Disclaimer: I do not own The Walking Dead, Walking Dead characters, or any canon/ non-AU material. I only own my OCs and AU material. Enjoy!

There comes a time in everyone's lives when things just fucking suck. It always seems to come without warning, too. Like, why can't there just be a fucking system in place where you get a card in the mail, telling you to duck for cover? Everything's all birthday cake and red tulips from your mom and then, all of the sudden, the candles are blown out and everything's caped in dusk obscurity. Shadowed figures cheer and clap, because it's your birthday, while you silently feel the onset of darkness. And maybe you take a breath, or cry a tear, before telling yourself that the light will come again, because Mama said they'll be days like this.

But, you know what? Sometimes the sucky things don't fucking go away and the light doesn't come back. All those people who celebrated the day you were born either make futile attempts to recover you, or grow unsympathetic and impatient; telling you to get over it. In some way or another, they all eventually point the finger and say that you were the one who blew out the candles, so you must have been asking for your life to go from day to night in such an instant.

That's how life is sometimes. One minute everything's A-OK and the next thing you know, you're crying in the bathtub to your mom's Billie Holiday records. I'm always confused when people say that they have no idea when, why, or how their lives got so heavy. I get that there's no warning for calamity, but surely you don't forget the moment when it strikes, or what's left in the aftermath. I don't understand how something like that slips your mind. I know exactly- Oh, fuck!

The blue and red lights whirl in my side mirror, before I hear the lazy sounding siren bleep for me to pull over. I check my speedometer. Ten miles over the speed limit. "You've got to be fucking kidding me."

I pull over to the shoulder of the empty road and check the rearview mirror to make sure he's still asleep in the back. I then glance at the cop car that's slowly pulled up behind me. There's two in the vehicle, but only the driver steps out. It's dark, so all I can tell is that he's got a ridiculously big cowboy hat and a real cock of the walk stride as he comes over. Once he's at my window, he knocks on it with a flashlight in his hand.

I roll the window down. "Evening."

"Evening." The handsome officer greets back with a gravelly, Georgia draw as he shines the light through my car. He lowers the light when he sees the sleeper in the back. "Know why I stopped you?"

"No."

"You were going 55, the speed limit back here's 45."

"Oh, I'm sorry. I didn't know," I softly lie. "I'm not from around here."

"Can I see your license and registration, please?" He says, coolly.

I get my registration from the glove compartment and my license from my purse in the passenger's seat. "Here ya go."

"Thank you," The officer holds the light up to read what I've given him, "You're from Austin? What brings you to Georgia?"

"Peaches." He doesn't look amused by my joking remark. "Nothing, I'm passing through," I answer plainly, checking the backseat again, "On my way to Virginia."

"D.C.?"

I shake my head. "No, my hometown, but it's not too far from there."

The cop returns my information, looking into the backseat again as he does. "Are you planning on driving through the night?"

"Just until I get tired."

He nods. "Well, there's a motel about fifteen miles up the road. It's not the four seasons, but it's clean. You should consider stopping for the night."

"Thank you, I will," I grin at him with a half- sarcastic smile, "So, you gonna write me a ticket?"

He puts his hands on his hips and contemplates. "Tell you what. It's late and the trees sometimes cover the speed signs, so I'll let you off with a warning, but watch your speed."

"Alright," I give a nod of the head, "Thank you, Officer Grim."

"It's Grimes and have a goodnight. Drive safe."

"I will," I roll up my window as he stalks back over to his car, "Prick."

I know exactly when my life unraveled like a itchy knitted sweater. How could I forget? I've spent bank on therapy and gin to try to work through it and forget it, but it's all been for naught. That misfortune royally screwed my life up and it happened thirteen years ago. Everyone who knows, my therapist included, have offered some sage wisdom about getting over it and I feel like most people would use that advice to have successfully found the light at the end of the tunnel. I, on the other hand, can't even turn on the lights.

It's not like I want to be this way, to feel this way. I want to "get better", as they say. I want to knock down walls and build myself up. I want to get that fucking light to come back again. But so far, I haven't been any good at what my therapist called "changing the lightbulb." Part of me isn't ready and it's fucking insufferable. That piece of me feels like only a thread, but it's strong and makes me lovesick for all before the agony.

For thirteen years, I've just kept on keeping on, even though everything still feels subdued and muted after all this time. I put on a good face and make like I'm cool. I'm so good at it that sometimes I even have myself fooled that I'm alright. But then, a familiar smell, or a stranger's laugh pulls me back in and I'm removed from everything and everyone. So, I just return to drinking gin and listening to the blues, because they're the only ones that understand.

Bright neon lights up ahead read "The Cherokee Rose" in white, loopy letters. Must be the motel that officer was plugging. I look at the clock on the radio that tells me it's almost midnight. I left Austin around two in the afternoon and have been driving practically non-stop, because I just want to get to point B already. I tap my fingers on the steering wheel as I think about whether or not I should rent a room for the night.

When I actually see the motel, I determine that it'll be alright for him and I to stay there 'til morning. I turn into the lot, park, and then get out to walk to the other side of the car. I open the door and softly unbuckle his car seat, trying oh so delicately to pick him up without waking him. His limbs latch onto me, even though he's still sleeping and I make my way to the front office.

"I'd like a room, please." I whisper as I get to the front desk. The dude puts down his slice of pizza and grabs a room key from off one of the little hooks in the cabinet behind him on the wall. I check in and maneuver my debit card out of my purse for him to swipe.

"Room 14," The man says, running a knuckle under each nose, sniffing upwards, "It's on the bottom level."

"Thanks." I grab the key off the counter and go. I thought Officer Grimes said this place was clean. The front desk dude clearly put something up his nose before I got here. Whatever, it's for a few hours.

I unlock the door to the room and step inside, hitting the light switch that doesn't turn on the lights. The room is basic and has that typical motel carpet that smells like cigarette smoke, even though the placard on the wall clearly states "Please Do Not Smoke In The Rooms." A wild, hillbilly like holler can be heard down the way behind closed doors and a roar of laughter follows. I close the door and lock all the locks.

Next, I lay him down on the bed, over the stiff comforter, and drape his starry night blanket on him. I go to the bathroom, wash my face, and then kick my shoes off before getting on the bed. I twist my hair up and lay back to close my eyes.

...

I wake up around six, because I get my eyelid poked by the only constant good in my life. He sticks his little finger up my nose and I swat it away, sleepily snickering.

"Mommy?"

"Yeah, baby?"

"Where are we?"

"Uh, Mommy was tired, so we stopped at a motel so I could sleep." I explain, sitting up and stretching.

"When are we gonna get to our new house?"

"Today."

"Really?" He smiles, showing his little milk teeth with excitement.

"Mhm," I nod, getting off the bed and going over to the sink, "So, we better get our booties moving, if we want to get there before dinner."

"Yay!" He stands on the bed and claps his hands. "Is Gran and Pop gonna be there, too?"

"Yep." I have no idea where my three year old got "Gran and Pop" from, but that's what he calls my parents. I get out my cell phone and decide to call them to let them know where we're at. While it's dialing, I point and mouth for him to go potty, which he does with the door cracked open.

"Hello?" My mother finally picks up. "Pippa, is that you?"

"Yeah, Mom, it's me. That's why my name came up on the caller i.d."

"Watch your mouth," She warns over the phone, "Where are you two at?"

"We're about to leave a sketchy motel in Georgia," I move back the curtains by the window after I hear some commotion outside, "I stopped for the night, because I got tired and the cop said this place was clean."

I witness a man that looks to be in his late forties, early fifties boot stomp a guy in the ribs out in the parking lot. I wince from the window and am glad to see a younger guy push the older one back. What a looker he is...

"Pippa!"

"What?"

"I asked if you got pulled over." My mom inquires, followed by a sipping sound.

"Oh, yeah, I did," I hear the toilet flush and go over to turn the faucet on, so he can wash his hands, "but he let me off with a warning."

"Speeding?"

"Ten miles over." I confirm.

"For God's sake, Pippa!"

I roll my eyes and turn the water off. "Gran's on the phone, you wanna talk to her?"

He nods his head yes and takes the phone, pressing it to his face. "Hi, Gran!"

"Hey, sugar pie!" She gushes over the phone with such cheery volume. "How's it goin', baby?"

"Good," He reports, putting his hand out so I can help him step off the chair he stood on at the sink, "Mommy let me have chicken nuggets for dinner."

"She did?" She says, as if it's just as exciting to her that I stopped at McDonald's last night, as it was for him.

"Can I sleep over at your house?"

My mom answers with something sunshiny, probably a yes, since that's where we'll be sleeping for the night when we finally get to Virginia. I put my shoes on and gather up our stuff.

"Bye!" He treads over to me and hands me the phone, exchanging it for his blanket.

"Hey." I greet again, nudging my son to the door.

"How much longer do you and Jolyon have before you get here?" She asks.

"I'm hoping to get in around five-ish, but we'll see," I tell her, "But look, I'm gonna let you go, so we can hit the road."

"Alright, honey, drive safe and see ya soon."

Jolyon and I exit the room and I quickly take his hand, guiding him to the front office and away from those two rednecks that just pulverized a man. The older one makes a smug, kissing motion towards me, while the other one just quietly rummages through the trunk of their old beat up Impala.

After checking out, I put Jolyon in his car seat and walk around to the driver's side. I ignore a crude catcall made by the same guy and get into my car. As I pull out of the motel parking lot, I hear him make a racial slur that causes the other one to look towards my car and then lower his head, before going over to the passenger's side of their car.

"Fucking rednecks." I say under my breath, hoping my kid didn't hear me say a swear word.

...

I turn out to be right, because we arrive in Camden by five- fifteen. Camden's my hometown that I left after I graduated high school. I went to Texas for school to get my teaching credentials and haven't really been back since. After Jolyon was born, I made my appearances around the holidays, but aside from that I've intentionally made myself scarce.

But after the last couple of months I've had in Austin, I begrudgingly agreed to move back here. I managed to find a small two bedroom, two bath for rent before we moved. I also was able to nail down a job teaching English at a high school that's three towns over, but it's not too bad a commute and there's a daycare/preschool a block away that Jolyon can go to for free as a job perk. My mom wanted me to look for a job at my old high school, but I'd rather not work there and fortunately for me, they weren't hiring.

We pull up to my parent's house and they come out shortly after. "Hi," I wave, tiredly as I get out of the car.

"Hey, pipsqueak!" My dad smiles, raising his hand as he comes down from off the porch.

My mom opens the car door and reunites with her grandson, getting him out of the car for me. "You hungry?"

"Yes." Jolyon nods with a smile.

"Well, good, 'cause I just finished making spaghetti and meatballs." The two lovebirds go into the house, while my dad remains outside as I get one of the suitcases to take in.

"How was the drive?"

"Long." I answer, hugging him on our way to the house.

"You, uh, got everything settled in Texas?" Dad sounds slightly nervous to ask.

"Yep, everything's dealt with."

We enter my childhood home that has scarcely changed and head to the kitchen where Mom and Jolyon prattle on with each other. I'm not hungry, so I just sit down at the table and tiredly catch up.

"Oh, Pip, I forgot to tell you this morning over the phone that I've got some good news." Mom says, taking a sip of her chamomile tea.

"Oh yeah?" I look over at Dad who seems uneasy.

"Yes, I was talking to Leda and guess what? They're hiring."

I widen my eyes at her. "And you start Monday?"

"No, silly, you start Monday."

Dad anxiously chuckles, already feeling the tension. "I told you she wouldn't like it."

Mom looks between us in honest confusion. "What? It's just for a few weeks, until school starts."

"Mom, I don't want to work at Lorelei's," I groan into my hands, "I haven't worked there since I was in high school."

"Well, then when you start your new job, don't take anymore shifts." She smiles at Jolyon and scrunches her nose at him.

"I don't want the shifts I've apparently got now!"

"Pippa, I already told Leda that you'd be happy to accept the position."

I scoff. "Well, you shouldn't have told her that."

"Oh, c'mon," She encourages, "You sold everything back in Texas, so there's next to nothing to unpack and it's something to do instead of sitting around the house for five weeks."

I slide my tongue along the inside of my bottom lip, chagrined. "Fine, but they better have updated the uniform."

"They haven't." Dad relays.

...

The next morning, after breakfast, Mom and Dad take me to the house I've rented. It's not too far from their house, about five miles or so. This town is technically considered rural, so there aren't any suburbs, except for the ones a few towns over. Not many houses are close to one another, so while you do have neighbors, they might be a ways up the road and separated by woods. Some homes are close to each other, but there aren't lawns and fences that neatly divide properties.

Camden's actually a nice town, despite me not wanting to come back here. It's one of those towns where pretty much everyone knows each other, no matter how unfortunate that might be. It's the type of place that people come to in the summer for the river and the winter for the cider. And all the tourists come year round for the pie. Four years ago, it was put in one of those magazines that only the Martha Stewart types and mid- thirties, Brooklyn hipsters read in order to find some quaint, new place to get their organic honey and rave about an authentic, mediocre 50's diner.

Like I said, it's a nice town and I may never have strayed far, if it weren't for what happened here that made everything go dark. My mom's going on about the bungalow style house that I am just gonna love. She acts as if I haven't seen it; I saw pictures online when I was house hunting.

My parent's are some of the nicest people you'll ever meet. Mom's hospitality is genuinely hospitable, not trying like some people's, and Dad is the kind of guy who you aren't afraid to bring boys home to meet, because you know he won't scare them off, if they're nice enough. They both can strike up a conversation with just about anyone and have always been supportive of my sister and me.

"There it is!" Mom points out as we come up on it.

"Yeah." I take it in from the backseat window. I guess it's cozy looking as the advertisement claimed.

The four of us explore the one story house and I don't really have any complaints, since there's no carpet for Jolyon to spill something on and the windows in the front and back of the house give off a view of the woods around us.

"This is such a lovely house!" Mom concludes in a way that implies she's trying to convince me. "You and Jol will have a good home here once you furnish it and you're all settled in."

"Mhm," I nod, "real lovely."

"Look, sweetheart, if you don't want to work at Lorelei's, then I'll call Leda and tell her that you're too busy. She'll understand." Mom puts a hand on my back and rubs soothingly. "I just thought that it'd be a good way to reenter society."

"Reenter society?" I laugh at her choice of words. "I was in Texas, Mom, not prison."

"You know what I mean, smart ass."

"Yeah," I look out at the foliage in the back, "I know what you mean."

We go back to my Mom and Dad's house and bring back all the stuff I brought with us from Austin, which is mostly just clothes and a few bits and bobs. Pretty much just whatever my 97' Jeep Cherokee could carry. I sold everything else for money to replace things that weren't worth bringing. Once we get it all in, Mom insists we go to the store to pick up some food.

She tells me all about my sister, Audrey, and how her, her husband, and their three kids are doing in Richmond. I don't want to seem like a bitch, but I couldn't be any more uninterested if I fucking tried. She forgets that Audrey and I talk at least twice a month over the phone. Plus, my head's not here for it right now. I've got a lot on my plate and I'm just not stoked to hear about how they just got a beagle and named it...well, I don't fucking know what they named it, because I wasn't listening.

"Are you buying yogurt?" I scoff, watching her put a tub of plain yogurt in her cart.

"Yeah, so?"

"Since when do you buy yogurt?"

"Since Audrey was Jolyon's age," Mom answers, reaching for some butter, "you kids always loved yogurt."

"Yeah, we did, but I never saw you eat any damn yogurt."

"Well, that was before I read about the benefits of eating it. It's a good source of calcium, which is good for bones, especially at my age. And it's got good bacteria in it."

"Good bacteria?" I raise a brow as I put a gallon of milk in my cart. "Okay, what's so great about this good bacteria that's convinced you to buy a tub of yogurt?"

"It's good for stomach problems," She informs me, before leaning closer, "And I heard it's good for the under carriage."

I laugh out loud. "Oh, well, then it-" I stop abruptly right before we turn down an isle, pulling my cart with me.

"What's the matter?" Mom looks at me strangely.

"Uh, you know what? I forgot to get Lucky Charms and I told Jolyon I would get some."

"No, you didn't forget, they're right there." Mom points to the red cereal box in my cart.

"Um, nope, that's Apple Jacks."

"They've got a green box."

I shake my head, turning the cart around the other way. "They changed the packaging," I pathetically lie, "You go ahead and I'll just be right back."

"Alright." Mom goes down the spice aisle alone.

The store's fairly empty, so if she talks to the man down that same aisle, I'll be able to hear them before I reach the cereal. So far, nothing. My mom wouldn't just ignore him if she recognized him. I don't hear any talking, so now I feel like an ass.

I cruise down the aisle, sticking a box of oatmeal in my cart, and heading back over to find my mother. I lower my head, using my curly hair to shield my identity as I spot the dude that was down the aisle I retreated from. From the corner of my eye, I can see that it's not who I thought it was, so I straighten up and roll my eyes at myself. I'm such a fucking idiot.

...

The past three weeks have been ridiculously slow. Even though I really didn't want to, I started working at Lorelei's to make Mom happy. Lorelei's is that authentic, mediocre 50's diner I mentioned earlier. The food's not bad, the locals alone keep it in business, but the decor is so overplayed. I worked here when I was in high school and they still have the same pastel pink waitress dress with an apron as the uniform that they've had since the place opened in the actual fifties. It's weird how a diner that was actually founded in '54 can be so heinously over wrought with kitschy decorations that may not be all that vintage.

Leda, the lady who inherited the joint from her mother, and a long time friend of my mom's was delighted to see me working here again. I tried to act all ecstatic, too, but I'm not too fucking keen on waiting tables for eight hours. It's not like I'm above doing the work, or anything like that; it's just that I don't want to talk to any of the locals that recognize me, or that Leda points me out to, and give some bullshit about how "good, good" I've been since they last saw me. It's also a little inconvenient, since I'm still trying to get everything in order at the house.

Tonight, I have the late night shift that's more like the wee fucking hours of the morning shift. Jolyon's sleeping over at my parent's for the night and they're planning on taking him to the river so I can catch a few hours of sleep before running a shit ton of errands. Jolyon's the best thing to ever happen to me. I know that sounds cliché, but he really is.

I know I said earlier that my life was fucked up, but in all fairness, it's more me than the entirety of my life. I, as a person, am a cave of despair, but my life's not all heavy and terrible. Jolyon's the reason my whole life can't be described as fucked up. It's hard to claim, when that little boy makes every day worth it with his unconditional love, innate curiosity, and trail of broken crayons he leaves in his wake.

"Want something to eat?" Louis, the late night cook, asks from the kitchen window that looks out on the restaurant.

"No, thanks." I reply, while cleaning the laminated menus with disinfectant spray.

This shift is the fucking worst. I know some of the other waitresses complain about the swing shift, because it's usually the busiest, but I'd take it over graveyard. Why does the diner even need to be open this late, huh? Who's the fucking asshole that goes out to eat at two a.m.? We've been sitting here since midnight without a single goddamn customer and apparently we're not allowed to shut off the fucking jukebox; it's just set on a lower volume.

"Head's up." Louis says, nodding for me to turn around.

The sound of a truck pulling into the lot has me turn in the swivel barstool. A trucker; the one person who I guess would eat this late. I sigh, rolling my shoulders and getting off the stool. I go behind the counter to get out a coffee mug that I assume he'll be wanting. The door opens, letting in the cool night air. My peripheral vision observes the figure walking over to one of the booths and sliding in. Sure, don't sit at the counter and make shit easier.

I pull up the swing door and come up from behind him. "Welcome in," I greet with an unenthusiastic tone, "Can I get you some coffee?" I set down the mug and a menu before he can answer and go back to the get the pot.

"Uh, yeah, thanks." He rasps, clearing his throat.

The trucker has straggly blonde hair just at his shoulders. He's young, about my age, but that's all I can tell from here since he's got his hands over his face with exhaustion. I pour the crappy roast into his cup. "Want any milk, or creamer?"

"Milk, please." He says into his hands, before sitting up. His eyes meet mine and the tiredness gets stunned out of him. "Pippa?"

I stare at the very person I've been hoping to avoid since my return. "Hey, D."