed in the mid-day sunlight, earning all occupants a blurred, and heated vision. As I looked to Carol, idling on the high platform, she, as well as me, kept one eye closed from the burning star.

⠀She was fiddling with what looked to be an empty filing box. One you would see people use as they cleared various papers from their office.

⠀My eyes stayed on her, watching as her own trailed to me. She was pulling out a slight smile before going back to what she was doing.

⠀When I eventually remembered what cell Maggie had been occupying, it didn't have that fabric door like the one that had been made for me. Instead, it was just open, like a wound. All the doorways were laid out like stitches, with one being held inwards by a sheet created by the hands of ghost. And in so entering it, it was like diving into a deep vat of tenderness.

⠀Maggie was sitting there, just like I had when Hershel had met with me — looking down at her arms, carefully rubbing them with a piece of cloth. The flakes of blood trailing off her skin like dry paint. For a moment, it made me look down at my own, witnessing the evidence once again. The dark crimson was clinging to my pores since the day before.

⠀Returning my view to her, she now looked directly back. She was turning her head into the shadow that my body cast over the plains of the room. A stagnant, almost solemn look on her face. As I furthered myself to sit beside her, it was as if she was helplessly stuck to the walls of this place. Static.

⠀It didn't seem like she was the one who wanted to speak first, but similarly, words escaped me. And it wasn't until I felt her digits crawl into my curled palm that I kind of knew what she needed to hear. "If you don't want to talk about it... that's fine."

⠀She nodded, echoing the small, appreciative smile her father had given me.

⠀"And if you want to be left alone that's fine too," I suddenly remembered how I felt the first time it happened. I wasn't left alone to slide into my body as it had only just been given back to me. It was cold. And I was compressed against the company of my rapist. All I had wanted then was to be left alone, and so I figured that Maggie felt that too. "Just know that you don't have to be."

⠀She didn't speak. Instead, she returned her hand to wrap it around my back, pulling me in closer. Instinctively I did so too, drawing on her arm to become tighter. Something about holding Maggie made my heart calm, and the air became cooler. Not icy. Just easier to breathe in. There was a time in my life where I barely thought about her, but then again, I hardly thought about many essential things. It's a terrible thing that haunting situations are some of the only things that make you pull people in closer.

⠀I hated what had happened, but I had no right to try and talk her out of being quiet about it. So I accepted her grasp, and I let her warm skin lay against mine. And I watched the flakes of blood between our arms mingle together, becoming unimportant and simple decoration in this scene between us.

⠀I wanted nothing more now than to make her feel held by someone... but not suffocated.

⠀Her hair fell onto my shoulders as mine did hers. We simply let our bones crumble under the sunlight and let our chests fall and rise slowly. The tiredness finally waved back at me, telling me that maybe... today was finally over.

━━━━━━━━━━

⠀I had a sense of forgetfulness whenever I woke up during the night, struggling to grasp my situation — an inability to answer simple questions about where I was, and what was happening. For a few minutes, I was simply between my thoughts and flowing smoothly from one to the next. But then that eventually ended, and I was reminded that I was still stuck in this body.

⠀Those moments ended quickly when I awoke to the dark that day I left them, one of my arms numb, and creased from the pressure of my body. I wasn't allowed to float in my exhaustion. Instead, it was if something deep inside me had pushed my body to sit up and listen carefully.

⠀There was no more mid-day light seeping into my closed eyes. No more idle conversations were trickling into my room. No more of Rick's frantic screams, telling those strangers that they couldn't be here. It was just me. Having fallen asleep quite early during the daytime, the consequence was having to wake when the rest of the world didn't.

⠀Out of the loop, and almost hysterically wide-eyed in the deep twilight.

⠀And so I turned my body away from the bed, letting my feet fall quietly onto the ground as I did what that thing inside me told me to do. I listened.

⠀Rain. Short, light taps. But it was still there. And my first thought when I heard it was that Daryl always covered his motorcycle with something when it rained. He would use anything to do it, and he would unstrap the saddlebag and bring it inside.

⠀But he wasn't here to do that.

⠀With those tired thoughts running through my head quickly, I rushed to equip my shoes once again, not giving much mind to how late it must have been, or how ridiculous it was that I was doing something for someone who seemed like they wouldn't come back. But I had a small sense of hope that me doing this for him would not be in vain. I didn't fully understand the reason as to why Daryl would cover his motorcycle... just that he did it without fail. Tonight would not be one that he would fail by simply not being here.

⠀When I had successfully taken myself through the cellblock, and to the door that led outside, I nearly lost my footing and fell to the ground when the heel of my shoe caught itself on the open gate. Hushing the swear that almost screamed its way from my mouth, I looked down and saw the sole pulling away from the fabric that once held it there, showing off the green socks I had noticed that morning. Except for this time, it wasn't something I could mention to the man once beside me. It was something I would have to fix on my own.

⠀I knew that I shouldn't be tribulating over a pair of shoes because that was just stupid... so I pushed that need far back on my to-do list.

⠀Entering the outside air after being unconsciously stuck in one place for what seemed to have been hours, the cold and wetness of it hit me like a bullet train, and it took me a moment to not let my breath stagger. Bringing my arms around myself as I realised that I had knowingly stepped out into the rain without a thought of putting some sort of coat on.

⠀I looked upwards, not seeing a single star in the sky as the darkened clouds passed over quietly, and slowly above the prison. Not letting up, and telling me that the rain would not stop in the short amount of time I would be out here.

⠀I wondered who was on watch, as my feet carried me quickly across the courtyard, and I spotted the low, ambient light coming from one of the watchtowers — seeing nothing but a motionless silhouette pointing itself towards the gates of this place.

⠀My idle staring was making what I planned to be a short trip much longer, and as I moved slowly towards where I remembered his bike was, my shirt pulled downwards — dripping frigidly — water spilling through my knuckles as I clutched whatever warmth I had into my ribs. It almost stung me as I felt my fingers trying to become loose with numbness.

⠀The puddles under the soles of my feet rising into the broken parts of my boots, filling water space there was. It was dampening my stride. Making my walk echo in an otherwise low sounding atmosphere. The rain and I were harmonising.

⠀But I persisted onwards to my location, soon having to swim through utter darkness. The only light being the few, minuscule moments the moon above could peak itself through the weather. The metal pipes that weaved in and through his bike glistened, and thankfully so did the piece of tarp that had somehow not blown away glistened too.

⠀That made me rush, abandoning my more calm pace and reaching whatever feeling I had left in my hands to unstrap the saddlebag that lay across the back-seat of the bike. It sunk to the ground with its weight, my arm jolting downwards when I struggled to keep it afloat with me. The quickness of my actions was making my heart beat faster, telling me to go more quickly than I already was going. This had to be done. Daryl would have done it. I just have to do it for him this time.

⠀And maybe other times too until he came back. Perhaps until he never came back. I imagined the next times I would be more equipped and less desperate to get out of the rain.

⠀Once I had laid the tarp across the top of it, I fastened the small, tearing strings to whatever part of the bike I could — I wasn't sure whether it was necessary, but I had seen him do it sometimes. So I did.

⠀Everything that was happening right then... he should be here doing it, I thought. He should be right here beside me, telling me exactly where to tie the strings. Because 'you might need to do it someday'. That's what he told me a few months ago when I saw him load his crossbow and I had asked him how hard it was to do. He made me pull the string twice before he seemed happy. Because 'you might need to do it someday'. I didn't think that being passed a great possession of his would be so painful. When he had given me his knife, I saw it as a favour. Now I saw it as an heirloom — something I would have to carry from someone who was gone.

⠀I wanted him to come back... and I didn't entirely know why it hurt me so much to think about him not coming back... but it just did.

⠀In all of those thoughts, I hadn't noticed that I had just been standing there. In the wet. In the cold. In the rain that he might be feeling too. I imagined what it would look like to see it fall across his skin. I wondered if it would be as cold as it was now if he was just merely closer than he was right now.

⠀I had never thought that his absence would make me feel so small.

⠀I let the rain wash the blood from my skin — standing there for just a few moments longer, wondering if I could forget for a second that I let him go.

━━━━━━━━━━

⠀Daryl's cell was an intimidating piece of air. It was empty from the looks of it. There was no trace of him being there besides the tousled bed sheets and a snapped bolt that was hiding in the shadow of my form — standing in the doorway.

⠀I could only hear the small breaths of the others in the cellblock, and the meagre drips descending from my hair that lay thickly against my cheeks.

⠀I held the saddlebag within my hands, ready to place it in his cell. So I pulled myself inwards, wolfing down whatever fear I had of the room down. I found myself almost collapsing onto the ground, eager to place it under the bunk and leave quickly. But when I pushed it beneath, a small scrape caught my attention.

⠀I turned on my knees to sit down, curiosity getting the best of me as my hand approached whatever had made that noise. I expected a knife or even an empty tin can he had forgotten to throw away. I wasn't expecting to feel a tiny, cylindrical object. Pointed and sharp.

⠀I furrowed my brows, my movements turning hushed as I tried to figure out exactly what I was pulling on before it came into my view. It was attached to something before I had started to pull, but had come loose.

⠀A sewing needle. Blue string attached. I used whatever light there was in the room to look at it for a moment, before pulling more.

⠀I wasn't cold anymore, my body starting to dry. The idea of it being nighttime to me was foreign in those moments, my previous stance on the outside waking me up more than I had expected. I worried that I would wake the others, but other than that, I wasn't feeling much more than confusion until I found out what was under Daryl's bed.

⠀A hat. Two comical falcons were striding each other in their firey position amongst the black fabric. The red of their wings no longer bright and falling from its place. It took me less than a second to remember exactly why the hat was familiar. And it made my throat burn. My eyes squeezed shut, and I no longer held my previous, firm posture.

⠀I pulled it towards me, holding onto it almost for dear life as my back hit the wall of the cell.

⠀Lori had given me this. She had gifted it to me the day she died. It almost felt like I could feel her words hitting me again as I held it. I had lost it somewhere; I didn't know. But it was back in my hold. An overwhelming wave of grief spilling from my eyes. For as long as I could remember, I had been swallowing those feelings like large pills. Suffocating on the bad taste, and wanting nothing more than to expel it.

⠀It spilt from my eyes like tar — hot, and unwanted. I could feel my mind trying to close in on itself, telling me to turn away... don't look. This is too painful, it said. But I achingly opened my eyes again, my eyes dancing over the blue string I had pulled on woven through the broken strap. Trying and failing to hold it all together.

⠀Daryl had found it and tried to fix it. He had left without finishing it. And that suddenly made me feel that disconnect more severely. I wish I could weave the blue string between us all, tighten it wherever and whenever possible. As I curled into the piece of clothing, and myself, I longed for there to be anything but silence.

⠀I stifled my small cries, holding my breath in my cheeks, feeling the need to leave the room so I would no longer be swimming in the isolation of being awake when others were not.

⠀Instead, my eyes fell onto the saddlebag once more, an interest and almost intrusiveness inside me telling me that I should look further. Maybe I could find something that would pry me away from the memories of Lori.

⠀Setting the hat down beside me, I let my right hand dive into the closest pocket, feeling nothing but stiff feathers gather around my hand. It seemed that he had saved them from the owl he had caught the day we found the prison.

⠀Venturing towards the other pocket, it was not as empty as the previous. I pulled on it, yanking when it didn't fully let itself free. The fabric I had found seemed old and rough. And it was familiar — another memorial of the past in the shade of purple. The small backpack I once held in such high regard, because it used to be all I had left. And it had been with us this whole time. Shoved, and stowed away on the bike Daryl rode most days. Inconspicuously present when I thought I had lost it.

⠀I wondered why he had kept it for me. And what was inside, intrigued me more than the torn, and aged state of the backpack in my hands. The zip had fallen away, looking as if it had gotten stuck at one point, and in frustration had been ripped apart from it. Leaving the bag open, but folded into itself.

⠀Inside was a clear, ziplock bag — red fastening where there had once been a sorry excuse for glue to hold it closed. The state of it is almost pristine, amongst the otherwise dishevelled emotion that seemed to follow Daryl's belongings around. It was like finding a pearl in the sand. And I didn't feel much of anything until I saw what was inside it.

⠀The notebook I once never let go. Still severed, and ruptured. Burnt in some places. Daryl had somehow gathered all the pieces together to make a preserved memory in a bag. My heart began to race at the thought of him standing by the fire and leaning down to pick up all the pieces. Something I never asked him to do, but he still did. He had kept all these things for me.

⠀I had an inkling that he had been waiting until I was somewhat ready to receive them back, then he would. In the meantime, while everything had been happening — while I had killed, and died — he was carrying around my memories that were too hurtful to look at every day.

⠀I cared about Daryl... profoundly and unconditionally. Yet I had no idea that he bore the weight of my divided pieces of history. Somehow, it made me question if I knew him at all.

⠀As I sat there, rifling through the pages, I once knew by heart, yet again I wanted nothing more than for him to be there beside me. For that must have been his intention. To give it to me when I was ready.

⠀I wasn't ready to receive these gifts he had wrapped and preserved for months. Yet here I was, letting my tears spill over effortlessly, as each page held a mountain of terror and grief — my trembling handwriting. The frantic scratchings that I told myself were drawings. Pictures from a life I had struggled to forget — the last one I had of my parents and my brother. All these things were haunting; therefore, I should have unknowingly waited to see them.

⠀That was the consequence of letting him leave. There were many more. The squeezed state of my brain as I swallowed each recollection left my body feeling heavy. The weight had shifted from Daryl to me. If he wasn't here, then he couldn't carry these things for me.

⠀That's what he always did. I didn't know if I could take his place. He was stronger than me... less prevalent to let things get to him. Less likely to fuck things up. And I didn't know whether my mind could take him being gone because I relied on him too much.

⠀I hesitantly let go of the notebook, my hands shook and were still cold. The rain had been more frigid. The sounds had been quieter. The air had been harder to breathe in. The only thing I thought I could do to stop the winds of this torrential hurt was to let it go and make the needle next to my fallen legs dig into my skin.

⠀To feel anything other than excruciating.

⠀Instead, I reached over to the shirt on the bed I hadn't noticed before, hidden beneath the stained, white sheets. I wasn't sure what colour the shirt was, but I knew it was his the moment I pulled it to my face.

⠀My eyes closed, and my lungs opened up to the feeling of being against him again. The day he carried me away from that mall. When I spilt onto him with my blood. The little scent left on the shirt was all I needed to feel to remind me what it was like to stand next to him. That's all I wanted.

⠀I had wanted so many things in life. To not hurt. To feel safe. To hurt someone. To be strong. But no need had been more substantial than the one I was feeling right now. The simple need to stand in the same space as the man who saved my life. The man who had carried whatever soul I had dropped without question.

⠀I pushed my arms into the sleeves, far too big for my body. But I let the fabric swallow me... suffocate me. I allowed it to gather around my neck and press into my windpipe. I made the shirt bury me under whatever memory it had left in it.

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note ⛈

marley rly be emo this chapter.
also sorry for the late update i really don't have an excuse. that shirt scene got me sobbin tho

words : 5883
2020 / 13 / 05
edited ✓