Many Shades Of Black
"It is a curious thing, the death of a loved one. We all know that our time in this world is limited, and that eventually all of us will end up underneath some sheet, never to wake up. And yet it is always a surprise when it happens to someone we know. It is like walking up the stairs to your bedroom in the dark, and thinking there is one more stair than there is. Your foot falls down, through the air, and there is a sickly moment of dark surprise as you try and readjust the way you thought of things." - Lemony Snicket
There were never two things more concrete than life and death. The two didn't discriminate against race, religion, or wealth. Depending on one beliefs the beginning of life could start at a different point but there was one thing that could not be denied and that was life was created. On the opposite side of the same coin death was supposed to be final, an ending to one's story no matter how long or short it may have been. This new apocalyptic world bent that which should have been concrete. Death no longer was an end but a new torturous beginning. For everyone it was different. It could be mere minutes, a couple hours, but no matter what once the life left one's eyes they would come back as one of them.
Deanna sat at the base of the tree taking calculated breaths to try and ignore the excruciating pain. Michonne crouched down next to her and attempted to check the wound on her shoulder but Deanna swatted her hands away. It was no use. There was nothing that could be done, the bite was too deep, and if she tried to make it back to the prison she would have only used up supplies that they needed for the injured that would survive.
Michonne refused to leave when Deanna rested the gun on her lap. She wasn't about to let her die alone and found herself tearing up for the first time in months. Death had become the new normalcy, the harsh reality that was no longer a nightmare one could wake up from, that it was rarely grieved anymore. Except this time because relationships held more meaning when time was limited and tomorrows were never promised.
Deanna naively thought that her life was going to pass in front of her like a picture book of memories. She wanted to remember the truly good times. She wanted to remember what it felt like to lay out in the sun on a hot summer day. She wanted to remember the random Friday night going to the movies. She wanted to remember that feeling she got when she read a book from a new author and the words spoke right to her soul. She wanted to remember it all one last time but any memory she could think of was about him.
"I can't take it anymore, Merle." Deanna moved through her trailer cleaning as she talked to him just to give her hands something to do.
He leaned against the entertainment center with a cigarette hanging from between his lips. He had heard it all before. She would throw her fit, he would give her about a week, and they would be back to fucking like rabbits. He let out a long breath, expelling the smoke from his lungs, and rolled his eyes. "What's that, sugar?"
"I see their names in your eyes every time you walk back through my door. I was the fool who had her head stuck in the clouds. You don't love me. You never did. You only love me when you're lonely."
Deanna remembered him walking out her door that day, his motorcycle roaring to life, and the sound fading as he drove further away. It was the last time she had seen him before the world went to shit. She felt every emotion in suffocating waves from the first time she laid eyes on him at the quarry to when Daryl came back from Atlanta without him. She felt the lump in her throat when he walked through the prison's gates and her nausea when she saw the loss of his hand. It was then she realized she would never regret the memories she made with Merle Dixon. The good, the bad, the laughter, the pain; it was all worth it in the end.
She wouldn't get the chance to say goodbye, to thank him, or to scream at him but she would always love him and that had to be enough this time. One final look at Michonne as mirrored tears ran down their cheeks, she put the gun to her temple, closed her eyes, and took fate into her own hands.
X-X-X
If Rick shot him one more sympathetic look Merle was going to take that gun he liked wearing and shove it down his goddamn throat before pulling the trigger. He watched his brother's head drop, his hair falling into his eyes, as Michonne told them why she was alone. He had heard her words, the soft cries from the women, and felt the ever heavy cloud of despair but he still didn't want to believe it. He had even gone to check her cell as if she would be sitting on her cot, looking up at him over some book that she had read so many times she could recite it word for word, yet he found it empty.
Had he thought that morning would have been the last time he would ever lay eyes on Deanna he might have appreciated it more. He would have stared at her until every freckle, every swirl of her tattoos, and every strand of hair was ingrained in his mind forever. They had over two decades together and it still wasn't even close to being enough. Merle wanted to blame Michonne. He wanted to make that black bitch bleed for coming back to the prison without Deanna but if he took a moment to look past it all, deep down in the parts of him that even his brother only saw on occasion, he blamed himself. That sassy little shit had all but stabbed him that morning when he told her she wasn't going with them. He had chuckled at the time, finding humor in the fury that burned off her skin as she joined Michonne by the fence, but now he craved it. Once an addict always an addict and while it was hard enough to not have the drugs that used to so easily flow through his veins this was a whole new level torture.
And in the end he would always blame himself for the emptiness at his side. He let her down, like he knew he would from the very beginning - despite her faith in humanity he didn't have. He was exactly who he claimed to be. No one could deny that. Except Merle Dixon loved her. Loved her in such a way that the words never passed his lips and now never would. He was in a new shade of black though the regret was a comforting familiarity.
He never loved her when he was lonely, that was the moments he hated himself the most, he loved her always.