[A/N]: Hello dear readers, this is my entry for the writing contest organized by the amazing rickdixonandthefandomlifeposts. I would like to warn beforehand that there is a description of sexual abuse, so that is why this is M-rated.
Thank you so much Jill, for making me write again.
I hope you'll enjoy.
I run.
I run and run, until my calves feel like acid and my bones hurt from rhythmically clicking together for hours on end.
But tears of happiness stream down my face. I got free of that horrid place. I am free.
The rush of freedom seems to numb all the wounds, all the bruises. My legs, blotched with purple and green. My swollen, dark blue and yellow ribs. My maimed back.
I haven't felt happy in seven weeks and four days. The warmth pooling in my stomach and streaming upwards like sunrays feels vaguely familiar, like a pleasant déjà vu that you can't exactly pinpoint.
Yet my fear of the convoy catching me in my escape keeps me on my sore feet, running through the woods rather than on the main road. Though the road would probably be easier on my ankles, it also would be easier for a Savior with a sniper rifle.
My plan is just to keep going until I run into something good. I hope there are settlements nearby. Otherwise, I'll be royally screwed.
My group and I hadn't been in this area for too long. We had set up camp further back, on the opposite side of the Sanctuary. That's where we got caught.
So I haven't a clue what's out here. There's no hope of finding that group again because they are either dead or hunting me right now.
My clouded brain forms a plan to keep going until sunset. Then sleep in a tree or whatever I run into. Up until now: trees. And the odd walker. Though I doubt they would make a good sleeping spot, with all the pointy bones poking out. Not to mention the stench of rotting flesh probably keeping you awake.
One thing I've learned from this world is that it is irresponsible to meander around in the dark. You're completely dependent on either the light that the moon gives you, or your hearing. Which, in most of our cases, is damaged by gun shots and explosions and what not. Damaged enough not to hear the rustling of leaves from a mile away, at least. Normally, a surprise walker situation would be easily resolved by jabbing a knife into their soft skull. But the current lack of a knife is the problem.
And so, I just keep going. Keep running until I don't feel like I have voluntary control over my feet anymore; like the rhythmic patter is completely outside of my conscious command.
Like breathing. Blister-inducing breathing, that is.
What this rhythmic patter did not take into account, however, was tripping over a bush. Face first in the leaves, a nice mouthful of mud.
I hiss a 'fuck' before hoisting myself up again. I have no time for self-pity, or even laughter at my clumsiness. I spit out the mud, wiping my mouth on my tattered shirt sleeve.
My chin hurts from that fall, so I rub it a bit. Not that that childish habit will make the pain magically disappear, but what else am I to do? At least I didn't knock any teeth out.
A quick look in the bush, something weathered and white catches my eye. I thrust my hand in and drag at the object to get it out, but this takes the effort of two hands.
That explains at least why I tripped. I'm not a complete idiot.
I drag out a road sign. 'Alexandria Safe-Zone, 8 miles'. Well, someone doesn't want to be found.
Which means someone is living there. Maybe they're nice. Probably, they're not. But it's my best shot.
It's enough to restart my engines and motivation to go.
After a few hours of walking, I see wisps of smoke. Maybe this is it.
I walk careful steps in the direction, careful to keep cover in the woods. With full view of a road, I see a pile of burning mattresses, and a woman with dark dreads and a katana standing next to it. Seething.
Maybe she knows the way. Though now doesn't seem like a good time to approach. She looks like she might hack me in two if I even greet her.
Of course just at that moment, a walker starts yelling behind me. The startled shift of my weight is just enough to snap a twig, and of course this woman has the perceptive abilities of a fucking owl.
"Who's that?!" She asks in my general direction.
Well, shit. Fuck. Shit.
"Come out now or I'm coming to you."
I decide it's best to just come out with my hands above my head. "Please, don't kill me," I speak quietly, my voice croaky from disuse.
"Why were you sneaking up on me?"
"I didn't mean to, I swear. I-I just-,"
"What? Are you with the Saviors?"
"No!" I yell slightly too loudly. "I mean, no. They are… repulsive," I spew like the word is hot fire.
"Why should I believe you?"
I hear a gurgle behind me, and I swing around just in time to see a walker diving on me. My fingers press into its maggot-infested shoulders to hold it off.
Then a katana appears on either side of its face, piercing its skull.
"Thanks."
"You're welcome," the woman says, observing my slightly swollen eye, red with blue clouds of bruises adorning it.
I decide to lift my shirt up along my arm, to show the other countless bruises, as well as on my belly.
Pity fills her eyes, a frown forming. "What do you know about the Saviors?" She then asks in a much calmer tone.
"I know that they captured me. Some of them tortured me. I escaped," I list the things as though listing paint colors from a catalogue. I can't think too much about it.
The woman sighs. Then she extends her hand.
"My name's Michonne. I'm going to take you back to our settlement, Alexandria." My heart jumps with relief. "I will introduce you to our leader, Rick."
"Thank you!" I smile enthusiastically. This is the best news I've had in days. Or weeks. Seven, to be exact. "Uhm- sorry- my name is Leanne. But call me Lee, please."
"Okay, Lee. Let's go."
The walk over there was full of tension, with the woman – Michonne – side-glancing at me constantly. I could tell she felt sorry for me. I must look like a sorry shit, too.
The silent walk comes to an end when the metal walls come in view. Wow, this really is a safe-zone.
They even have watchtowers, where someone is on guard. Assumedly all the time. Michonne gestures for them to open up the gates, and it happens. Brilliant.
Stepping foot in the community, I feel a whole lot of eyes poking holes in my body. Michonne tells someone to go get Rick, and they run off.
I feel the suspicion rolling off these people. I can't blame them, what with the Saviors ruling and terrorizing. "Don't get in the car with strangers" seems like a very applicable advise now, under Negan's rule.
These people are all very… Groomed. Maybe that's why they're staring so much at me, the contrast between me and Michonne being so large that I might as well lay down on the ground to vegetate, as the unwelcome weed that I no doubt look like.
What if they want to hand me over to Negan to get a little pat on the head and a cookie? Maybe that's why they're drilling holes into my skin with their stares.
Or maybe – probably – I've just been out of the social game for too long and I shouldn't jump to conclusions.
A man with curly brown hair, a salt and pepper beard and a steady walk approaches. He is accompanied by another man with similar curly brown hair and a friendly gaze, but clean shaven.
Michonne immediately starts talking in a rushed tone. "Rick, this is Lee. She has escaped the Saviors and might be able to help us in our current… Predicament."
Rick's piercing blue eyes are even worse than all of those penetrating stares from the whole community combined. He takes me in for a moment too long, silence stretching thickly.
Then he extends his hand. "Hi, I'm Rick Grimes, welcome to Alexandria," he speaks in his thick southern accent, never taking his eyes off mine.
"Leanne. Please call me Lee," I shake his hand, weak as though my arm is a cooked spaghetti.
I feel self-conscious all of a sudden under his thorough scrutiny. They've gotta be careful, I get it; it wouldn't be beneath Negan to send a spy. But it's hard not to feel as if it's due to my appearance. I look like I've been taken a dump on by Satan, and probably smell even worse.
"Let's talk more inside," He says, gesturing his arm vaguely to the church building.
Only now I notice how large this community actually is. They must have a building for everything. Not to mention everyone.
I shuffle after Rick and Michonne, who quietly speak to one another.
Good. That always makes me feel right at ease.
Entering the church, it feels very roomy and filled with light. A man with a timid yet friendly face greets me. He seems to be a priest, quite surprisingly. I hadn't expected any of those to be left, let alone have a role in a community like this.
Rick and Michonne sit down, so I do the same.
"So, Lee. You were with the Saviors," he drawls.
"Their prisoner."
"We are in the sad position of providing for them. Negan killed two of our own, and took someone prisoner, much like yourself. At this point, we don't have a choice but to work for them." Rick's face is void of emotion. Or at least, he tries to let it be. His eyes shine with the pain of a leader who has been driven in a corner.
"I'm sorry," I say softly.
"So what can you tell us about them? I mean, you must have seen some things."
"Rick… Maybe now is not the time," Michonne says gently, taking in my aghast appearance.
"What kind of things do you want to know? You don't plan to attack them, do you?"
Rick furrows his eyebrows. "No. But Negan took a friend of ours. I wanna know what kind of position he is in." He looks down, obviously worried for his friend.
My heart aches to know someone close to them is in that same fucking situation I was in.
"O-okay. I'll tell you. Just… Give me a moment." They must think I am the weirdest creature alive. My disheveled appearance, my inability to form and finish coherent sentences. It's been a while since I've been a person.
"Do you know that their people say 'I'm Negan'?"
Rick breathes an annoyed sigh out of his nose, and Michonne looks away with disgust evident on her face.
"Yeah."
"They, uhm- they force you to say that. Until you do you get- you get locked up."
"Where do they lock you up?" Michonne asks in a soft voice, opposite to the disgust in her face.
"In a room. The size of a tiny storage closet." I sigh shakily. "It's dark all the time."
"Do you get food?"
"Dog food."
They both sigh out a 'fuck', Rick running a hand over his face.
"They make you do their dirty work. They have these- these fences… They let the prisoners spike walkers on the fences. No weapons. Just… Whatever stick you can find on the ground." Another shaky breath. "Negan calls you to him once in a while. If you don't say what he wants to hear, he'll throw you back in the prison."
Rick clears his throat. "Can you- can you tell us something about their building?" Rick asks attentively.
"It's an abandoned factory, many floors. Fences furnished with walkers that still bite. Uhm- I think they have some type of main hall for commerce and meetings and the likes. But- but I never saw it. Only the prisoner hallway and the outside."
"Are they lookin' for you right now?"
"They must be. They never let anyone escape. Or at least not alive."
Rick and Michonne exchange a look.
"I'm gonna give it to you straight, Lee. We're gonna have to discuss with the rest of the community whether the risk of housing you is worth it."
"You're their leader, aren't you? Can't you make the call?" I plead. Rick seems to be on my side. What if what the rest of these people want, is to turn me over to Negan?
"I'm not the leader anymore." Rick looks down at his hands. "Negan is."
"So I'm as good as dead," I whisper. I stand up. "If you could spare me some food and water, I'll be out of your hair in five minutes." I try to walk away, but Rick grabs my wrist.
"It doesn't mean you can't stay, Lee. The people of Alexandria will value my opinion of you. And not everyone needs to be on board. Just the majority."
As his eyes pierce mine, I sit back down.
"How will you convince them that I am not a spy?"
"You'll tell them what you just told me. I'm sure they'll come to the same conclusion."
"Why do you believe me?"
"If you 'were Negan', you would never disclose this kind of strategic information. Walkers on the fence is something you'd wanna keep surprise," he drawls. "Besides… Why would you do this to yourself." He gestures to my bruised and swollen eye, crossing his arms and sitting back.
I nod, my eyes glued to my hands. God forbid if I cry about the rest of what they did to me.
Before too long, the people of Alexandria have gathered in the church building.
"Everyone, this is Lee. She escaped the Saviors and she needs a place to stay. Now, I know as well as you do that Negan is in charge now, but… With the way they've treated her- the only right thing to do is give her shelter. So I want to ask whether any of you have a problem with her stayin' here."
"Why? How do we know she's not a spy?" An attractive brunette wearing a cap asks coldly.
"Because of this." Rick suddenly walks towards me and lifts the sleeve of my shirt, revealing the gruesome sight of bruises. I flinch away, quickly rolling my sleeve back down, and frowning at Rick.
"She could have done that to herself, or let Negan do that to her, with some willpower."
"To this extent?" Rick asks incredulously.
"When I met her on the road, she was like a scared animal," Michonne adds. "Scared, hungry, alone and afraid to death she would be killed."
"Maybe she is just a good actress," the girl counters.
"Negan didn't do this to me," I speak suddenly. Everyone else falls silent. "This was done by- by this guy… He came to me at night. Did, uhm- did other things to me too." My voice breaks. Shit.
I don't know why, but the girl finally shuts up. And with it, a lot of shocked and sympathetic gazes are directed at me.
"I-," I clear my throat. "I could give you a partial layout of the building, together with which direction to walk in to get there."
This seems to spark attention among several people.
"Well I'll, uhm- I'll go so you can make a decision," I say quietly to Rick, though the rest can hear me just as clearly.
"You can stay," Rick says, one corner of his mouth lifting.
I sigh with relief. "Thank you so much."
"Yeah. We figured, if we wouldn't take ya in, how much different from the Saviors would we actually be? Well, actually, Gabriel figured that, but… I agreed."
"Gabriel is the priest?"
"Yeah. He is a very appreciated counselor. His moral judgment is trusted by most." Rick squints against the sun and I can't help but notice how attractive he is. And how disgusting I am.
"Is there any place I could wash? I-I bet you haven't seen someone as disgusting as me in a long time."
He suddenly smirks excitedly.
"What?" I ask, feeling unconscious. Is he laughing at me?
"Oh, you're going to love this. We have showers."
A silence falls between us as I look at him incredulously.
"Are you kidding me?"
"No, seriously. You can grab the house next to mine. It's empty. Go, see for yourself."
Before he can even finish his sentence, I'm sprinting towards the house he pointed at.
"We ain't got mattresses though," he yells after me.
"Okay!" I yell over my shoulder.
Before he can say anything else, I am already sprinting up the steps of the porch. I hear him call after ne, "Have a nice shower!" but I have already bolted through the front door. Throwing open every door until I find the shower, tearing my clothes off and jumping in. Fully expecting the water to be cold, I brace myself. But soon the water grows warm. A warm shower. Tears of happiness flow down my cheeks and mix with the gorgeous shower water. I take the bottle of shampoo standing on the floor and scrub my head once, twice, three times, four times. My body gets the same rigorous treatment, as though I can wash off the bad memories.
Turning off the shower, I find a towel in a cabinet under the sink. They must have prepped this house for a newcomer. Or someone must have lived here before.
Looking through the house to see if they have some clothes, I find a closet in the bedroom filled with men's and women's clothes. Maybe a couple used to inhabit this home. It makes me sad to think about what might have happened to them.
I pick some jeans, a tank top and a green button-up shirt.
Having dressed and combed my hair, I feel a lot more human again.
Finding some breath mints in a kitchen cabinet is just the cherry on top.
The bedroom is missing a bed though, as Rick had pointed out. Even though I've slept on the ground the past seven weeks, it feels oddly out of place to have a shower but no bed in a house like this.
There is a couch, however, so I couldn't be happier.
Blankets, on the other hand, are nowhere to be found. And I think I deserve to be warm for once.
I make my way over to Rick's house and knock on their door.
Rick stops in his tracks, surprise clearly readable in the lines surrounding his eyes. I give him a moment to adjust to my human form, underneath all the dirt and smell.
"Hey," I say sheepishly under his intent stare.
"Hey. Can we help you with anything?"
"Do you have any blankets?"
"Yeah, we have a few to spare. Uhm, please come in," he gestures for me to enter.
Stepping into their living room, there is a kid with an eye patch, a tiny little girl and Michonne. She smiles at me. "Feels good, doesn't it? Don't worry, we've all been there."
"Yeah. I feel less like a, what did you call it earlier? Scared animal?"
Michonne giggles, which is so contrasted to the warrior front she presented me with earlier. She must have her guard down in here. With me, as well, which feels better than I had expected.
Rick returns with a thick blanket as well as a thinner one. "This should do."
I smile gratefully at him, taking the blankets from him.
He looks at me for a few seconds again, those bright blue pearls burning on my skin, before shaking his head and stating, "These are my kids, Carl and Judith."
I take a moment before stepping forward and shaking Carl's hand. "Hey, I'm Lee." It's amazing how quickly the old customs come back to me in this place, even after living like a savage for so long. It's like Alexandria fosters the social sophistication from before, which I haven't seen in any group or place ever since the walkers took over the world.
"It's amazing that you escaped," Carl says, respect shining in his eye. "Maybe now, we can finally nail this asshole with what you know."
"Carl…" Rick says warningly.
Carl winks at me. Or… Perhaps he just blinked. I wonder what happened to the poor kid; losing an eye seems tough. But he seems all the braver for it.
"And this must be Judith. Well hello, you beautiful princess." I coo, taking her little hand. She laughs, shaking my hand wildly.
"What do you have here?" I gesture to the toy in her hand.
She shoves it in my hand. I examine it, letting out oohs and aahs. She giggles loudly.
"I think she likes you." Rick says, a goofy smile on his face.
"I, uhm… I used to run a daycare. Before all this shit."
I pause.
"I could- I could watch her for you. If you want. You must be busy as hell trying to scrape goods together for Negan."
That might have come out harsher than intended. Carl snorts.
"Yeah, I have to. But, that might be a good idea. As of now, everyone takes turns. But it, uh, might be nicer for Judy to see the same face. And you two seem to get along," he gestures to us with his hand, a soft smile gracing his lips.
I nod with a soft smile, excited to have a purpose in this community.
"So, I'll- I'll go."
"Yeah. See you tomorrow then?" He raises his eyebrows.
"Sure," I answer with a smile as I pull the door closed behind me. Suddenly Rick pushes his foot between the door to keep it from closing. "Lee, I forgot to say. We have solar panels, and a stove. Hot food may almost be as good as a shower."
"Thanks for the tip," I answer, the corners of my mouth lifting in anticipation of a hot meal, as the door softly closes behind me.
Getting into my house, I throw the blankets on the couch and attack the canned soup I came across while exploring the kitchen earlier.
Hot soup. There's a luxury I thought I'd never have again.
Eating two cans, I feel satisfied and bloated and sleepy as ever. The couch calls to me, invites me, and I sink happily into it, counting my blessings before falling asleep.
Of course I wake up from a nightmare about that fucking Roy.
Rubbing my blurry eyes, I look at my watch. 4:08 AM.
Wrapped in a cocoon of blankets, I waddle outside and sit down on the porch, letting the fresh night air cool my sweaty, fearful face, taking deep breaths.
Then I hear the creak of wood and my first reflex is to jump up like a rabbit running from an eagle.
"W-who's there?"
"Sorry, I didn't mean to scare you," Rick emerges from his own porch, hands jokingly raised above his head.
He smirks at my form, which probably resembles an oversized beach volleyball with all these blankets. He gestures at the spot next to me on the porch, and I nod at him.
A slightly tense silence envelops us.
"Can't sleep?" I ask to break it, looking at him.
"Nah. Not much since… Negan."
I breathe out through my nose. "Me too."
"It's better here, though. Right?" He asks, hesitancy striking his face.
I like the way he moves. The way he moves his head, his face. The way he squints his eyes. It's very transparent, full of truth. His face is a book of emotions; his eyes are a page-turner.
I like that I don't have to wonder about lies and deception when I look at his face.
Maybe this admiration just stems from the fact that his is the most kindness I've known in a while.
My smile gentle, I answer softly, "Yes. This is heaven compared to the Sanctuary."
"Sanctuary?"
"How the Saviors call their place."
Rick scoffs audibly, distaste plain to see.
Speaking of it makes the memories more accessible. It makes me want to hurl. And throw shit at Negan's face.
"Sorry. I didn't wanna make you uncomfortable."
"It's okay. I- I think I'll be uncomfortable for a while," I say, rubbing a hand on my temple. Changing the subject, I ask quietly, "Who used to live here?" Nodding to my house.
He stiffens, and blinks a few times.
"Glenn and Maggie."
The pain radiates off of him, and I feel it constricting my throat.
"Did they…?"
"Only Glenn. Negan… With his bat." He manages to keep his voice flat, but the wetness in his eyes loudly proclaims how much this hurts him.
"I'm really sorry," I say, tasting the sincerity of the moment. Without thought and purely driven by intuition, I take his hand. His sharp intake of breath is one of surprise but he doesn't flinch away.
"Maggie is pregnant with his child. Or- or at least she was. Something went wrong that night. We were- we were going to the Hilltop – another community – to get her medical help when Negan caught us. Beat her husband to death. I haven't seen her since." He runs a hand over his face. "I hope she's okay." Even without breaking, is voice sounds strangely fragile.
I squeeze his hand. "You care a lot about your people. Negan could learn a lot from you."
I look at the stars to ground myself a bit. I'm not one to get emotional with strangers, but something about this man makes me want to listen. More strangely, he makes me want to speak.
He sighs sadly. "Thing is, he's the boss now. He has to be if I don't want to get more family killed."
Family. The concept sits foreign in my brain. It's a word from a previous life. I would be lying if I said I didn't feel even the slightest bit envious at family.
"So we remove him from the throne he built on top of everyone else's backs," I sneer. The man makes me so angry. His lies, his manipulation, his bullying, his voluntary blindness to the cruelty of his own people.
Rick's clear blue eyes meet my hazel ones. "How?" He asks incredulously, shaking his head.
"By fighting. You can't be the only ones he's done wrong."
"But I can't lose anyone else," he says, clenching his fist until his knuckles are white as snow.
"Yeah, maybe you shouldn't listen to me," I let out an emotionless chuckle. "I've been there too long for logic and reason."
He looks at me, pity clouding his features. It seems to stretch on forever, this silent conversation where he doesn't want to ask what happened. The question clearly forms in his mind, just not on his lips.
A sole tear escapes the corner of my eye, and I curse the gods, Negan and Roy, oh that motherfucker Roy. One swipe with my knuckle erases any trace of it, but Rick saw.
"What happened in there?" He all but whispers.
I let out a shaky sigh. "Roy happened." His name tastes like vomit in my mouth. It's like the bitter taste evokes more tears. "Just- just give me a minute. This is the first time I'm telling anyone about this."
"Sure."
A few more deep breaths and I'm off with my story.
The door to the cell creaks open, a stripe of light growing broader and broader. Looking up into the light, I see a silhouette and my stomach seems to compress into itself. It's the only valid reaction when Roy enters the cell.
"Hey, sweet cheeks."
I glare at him, saying nothing in return. I know what's about to happen.
"What? Ya ain't feelin' it tonight, doll?"
"I'm not feeling it any night, you disgusting walking dog di-"
There it is. The first kick in the stomach. Pain spreads through the old bruises. Just one kick, and my head pulsates with white hot pain.
"You want more, bitch?"
"I want you to leave."
His fist connects to my mouth and I immediately taste the coppery blood. I spit it on his shoes. 'If I fight, he doesn't want to rape me.'
The only mental mantra keeping me sane.
The first time, I tried to call for help. No one answered. He just laughed at me, saying he'd bribed the guards on watch in this block with food to give him some alone time with me.
The first time, he'd almost raped me, until I kicked him square in the balls. Then he'd beaten the fuck out of every inch of my body, to the point where I wondered if anything was broken. A doctor had been sent to me and diagnosed severe bruising on basically every bone. Within an inch of breaking.
Ever since then, Roy had been a bit more careful not to get caught with his abuse. He would pull his punches, but deliver them on older bruises so that they would hurt more. He was smart like that.
Only aspect of him that could be called 'smart'.
Anytime Negan called me to him, I tried to tell him. He always preached about those 'rules' of his, he can't stand for this treatment, right?
But he threatened to beat me with Lucille if I said anything other than 'I'm Negan'. I tried every time, and every time he glared at me and sent me back into the prison before he'd do worse to me.
But he must have seen the bruises… Right?
Yet here I am, getting beaten to a pulp again. Spitting on his shoes was original, causing his raging fists connect with my upper arms and legs 37 times before I lie still.
That's when the big crescendo to his humiliating act comes. The ultimate assertion of his dominance over me.
He takes that fucking baby carrot of his out of his pants, and jacks off over me while I am incapacitated from pain.
'If I fight, he doesn't want to rape me.'
But it's this. Every fucking week, it's this. The smell of these prison clothes, the smell of my own hair… It reeks of shame and dehumanization. It poignantly reminds me there is nothing of me left.
Until one day, the seventh week on the fourth day, someone has been sloppy with the dog food.
Maybe there were no more plates left. Maybe a newbie didn't think. Maybe someone left it for me on purpose, in some rebellious bravado.
Whoever, or whatever it was, they saved my life.
They left the dog food in the tin. Lid included.
So I stuff it in my underwear and wait. Until this piece of human filth returns.
Incredibly so, he does that same evening.
"Are you ready for this cock, monkey?"
"Why don't you come here and give it to me?" I say half-convincingly, almost choking on the words.
He buys it because he's too stupid to know better. As he comes closer I reach into my underpants, and in one swift motion, I slice the sharp lid across his throat, deep and hard.
I should be disgusted by the sight of the cartilage and the blood and generally the inside of his throat spilling out. But all I feel is relief as blood gushes out of him and he looks at me with wide-eyed horror. As life drains out of him, my freedom creeps closer.
After what seems like hours, his body slumps against the floor and I am free.
The irony of this whole situation is, because he bribed the guards out of this block, I have a free run out of the hallway, out of the door leading outside. Sidestepping the guards on the outside, who are chatting carefree with each other, I climb the fence in a dark corner in a matter of seconds and sprint toward freedom, the wind hitting my face.
I take the clothes of a newly-undead walker, the stench of rot not having seeped in completely yet.
The stench of rot is better than the stench of Roy anyways.
By the time I've finished my horrid story, tears stream freely down my face, dripping into my lap, silent sobs racking my body, my lungs involuntarily gulping painful streams of air.
He's holding me at this point, my head tucked under his chin and his arms around me and my blankets, moving up and down in attempted comfort and warmth.
He keeps repeating, "I'm so sorry, Lee," over and over. He shudders and his jaw is clenched tight, presumably from anger. It used to make me angry, too, to hear stories of such injustice about other human beings. Now, I am the subject of that injustice.
Once I've calmed down a bit, my eyes raw and red, he mumbles, "You must be one of the strongest women left alive," his voice pleasantly vibrating against my head.
"But you are, too. You just don't know it."
"Am I one of the strongest women?" He drawls, not able to suppress his laughter.
I burst into my own fit of giggles. I don't know how, but he just made light of the moment, like he lit a beautiful set of fairy lights in the darkness of my past situation.
"No," I laugh. As silence falls, we both realize our current disposition, and the fact the we don't know each other all that well yet sends us back into our respective personal spaces.
Which, normally, no one is allowed to enter. But this was different. This was fucked up, to tell as well as to hear.
I look at him. "For that reason, we need to fight, Rick. We owe it to ourselves to fight for our freedom. Even to fight for our revenge."
He nods intently, his gaze on his lap.
"The thing is, he killed Abraham and Glenn. Maggie and Sasha were left heartbroken. He threatened to kill Carl," his voice breaks. "He doesn't know about Judith's existence, thank God. He- he did all of that just to prove a point to me. To break me, so that he could break the rest too."
"It's also for their future that we have to fight." Rick squints, pursing his lips, thinking hard.
"Also, I would rather not live like a fugitive the rest of my life, however selfish that may be," I smile sadly at him for my treacherous 'freedom'. "Or have people doubt my intentions in even coming here."
"Yeah, don't worry about that. They'll come around."
Feeling that strange, comfortable, warm moment subsiding, we both stand up, looking each other in the eye a second too long.
Only to start talking at the same time.
"I think I'm go-."
"I'm gonna s-."
We both snicker.
"Sleep."
"Yeah," he says, motioning back towards his house while he starts walking.
"Oh, and Rick? Thanks for the talk."
"Of course." He flashes me a wonderful smile before walking back to his own porch.
I watch until he's in the house before stepping into mine, crashing on the couch. Surprisingly enough, even after reliving my past trauma, I fall into a sleep untainted by nightmares that seem a lot like memories. Perhaps relieving some of the weight off my shoulders was all it took.
The next day is for watching Judith. Rick said he had to go look for the supplies to offer to the Saviors, and he went with the friendly guy called Aaron.
At one point, Carl comes into the living room, saying he was 'going outside for a sec'.
Probably out to visit his girlfriend or something. We all had that age.
Neither he nor Rick are back by sundown. Rick's supply run must be longer than anticipated. It mustn't be easy either, to find adequate supplies to please the greedy Saviors' leader.
Judith perched on my shoulder, I tap her nose, making her laugh. It comes back to me how much I love children, and what a shame it is that I never got to have any.
My daycare used to do good business. People always used to say I had vibes of trustworthiness rolling off of me. They used to say I could rob a bank by just asking nicely.
Probably that's why this community was so quick to take me in. Probably that's why Rick came to talk to me last night.
It's the first good thing it has done me in this world. I think my air of faithfulness sparked other things in Roy.
I wish I could forget that pig.
Judith wines a bit. Her droopy eyes suggest I've been bouncing her out of her sleep by walking around the room. I lay her down in her little crib and tuck her in. I hum her a melody but before I can even come up with a nice one, she's already asleep.
Carl is still not back, and it doesn't sit right with me. I go to the front door and call his name a few times. It does feel weird to call someone else's kid's name like an overly anxious mother, but I'm worried.
Seeing as there is no reply, I accept that there is nothing else I can do at this point so I go back inside. I take some blankets into Judith's room, lay them on the floor and sleep there with her to make sure she's alright. Yes, I'm that dedicated of a babysitter.
The next day still no one is here, which worries me beyond belief. So I feed Judith, feed myself, play with her some more. At some point my watch says it's afternoon and still no one's here.
Then I hear trucks and noise. It couldn't be…?
The kind priest and a fuller woman come storming in.
"L-let me take her." The lady says. "I'm Olivia, by the way. And you need to leave."
"I'm Gabriel. Come with me, we need to get you out of here."
"What's happening Gabriel?" I ask as he throws the door open and runs in front of me to the far end of Alexandria. "Can you climb?"
"Yes. Now tell me what's happening, please."
"They're here."
"Shit, shit, shit." I run a tad faster. I don't really fancy getting killed today. Or more likely, getting taken back.
We stop at the back wall of Alexandria, as he hands me a knife.
"Here, I'll give you a push," he says, cupping his hands to give me a boost.
Luckily, I'm a fast climber. All the tree-climbing to evade walkers has done me a lot of good.
"Please, go. Stay out of sight. I'll signal you when they are gone."
"Thank you, Gabriel. You are very kind," I say, before climbing off the fence on the other side.
A walker gurgles at me, having alerted it by dropping off the wall. I stab it swiftly in the head, quietly laying it down as not to alert anyone.
I creep along the outside of the wall, careful to keep hidden.
Shit. Why are they even here right now? I thought they'd taken all that stuff only two days ago.
An hour or so later, Rick's truck comes rolling up. Rick gets out of the truck way before Alexandria's gates, giving me a moment to safely signal him. I throw a tiny branch at his arm, peeking my head out of the safe cover of the woods.
Our eyes meet, and he motions for Aaron to stop the truck, tip-toeing to me.
"Hey," I whisper.
"Hey."
"They're here already."
"Shit. He's here too?"
"I don't know. Gabriel got me to safety as soon as they crossed our gates. Olivia is with Judith. Did you find anything?"
"Yeah, we did," he sighs. "Long story."
His eyes sweep over my face for a moment.
"I've been thinking all day about what you said yesterday. That- that we should fight. We're entitled to our freedom and our revenge." He pauses a moment, before putting his hands on my cheeks. My heart jumps in my chest. "You are entitled to your freedom and your revenge."
Looking at him wide-eyed, I only nod.
"I want you to help me. With the strategies." He pauses, looking for the right words. "The rest can't know. Not yet at least. Negan needs to be in the dark about us planning things. And, in order to keep him in the dark, we need to keep the community in the dark. Only tell a core group."
I nod feverishly. That sounds solid.
He gently lifts my shirt sleeve. "This," he gestures to the bruises, "can't happen anymore. To anyone. God, it makes me angrier than I can tell you," he says, his face contorting in a hateful grimace.
I nod again, never breaking his sky blue gaze.
"Now, go," I say, pressing against his chest urgently. "Before they see us. They need you. I'll be fine."
After a moment of uncertainty, I pull him in for a quick hug, feeling his brown curls tickle my cheek. Let's just assume it's the sun and the anticipation of doing something that warms my belly.
Then he runs off, and one of those asshole Saviors opens up the gate, his face already predicting trouble. I creep further into the woods again.
We'll fight. We'll win. Or we'll sure as hell die trying.