𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝐅𝐎𝐔𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐄𝐍
     𝑗𝑢𝑠𝑡 𝑏𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑠

⠀It was a quiet morning.

⠀It seemed that the majority of us had agreed to just be... silent. The strain and grief from yesterday were slowly spilling its way still. It crept up our backs and played in our hair. It made the ones on the back of my neck stand on end.

⠀As I surveyed the room, no one looked back. All purposefully focusing on their breakfast, which was a measly portion of cold oatmeal. But we'd found some café sugar packets, which pleased Carl as he wanted a sweeter taste.

⠀In my case, I didn't think I could even stomach what was in front of me. As I looked over to Oscar, as the sounds of his spoon scraping the bowl echoed among the silence.

⠀Whirling my tongue around my mouth, I debated whether I should give my food to someone who would appreciate it more. After being so desperate for it months ago, I didn't know what to do with it once I had it.

⠀Slouching in the dilapidated, wooden armchair, I brought the bowl closer to my mouth as a way to tempt me.

⠀It still resembled vomit.

⠀Rick Grimes emerged into the light, looking better than the last time I saw him. Last night he had peaked into the cellblock from the other side of that gate, and I couldn't sleep.

⠀He looked like a caged, feral animal, looking to see if he could escape. And he had the definite means to but remained in the shadows as he pursued back to whence he came.

⠀This moment, he was standing more straight— which was enough to say his head had cleared up. If only even a small portion. It seemed everyone was astonished, as we clearly had no opening line towards him.

⠀"Everybody okay?" I could tell by his eyes, he didn't, deep down, mean it.

⠀Nobody was prepared to answer, because I would answer 'no'. We're not okay. We never were when we were dismembered. Carol and Harvey were presumed dead. The only two people really prepared for a baby were lost in the tombs, somewhere. Either being consumed by walkers or the isolation.

⠀I lied. "Yeah," I slowly placed my bowl on the chair as I stood my ground towards him. "We're okay."

⠀He nodded quickly, never looking one of us in the eye. He appeared uncomfortable as if he'd forced the man he was now to check on us, rather than coming willingly.

⠀Hershel shifted to get a better look at the man. "What about you?"

⠀"I cleared out the boiler block." All by himself. My eyes widened. Since he had been around me, and he had spoken merciless words, I didn't doubt his ability to be ravenous, and violent... it just wasn't what I wanted for him. I knew how it felt — to stab and slash your way through grief, and strife. To want nothing, but to see hurt in someone else's eyes but your own.

⠀I knew how he felt.

⠀Rick's eyes stayed a fair distance away from the most of us. He didn't even brief a glance to his son, or daughter. But he did place a shaky palm on Carl's shoulder, patting it slowly as the young boy bit his lips, sensing his father's distress.

⠀"I have to get back. Just wanted to check on Carl."

⠀I furthered to his view, taking calculated steps. "How many were there?" I enquired.

⠀"I don't know."

⠀Glenn interjected. "We can help you clear out the bodies." He stepped up, away from the table as he waved a hand to our leader. He wanted to reach out to him but was replied to with an ill-confident snarl.

⠀"No, I do." Rick made it final. He didn't want help. He stepped between his feet, itching to get back. Until he strode his way over towards me, towering with his height and seeping aggression. I squared my shoulders, feeling an oncoming confrontation. But was met with nothing but questions. He was in the space between Daryl and I. "Everyone got a gun and a knife?"

⠀I looked over to the other man, as I didn't entirely know the answer. My weapons were steadily placed at the end of my bunk, and Daryl's old knife was kept tucked in one of my belt loops. Ever so often it would dig into my thigh, reminding me it was there and ready to be used.

⠀Daryl stayed still, a nervous, unsure stare towards his friend. He quickly masked it, as if Rick was the same person as before. "Yeah," he hovered his eyes over all of us. "We're runnin' low on ammo though."

⠀"Maggie and me were planning on making a run this afternoon," Glenn joined in once again, making Rick tilt his head towards him. "Found a phone book with some places we can hit, look for bullets and formula."

⠀The only important word to Rick there seemed to be 'bullets.' Not 'formula'. It hadn't crossed his mind.

⠀I watched Maggie nod from a distance, looking past the shadow of Rick but then keeping a closer eye on his movements. Sudden ones made me jump, but slow ones like his right now made me nervous. I knew he meant no harm. But it wasn't really real for him right now.

⠀There wasn't a heartbreak, only strife that he had to wade through. It's a long mile that isn't blue like people would normally associate with sadness. It's a long mile of weak piss yellow.

⠀My eyes jumped to Daryl as he began to speak. "We cleared out the generator room." One I had yet to be in. "Axel's in there now trying to fix it in case of emergency." A little too late. "We're gonna sweep out the lower levels as well."

⠀I hovered my arm next to Rick's, knowing that human contact wasn't needed. I swallowed thickly before adding my piece. "Harvey and Carol are still somewhere. Hopefully, we'll find them."

⠀Rick nodded his head feverishly. "Good. Good."

⠀He retreated from us rather quickly, forcing his steps heavily, letting his heels click loudly on the concrete below. His departure caused my body to strode after him. Trying to match his pace was no used, as just when I called out his name, desperate to help him cure this sickness, he closed to barred door on me.

⠀"Leave him," Hershel commented, all of them still looking at where he once was.

⠀"He shouldn't be left alone." I kept my eyes on the other side of the gate, and the barrier our leader had clearly set between him and I. "We don't know what he's going to do."

⠀"Trust him to come through."

⠀"I don't," I looked over my shoulder to the old man I had seemingly saved. "He could hurt himself or worse."

⠀Glenn came up beside me. He placed a kind hand on my shoulder, signalling me to turn around so I could have a more direct conversation with them. He held his voice above a whisper. "It's clear he just wants to be left alone. If we change that, then yes he could do worse."

⠀I didn't hold the same volume, confidently crying out to the crowd. "He shouldn't be left alone even if that's what he wants." My hands curled into fists, as I held them over the handle to the gate. "We've lost Lori and T-Dog; Harvey and Carol are out there dying!" My words elevated to a desperate yell. "We can't help them, but we can help him."

⠀"Marley," Daryl stood, abandoning his disposition to the topic of a grieving Rick Grimes. "Think about this."

⠀"I am."

⠀"Then what are you gonna do?"

⠀I held in a breath, not really sure of how to explain it. "I'm gonna try... and help Rick. Somehow."

⠀"Carol?"

⠀"I can't breathe in here."

⠀"Carol? I know you're there. I just— I need to speak or I think I'm gonna die."

⠀"We're not gonna die. They'll find us..."

⠀"I have a feeling they won't... I can feel it in my lungs."

⠀"Harvey, don't think like that."

⠀"We can't fucking get this door open. What if there's a dozen walkers out there, ready to defend this door and they get killed. Maybe we're not worth fighting."

⠀"Harvey, stop."

⠀"Carol... I lost him. He was all I had."

⠀"I know."

⠀"He taught me to fight, and to be brave, and to find use in myself."

⠀"Then honour that."

⠀"I can't he's gone."

⠀"Does that mean you're gonna stop fighting?"

⠀"Yeah... I think so. I don't wanna fight anymore. I lost T... now, what the fuck am I gonna do?"

⠀"Rick?"

⠀I wrapped my arms around my shoulders, as the baking heat didn't seem to hit me. The sprayed walls sent a chill down my spine, as they reflected my shadows in crawling dark figures. They tore after me.

⠀I coughed into my hands, looking between each and every door I passed. It had been a while since we'd lived in the prison, but these tombs would always remain a labyrinth to me. However long we were here, I wouldn't find my way with ease.

⠀Then I must have figured that Rick wasn't in a room. He was there. In that dreaded graveyard where I held her baby for the first time. Those answers in my mind still didn't lead me anywhere more direct, but the familiarity of that ghostly walkout seemed to lead me on the right path.

⠀As I came to a door, goosebumps raised along my arms, and I rubbed them down before reaching to push the door inwards.

⠀"Rick?"

⠀I found him pacing back and forth, hardly taking notice of me.

⠀That ghastly smell hit my body. Decay, and blood. The floor was stained, and seemingly dry scrubbed in a furious nature. In the corner of my eye, I spotted the indent in the floor where Carl's bullet had shot through, and to.

⠀He was radiating a wave of scorching anger, curling his fists and ever so often glancing to an idle phone, waiting for a call that would never sound.

⠀"Rick?" I whispered, yet he didn't take any notice. Furthering myself into the room, he only stopped walking when I stood myself directly in front of him. With those wandering, feral eyes he kept them away from my own. He seemed ashamed of how crazy he had seemed. Like he knew those skittish words only seemed insane.

⠀It was hard to see these emotions from a distance as if they were being syphoned directly through me. They travelled across my stomach and into his mind. A puncture wound sewing it's way through my organs. It made me feel... selfish.

⠀This wasn't about me in the slightest — this was about a man who had lost his wife.

⠀"What are you doing?" I dared not reach out to him as he reached past me towards the desk. His hands braced against the hard edges of it. He completely surpassed my question, keeping all his focus on a stray, useless phone. I wasn't sure if he expected a sound or not, but his silence was starting to make me want to run away.

⠀Instead of stepping away, I found the tall bar stool idly sitting in the middle of the room, and let it scrape against the concrete. The sharp sound made me wince, and I sensed the aggravation from Rick.

⠀"May I?" I asked meekly, swallowing thickly after the fact.

⠀I wanted it so I could relax around him, and so he wouldn't tower over me. So we could be at the same level. Emotional support wasn't my best skill, momentarily, but I knew that when another person can sense your fear, they reflect it right back at you.

⠀He nodded.

⠀Sitting atop it, my lips mashed together, breathing through my nose heavily. His eyes were still glued to the phone. I wondered if he'd already heard voices on the other end, and if it was anything linked to guilt, they were the voices of the dead. They would haunt him like smoke, trailing up, and following the flow of air. Seeking its way into his lungs and settling there to turn his organs into less functioning things. I knew that in situations like these it was hard to breathe.

⠀I would hold my breath for days over the loss of Lori but learned to exhale when the responsibility of looking after the people she left behind arose. In a way, it wasn't guilt over not doing enough. It was the sight of something I'd seen before. Loss. A decay of the mind. Lori burned and now Rick was cold.

⠀His rhythm was running slow.

⠀"Take all the time you need, Rick." I started, looking down at my hands curled over my jeans. "We're safe enough. And you got us here." I knew he could hear my shaking voice, as his head tilted towards me.

⠀"Who's on the other side?" I asked, looking over to the phone. Its loose wire was dangling over the back edge of the table. "Who are you waiting for?"

⠀His throat lurched slightly as if he wanted to be oh so careful about what he said. A secret he didn't want to tell. "A woman— she said she had a group." He picked up the phone from the receiver and placed it down quickly. He was adamant to hear it ring. I knew that if he picked it up and brought it to his ear, no ringing would echo down these corridors. Only in his head.

⠀With apprehension in his eyes, I picked the phone up myself, bringing it to my left ear. Nothing. Not even static. The dust graced itself across my cheek, and I imagined that's where Rick got the dark smudge on his right ear.

⠀I put it down quickly, fearing that he would grab it from me.

⠀"What did you hear?" he asked, eyes tightening towards me.

⠀There was nothing I could do. I couldn't help him. I didn't hear what he did, and I thought I could understand. But everyone's stages zig-zag in most awful ways. Disappointment followed by anger. Anger followed by denial. The volume never ceased.

⠀He could hear what he wanted.

⠀I rubbed the side of my face, tempted to cover my eyes. My fingers shadowed the image of a wayward Rick. He was somewhere else.

⠀And so I would leave him to travel along this road. He would be angry, and I didn't want to stay and watch. Glenn was right, and so was Hershel; this was his time to unburrow himself. To dig upwards through this dirt.

⠀I hopped down from the chair, turning on my heel.

⠀I gave him one last look. There was nothing I could do, and that chill of knowing sent a wave down my muscles. A shock, turning my bones to steel.

⠀"Let me know what she says," I asked him quietly, and when he replied with a weak nod, I knew that he was too stuck in the mud for me to pull him out.

⠀As I entered the cell block once more, I was tempted to retreat to my cell. But the sound of a steady wail caught my attention. Just as I stepped past the gate, Beth came into my view holding the baby I once held hostage. And she bounced the child steadily in her arms, eyebrows furrowed as she struggled to understand why the small being wouldn't stop crying.

⠀I had the inkling to walk over and try to help, but my legs led me without that thought coming first, being physically drawn to the helpless teen.

⠀"Where's your dad?" I asked quickly, rushing over and enveloping my arms over the child in hers, to see if I could help.

⠀"He's just left to see Rick."

⠀"Oh"

⠀Baby made little murmurs and wines, but eventually, when I let her suck on the end of my sleeve, she quietened. I furrowed my eyebrows, figuring out what she needed. I looked over to Beth with the answer. "I think she needs teething toys or something... a pacifier."

⠀"Maybe Glenn and Maggie will find one."

⠀"I wouldn't trust the hygiene of one in this world," I started spinning the little girl around, looking down at her. Her eyes weren't entirely open as she wound her tiny fingers on the edge of my shirt sleeve.

⠀The end of it turned damp, and more quickly than I expected, she let go and started to cry again.

⠀"Has she been fed?" I asked Beth, and she returned my question with an unsure stare. I lifted an eyebrow, wishing for her to speak.

⠀"Um... She was fed this morning." She answered as I passed the girl back into her arms.

⠀I let out a sigh. "Baby's this size probably need to be fed twelve times a day," I reached my hand over and let my fingers trace over the soft, blonde tassels of hair on the little one's head. "She's probably just a little hungry."

⠀Beth nodded and briskly walked away as if she were a soldier I just gave an order to.

⠀I shook off the feeling of guilt when I remembered that I probably scared the teen. I probably shouldn't have followed her, to try and give Beth that assurance that there wasn't anything malevolent inside me... Right now.

⠀But I did, watching as she struggled to balance the child in her arms whilst preparing a bottle. She didn't ask for help, and I didn't offer any. Instead, it looked as if she had something else on her mind other than the wailing child.

⠀She started to almost whisper. "Um, they buried her. Out there on the grass." She was clearly scared to talk about the subject.

⠀I shook my head, furrowing my eyebrows in confusion. "There wasn't anything to bury," I swallowed thickly, closing my eyes tightly. "I-I saw. There was just... Bones."

⠀"They still buried her." she looked at me with sympathy. "T-Dog too."

⠀I didn't look her in the eyes...

⠀"Okay."

⠀The gate to the field was already open, and the threat of outside forces was always imminent but pushed back to our minds with the security of the fences.

⠀Walking through the courtyard and onto the unsteady, rock path that leads downwards, I scanned the grass for any sign of holy grief. Expecting a crude, wooden cross, it was exactly what I found.

⠀It wasn't far from the flattened grass from the first night we came here, a blackened circle from the dying, and now dead fire.

⠀I passed what I saw, towards her grave, descending quietly to the soft, warm earth. Bringing my arms around my knees, I hugged them tightly to my chest, digging my nails into the ripped spaces of my jeans.

⠀The cross wasn't at all welcoming. It reminded me of when we were looking for Sophia and were lead astray but the hopeful sounds of clashing bells. And there was the depiction of Christ, bloody, and betrayed. Let down by his own God and father.

⠀I reached out to the symbol, lightly hovering my fingers of the knots of wood, trying to find faces in the patterns... Her face.

⠀Nothing to avail... I thought I'd cursed all... For God to throw us into the flames. Before the cold months when I told him I would never forgive him. For letting me live when they didn't.

⠀"I'm sorry," I looked to the cross, feeling the trembling path of a tear make it's way to my lips. "I'm sorry this happened to you."

⠀Curling my fingers in the blades of green at my knees, I leaned forward, digging my nails and grinding the dry earth between my digits. "I should have saved you."

⠀And just then, rattling swarmed my ears instead of the steady breeze. Looking from her grave, I saw the usual amount of walkers, but for some reason, a single one caught my attention. And so I rose from the ground, cautiously approaching the lone one.

⠀They reached up to the fence, clutching it tightly, as this woman stared me down, covered in blood.

▬▬▬▬▬▬
𝐧𝐨𝐭𝐞 ⛈

yo it has been a while
my friends.

but bitches be back.

𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝𝐬 : 𝟑,𝟑𝟕𝟒
𝟐𝟎𝟏𝟗 / 𝟎𝟔 / 𝟎𝟏
𝐞𝐝𝐢𝐭𝐞𝐝 ✓

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