This will be the final stop for the actual story for my one shot, Girl With Golden Eyes. It was given to FloodFeSTeR but she has informed me that she can no longer keep up with it on account of her many fic's in need of attention (you can find her on AO3 now as well for more steamy and...moral questioning stories xD).
I will take up the story now, as originally intended, and the chapters she had up are going through editing so this will be updated with similar work until I catch up with where she left off.
Changes to canon: Merle lives, will follow the plot of S4 and S5 with my own twists, obviously.
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screaming is what troubles her the most.
Or is it the stain on the edge of an otherwise pristine carpet?
The metal frame of the bed digs into her spine, a stark contrast to the thin mattress holding up her head; no point on a pillow, she can never get comfortable.
Her right hand is in her lap, shaking...she lifts her left hand, running it flat inches from her face; chin to hairline. Her lips part involuntarily and she tentatively tastee the copper dotting her lips. It is cold; congealed, old.
She hears the screaming again, louder this time. She lets her hand drop back into her lap. It smears the blood sprayed there, tears through dried clots, forcing a shiver through her aching muscles.
"I'm scared," she whispers.
"Yer 'live," he says oh-so gruffly.
Why is he so cold? Then again, she's not exactly warm. It's too cold in here. Concrete. It holds no warmth, no help to the sun stretching through the windows so high up.
"I'm alone," she whispers, her voice starting to crack.
"Neva alone, Esther."
His voice is barely above a whisper and it makes her brow furrow. She lolls her head towards him, jaw cracking as she opens it to speak. But he isn't there. Of course he isn't there, he hadn't been for awhile; the question is, how long was he gone this time?
"Silent," she mutters, stumbling to her feet. "Silent..." She approaches the cell door; locked. "Silent...," shd pushes against the door, fingers wrapped around the bars. "Silent...silent...silent!"
Her voice echoes. Against concrete, against blood, mattresses, against a crumpled box with the words Lil Ass Kicker scrawled on the side. She pushes on the bars again, getting more forceful; a scream grows from the back of her throat, starting small, getting louder and louder until - pop!
She's screaming and kicking, ramming the bars of her cell, kicking apart a small nightstand in the corner. Her vision blurs, reality clicking like it does ever-so-often. The carpet is stained beyond repair, the cell block is far too quiet, there isn't even a breeze outside to howl against the walls.
She slows as she notice the polaroid of a certain hunter and herself crumpling beneath her right boot. Her heart aches and she hurriedly saves it from her tantrum; reality slowly dislodges itself again inside of her, she knows that. She hears boots again, and she thinks they're actually there.
But she stares at the picture, hear the confusion, and her hands are shaking; she's pretty sure the pinkie on her right hand is broken. Her back hits the bars. She hit the floor. Her knees curl to her chest. She grips the photo tight, press it hard against her forehead as her whole body trembles.
"I'm scared...scared...scared..."
"He's just...gone..."
No.