A/N: I'm back? Really this is odd, I've not written fanfiction for like five or six years, and now I'm here on a different account. I'm not going to lie to you and tell you that updates are going to be frequent, I'm in college and sometimes things get in the way. But I promise, if this goes well, I will stick with the story. I might update twice a week, I might update once every other week. Sometimes I just get excited from reviews and post early. Hint, hint. Rest assured I will always update each month. BTW: Don't own the walking dead, if I did there would be immense amount of Caryl in every episode.
The bruise on my cheek ached something fierce. I guess that's what you get for saying no. I looked down at my wedding ring, what a sham. To love and protect, till' death do us part. Bastard. Thirteen years of my life wasted. I glanced in my rear-view mirror. Sophia, the only thing that made my world pure and beautiful, the only thing that gave me hope. Barely 5 months old, and she was already quiet and complacent, don't wake up Daddy. Don't get in Daddy's way. Don't touch that. Be quiet. I always told her, I guess in some respects, it's my fault.
She was asleep, her little blond ringlets rested on her forehead. Her eyes closed but I knew that when she opened them would be a bluish green. She had her fathers nose, but thankfully everything else was me. I had managed to bear the brunt of the abuse but not all of it. On her tiny pale legs there were deep purple finger shaped marks. I for some reason thought that she was safe from him; I bared the brunt of the abuse. It was a foolish thing to think. No longer would he put a hand on me or my daughter, Ed was dead to me. Completely and utterly dead.
As soon as I saw what he did I knew it was time to leave. We hadn't left our little house since the nation-wide quarantine went into effect. Occasionally these, things, came to the doors and windows but the emergency broadcast said not to open them. So I didn't, I stayed inside, eventually covering the windows with blankets and I pushed a dresser against the door. But we began to run low on food after the first week. Almost all of the perishables had been eaten, all the meat cooked, and the vegetables and fruits ground up into mush for Sophia. We were left with the bare minimum, pasta and canned foods.
Ed became more and more irate as we began to run out of food. The beatings slowly began to become more frequent and more brutal. Every inch of my body had some type of bruise, and my lips seemed to be always split. Thankfully he hadn't knocked out any teeth yet. I was sure that my wrist was sprained, and my ribs were bruised.
We hit the three-week mark when the power went out. Luckily we got our water from a well outside in the backyard. I went out everyday happy that we at least had water, I was also grateful of the block walls that separated us from our neighbors. Every time I went out I could hear the moaning and groaning of the things that were occasionally out in our front yard.
Eventually we ran out of our meager supply of dry and canned food since Ed had always liked the fresh stuff so we never stocked up on non-perishables. He finally got fed up with the tiny meals and barked at me that there were MREs in the attic, and he was tired of the shit I'd been feeding him. He pushed me towards the stairs, and I landed painfully on the steps. I shakily climbed the rest of the way and pulled down the drawstring to the stairs to the attic in the hallway and climbed my way up the steep steps. It was dusty, full of Christmas, Halloween, and Easter decorations that I hadn't used since the first year of our marriage. Holidays in our household had disappeared since our first year. He said it was a waste of money.
I pushed the old Santa Claus dummy out of the way, making a path to the back of the attic, tripping over dusty boxes. I finally made it to the back and opened a box that had black marker written on it, Ed's Military Stuff. Opening it the first thing on top was his old Military uniform. Green fatigues, with a name patch on the left side that said E. Peletier, on the right it said U.S Army. Underneath that was his medals and old service paperwork of his time in the army, he was once a good man alcohol had changed that. I shuffled through the rest finally realizing that there were no MREs in this box. Just old memories that should die. I shut the box and pushed it back to the corner where it could stay there and collect dust.
I opened the next box and it was what I was looking for, filled to the brim with silver metallic packets of MREs. I shut the box and tried to pick it up. Jesus, it must've weighed close to 30 pounds. I steeled myself and hauled it up to my hip. I carefully made my way down across the attic, thankful that I had made myself a path. The only problem was getting down the steps. I placed the box near the edge and lowered myself onto the first steps. I slid the box towards me into my arms but I knew that it was going to be impossible for me to carry the thing down completely. I was so weak, giving my extra food to Sophia, surviving on the bare minimum, was taking a toll on my body. My pants were beginning to fall off my hips, and all my clothes were slowly starting to get baggier. Who knew that the Apocalypse was the best weight loss program?
I knew that calling Ed to help was going to be useless; he barely left his couch in the living room. I slide it further towards me and then I knew that it was going to go over. It finally teetered over the edge as it fell as did I. I hit the ground hard; the box hit me even harder. The entire upper floor shook with the impact. The pictures on the walls rattled, some shattered to the ground. The wind was completely knocked out of me; I stayed on the ground for a couple seconds, surrounded by packets of MREs, trying to catch my breath.
Then I heard the pounding of steps down the stairs. Oh no. I struggled to my feet trying to regain my breath as I started shoving the packets into the box. But I wasn't fast enough; he came into view as I was placing the last of them into the box. He must've yelled something and I was pushed up against the wall, my head cracking painfully against the drywall. Spots danced in my vision. He kneed me in my already sore stomach and I doubled over. A backhand across the face sent me to the ground landing in the broken glass. The sting of new wounds kept me conscious. He kicked me once, twice, three times, I looked up at him, and he was red faced and panting, his stomach wobbling slightly every time he breathed out. Anger was panted clear as day on his face; he grabbed the back of my head pulling me up by my hair. "Clean this up." He growled. He let go of my hair suddenly, causing my face to land in some shards of glass. He turned away from me and picked up the box, leaving the couple on the ground. I guess those were mine. He thumped down the stairs, and for a couple of minutes everything was quiet and then Sophia started crying.
Gingerly I pulled myself up, not wanting to get more glass stuck in me. I gathered the four MREs left on the floor, set them on the attic stairs, and went to go calm Sophia.
"Shut this stupid ass kid up!" I hurried my steps, but I was so sore that I could only manage a limp down the stairs. "I guess I have to do everything around here!" I was halfway down the stairs when Sophia started to scream bloody murder. I had never heard her like that before. Mustering all of my strength I managed to walk briskly down the rest of the steps. I turned the corner to the kitchen where I left Sophia to eat the last bit of the noodles I had given her. The box of MREs was placed in the doorway and then I saw Ed holding my baby. His fingers curled into talons, digging into her fragile legs, shaking her to try to stop her crying.
"Finally, lazy whore." He yelled, practically throwing my daughter at me, pushing his way out of the kitchen. Sophia's weight combined with the push into the doorway, had me seeing spots. I took a few steps into the kitchen bracing myself against the counter. Sophia had started to calm down, her screams quieting into whimpers and gasps. "Shh sweetheart." I murmured kissing her curls. Her little face looked at me and that was the moment I knew we had to leave. Oozing blood, and with a black and blue face, I looked back at her and I made a promise. "We're not staying here another day, I swear to god we are gone tomorrow morning." I gave her another kiss and set her back in her highchair.
A/N: So did you like it? My own particular brand of writing is a bit odd, but I really like having my characters to tell a story within a story. Next time we'll meet some interesting people! Review please. Muah!
