Hello! So this is the first time I've written a Walking Dead fanfiction, and I do hope it goes over well! I have ideas planned for the future, though I am very open to new ideas as well as characters suggestions. All of the characters will be OC, so any connections to original Walking Dead characters are purely coincidental. It does, however, take place during the same time period as the series, so locations could repeat.
This fic does start off slow in the beginning to explain a bit of back story, though I'll keep the chapters short to get to the action!
I put a warning in the description, though I want to stress that there are mentions of abuse and rape, though I'll never elaborate on the scenes. But if anything might be offensive or triggering for you, please don't read!
Again, any suggestions and comments are loved and welcomed! Thank you for reading!
"What do you mean 'they're fake'?" I demanded, the bag in my hand jolting about with my frustrated hand motions. "When have I ever given you something fake?"
"Maybe you got yourself a bad dealer there, Red. I'm tellin' you, those are fake," he insisted, pointing at the bag for added emphasis.
I groaned loudly, turning away from the man standing in front of me and pacing back and forth a few steps. My waist-length honey brown hair spilled from my hood and swayed with my movements.
"Look, I don't have time for this, I have somewhere else I need to be. Either you take it or you don't. $250 is my final offer, got it?" I held the bag up again, containing half a dozen small yellow-colored pills in a bag. In the real world, where normal people took oxycodone for their proper use, the pills helped with constant pain. That wasn't always the case on the streets, however. Usually crushed, the user would snort or inject the pills, but I didn't crush them. I wanted as little to do with the dealing while still collecting my money and be gone.
"Where you gettin' $250 from?" The man who stood in front of me didn't have a name. Or well, he did, but I wasn't told it. He operated under the name X, not wanting his name to get around to the public. X attempted to live a decent life during the day, working as a busboy for a family diner, though his life didn't matter to me. My name was unknown to him, as well. Everyone out here only referred to me as "Little Red" since a girl who sold drugs standing at 5'5" with little to no muscle on her could only be labeled after a little girl bringing goodies to her grandmother.
"They go for one dollar a milligram. Each of these are forty milligrams. Now what's forty multiplied by six?" I waited for a few seconds while he figured the math out in his head. I had known X for a few months now. Often times, we functioned on good terms, though after being sold a bad batch only a week ago, he didn't trust even his most frequent dealers.
"That's ten extra bucks you robbin' me. They ain't even crushed, girl, come on!"
"I've added on for every minute of my life you've wasted. Give me the money or I'll find someone else who will give me more." Our tones said we hated either other though we both were aware we were two of the most decent people in the neighborhood. We took care of each other when needed, having enough trust in the other to hold up their end of the deal. If either of us needed money quickly, we trusted each other with a loan. It was probably stupid to trust someone like him, but in reality, I wasn't really any better.
I raised my eyebrows at him, silently asking if he would hand over the money or not. Finally, he dug into his pocket and took out a roll of cash, counting each bill out one by one, driving me even more crazy. He had a way about him, making you want to punch his teeth in. But, I could always rely on him for a quick buck, so I refrained from doing so. Even still, the longer he kept me waiting, the closer the time moved towards nine o'clock.
Eventually, the money landed into my hand. I gave him the baggie of pills and tucked the money into the pocket of my hoodie.
"Give me a little more credit, X, I'm not gonna scam you."
X looked at me for a while before nodding his head a little. "Yeah. I just don't know if anyone would scam you." His voice sounded sincere, almost like an older brother. "You're young, Red, and your cute little southern accent don't make you very scary."
Shaking my head at him, I took a few steps back, inching towards the end of the alley. "I don't deal with anyone to get these, they're 'scripts. I'll let ya know when I have something from another source."
X nodded at me, looking down at the pills before tucking them away in his jacket. "Come back to the woods soon, Little Red." I nodded at him quickly before leaving the alley, heading back over to my car parked a block away.
I hated doing what I did, but I had no other choice. The pills belonged to my aunt, having been prescribed to them after being diagnosed with breast. But I wasn't robbing a poor lady from her pain medication. She refused to take the prescribed amount, afraid to ruin her body even further by taking too many pills and insisted she could tolerate the pain. I didn't feel guilty so long as she kept up her strong attitude. But I couldn't just ask her for them. Drug dealing wouldn't exactly go over well with anyone in my family, despite how fucked my family was. My mom had a key to her house I "borrowed" every Tuesday night while my aunt worked the night shift. I stopped by her house on the way home from work, grabbed one of the numerous bottles she kept in her bathroom and left. She never noticed nor cared, so the process went over smoothly. I needed the money more than she needed pills which didn't cost her anything.
I didn't drink or a use drugs, so the money wasn't used poorly. Every penny I managed to earn was saved, aiming to afford an apartment. It didn't matter how big or small, so long as it could fit my sister, my mom and I. It definitely wasn't easy, though. I had already dropped out of high school my junior year to pick up two jobs and it still wasn't enough. There was a time when I had few months worth of minimum wage saved up in a bank account, though it wasn't long before my dad found it, insisted I didn't need it and took it. After, I kept my earnings hidden in my room, only able to pray my dad didn't find it.
I didn't drug deal often, since my aunts pain medication only went for so much, not being a popular drug. Six pills could barely give me three hundred dollars, but only if I could find someone stupid enough to pay so much. Not to mention the risk of getting caught. There was no saying what my dad would do to my sister if I had to be sent away. With only my mom to protect her, she'd have his anger directed towards her rather than me. I couldn't even think about it without feeling sick. But that's where X came in. He had heard as much about my life as he cared to listen to though he also wouldn't go out of his way to help me with finances. I wouldn't ask, either. People like him never gave out money for free. We might have been closer than most people on the streets, but that didn't mean anything was given out.
By the time I got home, the clock read five minutes past ten o'clock. There was no way I would be able to live after being an hour and a half late unless my dad had become shitfaced drunk. I walked in the back door, halfheartedly trying to be quiet. If my dad noticed my absence, he'd notice my return.
I opened the handle to the door and pushed it open, leading into the dimly lit kitchen inside my house. My mom stood there, washing some last minute dishes cluttering the sink. She wasn't very old for a mother of a seventeen year old, only in her early forties, but her appearance made her seem much older. Her hair was short and gray, bags under her eyes and her skin showing some serious signs of age. But living in a house like this, it wasn't easy to look like you just left a beauty parlor.
The relationship I had with my mom was complicated. I resented her for several reasons though I still felt the need to protect her. Our roles seemed reversed in every way possible, despite her being my mother. I was the one she relied on for protection even if she didn't come out and say it. She looked to me for mental support and trusted me to take care of her daughter more than herself. She had been broken down by my father, and as much as I tried to pity her, I could only blame her for our situation. Everything was her fault. But she believed that, too, trying to make my life as easy as possible on her side. When it came to misbehaving, the extent of her punishments were the typical "I'm-disappointed-in-you" mom faces. Compared to my father, I had experienced far worse.
I closed the door quietly behind me and walked past her silently. She didn't look at me, but she turned off the running water and lowered the sponge in her hand into the sink.
"Why were you out so late?" She asked in a quiet tone to keep my father from hearing. Her voice wasn't condescending though was the same tone a mother would use to ask if their child had completed their homework. She tried to act motherly from time to time, but it never worked for her.
"I was at Ty's. Does it matter?" Ty had been my friend since second grade. I trusted her with secrets about me even my mother and sister didn't know. She had attempted to get away from my house several times though without success. I wouldn't budge, knowing the option of being beaten up by my dad surpassed having to live with the guilt of causing the mayhem should anyone find out. If someone were to be notified, my dad would either attack me or my mom, meaning my sister would have to witness everything. I couldn't put her through that. To some extent, Ty understood. Enough, at least, for her to accept my decisions. She settled with doing what she could to cheer me up when I became saddened. She was also my only friend who didn't mind my sister tagging along with us when we hung out. I refused leave her home with my father longer than I had to.
"Yes, a little," my mom said, her voice hardening slightly. "Your curfew is nine, you know that. What if it had been your father standing here instead of me?" She turned to face me, her hands still dripping from the soapy dish water.
"Yeah, because you care how he treats me, right?" I asked casually before walking over to the fridge and grabbing a soda can, popping the tab and taking a sip. My mom stayed quiet after my comment, having nothing to say in retaliation. She turned back to her dishes and continued doing them. I knew I only hurt her case any by making her feel like she was to blame though I hoped my remarks would lead her to take the actions I was too afraid to make; to leave, take Jessica and I somewhere safer.
"Claire, who the hell are you talking to?" A deep, hoarse voice called out from the living room, footsteps following the voice as he headed into the kitchen. My father appeared in the kitchen, a scruffy, beer-bellied, asshole holding the love of his life in his hand; a beer bottle. His hair was unkempt and his shirt had several faded stains. He looked at me and narrowed his eyes. "And where the fuck have you been?" His voice was still low, despite having obvious hints of anger in it. I hardly flinched at his tone anymore. I had already been expecting the punishment when the clock turned over to a minute past nine.
"Upstairs in my room," I answered him quietly. I liked to believe I could be tough, or at least acted that way despite the remarks of the guys on the street. In the presence of John, though, I felt like a weak five year old. It was especially worse when we were home alone. I felt the need to act strong around my mom or my sister. It made them less worried about me. But when it was just us, alone, I had no one to impress or protect, just me with my true weaknesses. "Why, did you need me for something?" I tried to act as innocently as possible, hoping to ease my upcoming punishment as much as possible. I could also imagine in my head my tone being sarcastic, allowing myself to have a small taste of revenge. As much as I would have loved to trash talk my father like I did my mother, it wasn't an option. I'd end up with some more bruises, he'd smack my mother around when she tried to stop him, and then there was the fear he'd take his anger out on Jessica. I'd go to prison for murder before he touched her. She was only eleven and had to deal with acting like her home life didn't threaten her sanity around her friends. At least half of her teachers at school suspected something was wrong. I made sure she didn't have to hide any bruises, but her home life could be depicted by the way she acted. She was timid, afraid of nearly everything. I wanted nothing more than for one of those suspicious teachers to come in and take Jessica away from here, but both of us knew leaving wasn't an option. As it stood, Jessica wasn't being abused, and I couldn't confess the abuse I had to endure. We both feared for our mother and what would happen to her should the authorities be contacted.
My mom was as defenseless as my sister. If a court case was ever filed against my dad for abuse, he'd do worse to my mom than just smack her around a bit. The situation was delicate and couldn't just be handled in any old way. It didn't matter, anyways. My mom had tried leaving him before, going to shelters and such with my sister and I when he was at his worse. But she'd always end up crawling back to him. She blamed herself for Ed's abuse and felt he didn't deserve to be abandoned. It was her fault we had to be stuck in the mess, and it was her fault we couldn't get out. She was the reason I was being raped. She was the reason I'd never finish high school, get a proper job, be able to provide for my sister, or lead a normal life. The years of resentment I felt for her only grew stronger with every passing day I dealt with my father. I couldn't help it, yet I still cared for her as any daughter would for her mother. I wanted to believe she would one day overcome Ed, I wanted to believe she could be a good mother. But somewhere deep in me, I had already given up hope.
"Yeah, a fucking hour ago. I called your name, and you didn't answer me." My dad's eyebrows furrowed together in anger, looking as though he had a unibrow as they touched in the center. His cheeks were flushed and his breath reeked of alcohol. He was drunk, which meant he'd at least go easier on me. Under the influence, my dad acted even more ignorant than usual. His hits didn't hurt as bad and his punishments followed suit. Unlike any other kid who had alcoholic parents, I wished mine to be drunk more often than not.
"I'm sorry, I had headphones in. It won't happen again, I promise." I bit down on my lip, hoping by some rare chance he'd let the situation go and continue watching TV.
"Don't you fucking lie to me," he growled, grabbing me by the hood of my sweatshirt and dragging me beside him and up the stairs. My heart skipped a beat, praying we wouldn't pass my sister on the way. I didn't believe he wouldn't do much in his drunken state but I still didn't want her to have to witness anything.
Entering my room, my father threw me aside and frantically searched my room before turning back to look at me.
"Where are those headphones of yours, huh?"
"They're in my desk draw," I muttered, my voice just barely a whisper. There was always a side of me, perhaps the same side who hoped my mom would shape up, that hoped my dad would hear the fear in my voice when I spoke to him and feel guilty. That maybe he'd realize his abuse was wrong and apologize for being such a terrible dad for all those years. Though, I was aware that side of me was just stuck in a fantasy world where my dad could be a decent person. As a kid, my imaginary friends wouldn't friends, though representations of what I wished my parents would be like. Someone to take care of me and protect me. The side of me who hoped my parents would awaken to their senses was only the same naive child in me.
Even though he knew I had lied about having headphones in, he still grabbed them from my drawer and broke them in half before tossing them aside. He turned back to me and slapped me across the face for good measure. I lowered my head and closed my eyes, hardly phased by the slap, though allowing him to believe it had.
"No more excuses now, huh?" I kept my head lowered and my mouth shut, though shook my head slightly to answer his question. He reached out and shoved me out of his way before walking out of my room, slamming my bedroom door behind him. I stayed still for a few moments after he left the room before walking over to my headphones and tossing them into the trashbin beside my desk. Only seconds after, my bedroom door creaked open, revealing the timid, pale face of my sister. Her eyes were filled with worry, having heard my dad yelling. She didn't have to ask questions anymore, though just look at me.
"It's okay, nothing happened." I gave her a fake smile before motioning her to sit on my bed. I tried to keep Jess in the shadows as often as possible. When the abuse took place behind doors, she wouldn't know about it. The only time I couldn't hide it was when she was present. But otherwise, she didn't need to be informed of everything.
"Did he hurt you?" She whispered, walking over and taking her seat on my bed as I sat next to her.
"No, he didn't hurt me. Don't worry so much, okay?" I whispered back, wrapping my arms around her and pulling her to my chest. I buried my face in her hair and closed my eyes again. What I said wasn't necessarily a lie. Compared to most of my dad's antics, a slap and a shove honestly didn't hurt. Even if it had, even if I was in tears from the pain, if she didn't see, I wouldn't show the pain.
"You should get to bed, you have school tomorrow." I kissed the top of my sister's head before letting her go. She nodded slightly, standing up and walking back over to the door.
"Night, Alex." She said to me. I smiled at her, hoping to further assure her I was truly alright.
"Night, Jess."