Always happy to see new readers. Here's a brand new chapter.

Also want to say thank you to those who have favorited, followed and reviewed.

P.S. The obvious: Don't own FTWD, just my originals.

Troy woke with a start, breathing heavily. He groaned and reached up to his throbbing head. He paused right before touching it, remembering. Blinking a few times, he worked his breathing down. His chest ached with each inhale. Whatever he'd been dreaming about must've been hell. He couldn't recall much of anything except that he couldn't breathe.

His T-shirt was soaked through and through. So was the back of his neck and up through his muss of unruly hair. He glanced around. The sun glared into the room through the open doorway and the small square that acted as a window. Troy leaned on his knees and inhaled deeply, closing his eyes. The air was thick. It smelled good—the trees and the sun.

"Sleep well, princess?"

Kenny was standing n the doorway. His arms were crossed over his chest. A cruel smirk just barely pulled at the corner of his lips. Troy knew that look. It was like staring in a mirror.

"The usual," Troy grumbled. Getting up, he padded over to a worn, green trunk where Trick had stuck clothing for him. He pulled off his shirt and pulled on the red one. Two sweatshirts, three pairs of jeans and a flannel were stocked in there. No socks. He slipped his feet into his boots, trying not to imagine who last wore them and if they were dead or not.

He ran his hand over his hair, closing his eyes briefly one more. He focused on stopping his shakiness. The foggy dream really got to him, but he wasn't sure if he truly wanted to know why. He just wanted it to stop.

Kenny was saying something, but he wasn't hearing him. He thought about what Ryan said the other night. Try not to be friends with him.

"What?" He turned his head to look at Kenny.

"I was sayin' how about we go gank a few deads?"

"Uh, yeah. Sure."

"Awesome. After breakfast." Kenny waggled his eyebrows, just giddy, and stalked off.

It took a little while, but Troy found his way to the pit. Mostly he followed the sweet smell to it. Grant was cooking up fresh meat. Real fresh. A pig was run through with a spit and spun slowly over the pit fire. The pit glowed orange with a medium blue flame.

"She's a beaut, eh?" Grant said, coming over to him. His red hair was even more brighter today than the other day, almost like it really was on fire. He carried a can of beer in one hand. "She's for dinner. Breakfast is always dry. See Lindsey about it."

"Isn't it a little early?" Troy nodded down at the beer can.

"Ha! You're funny. I like ye," Grant laughed. He wandered back to the pit, still laughing.

"Troy. Good to see you," Tuck greeted, smiling warmly. "How are you feeling today?"

Not great. Dizzy. Possibly vomit worthy. His stomach clenched, sucking at the walls for nutrition. He could see his ribs.

"Uh, fine."

"Yeah," Tuck snorted. "My wife used to say that. She wasn't fine."

"My head feels massive," Troy confessed, stifling a dull groan. "Like it might explode."

"Hm. We'll have to see about an inflammatory." Tuck said. Then with a gentle pat on the shoulder they sat down. Breakfast consisted of grits and toast. Reed joined them with Ryan riding piggy back.

Lindsey was telling Troy something, but he'd lost track of what as he spaced out. He blamed his head. Trying to get it on track was hard. Looking around, he saw a lot of smiles. A lot of laughter. Every single one of them had to of lost somebody. Had to of. But, here they were. Living the dream. Fucked up kind of dream. They should be rationing and keeping guard. This wasn't a goddamn party. The world was a fucking mess.

The harsh thought shook him. A shudder worked its way down his arms and back. It was unsettling. This whole thing. What if they were attacked? He licked his lips as his mind raced faster and faster.

"There's no point on dwelling, you know."

Ryan sat behind him on the second bench that went up like a step or better yet, like bleachers do. Her black boots were tied with the strings knotted tightly and tucked inside the ankle. Her hair was pulled back into a messy pony tail with stray tendril and bangs. In black shorts and a dark green tank top with a dark grey denim vest over top, he could see the skin of her chest pucker around a red scar that dipped down between her breasts. He didn't let his gaze linger too long, but couldn't help but wonder about it. She didn't notice his momentary gaze or if she did, she must've been used to it, figuring that people looked at the scar and not her chest, not that it wasn't pleasant, though there wasn't much there. Maybe B size, but that was pushing it.

Troy scratched the corner of his forehead. His main thought had trailed off into dangerous territory and he stopped himself. The point was, she was ready for how hot it was going to get today. He could already smell the heat. It was thick of grass and the trees. It made him heady.

"We've just moved forward. Grieved. Raged. The eight million stages of all that. Then moved forward. No point in dwelling on the past. Just have to adapt. People die. We have no control over it." Her eyes danced upward, looking at the treetops. "If you were wondering about how a bunch of tree people could be so happy in the midst of an apocalypse, that is."

At that, he grinned. He couldn't help it. It was as if she read his mind.

"Oh bless my heart," she said low. "He smiles."

She shook her head and climbed off the bench and out of the pit. He quickly learned that she liked to keep moving, go exploring and searching. She knew everyone, checked in on them. He was pretty sure that as sweet as she could be, she could also be nasty. She had a hard shell and a small tolerance to bullshit.

People began to scatter to the winds to get chores done.

"What are you doing today?" Tuck asked him.

"Kenny and I will be going to ground. Perimeter check as far as I know."

"No, you won't." The grave tone made Troy freeze. Ryan hadn't left yet and neither had Reed. The two shared the same look. It was fear and caution. They walked over, their steps in sync.

"You coming with me today," she said. "I'll take you around to the hospital and maybe a few shops."

"Ry-" Reed started.

"Don't." she snapped. He wilted under her glare, his shoulders sagging. She turned it on Troy, but he didn't cave under authority. He kept his shoulders broad because while he was the newest guest, he wasn't going to let someone bark him…up a tree. "Let's go."

Troy looked at Tuck. Wasn't he the leader here? He just shrugged and ushered him off.

"Just stop and see Trick before you guys leave, would you?" Tuck said. It wasn't a question or a request. It was an order.

"Okay," she replied. Her eyes slid to the side and she looked at Kenny across the way, her nostrils flaring with anger. Then she snapped at Troy. "What are you waiting for? Let's go. I'd like to be back before dinner and we've got miles to go."

Troy stood to follow, but stopped as a wave of dizziness overcame him and he swayed. His vision speckled, threatening to go black.

"Whoa, careful." Reed grabbed his arm and steadied him. Ryan was already gone when his vision returned. "Don't take this personal. It's not you. It's Kenny. He has this thing for her and it verges on creepy. Also, when we first started this place, he and I did the perimeter once and she swears…I don't know. Just…look at this as a positive. She's keeping you alive."

"Ah. That's what that is." Sarcasm spilled from his lips before he could stop it. "Not going to lie. I'm only half alive."

"Better than not at all," Reed said with a forced, thin lipped smile. He patted him on the shoulder and pointed in the direction Ryan went.

Troy found her waiting at one of the drops—a flat held by a rope pulley that lowered to the ground. Trick was holding the lever that lowered it. She didn't say anything, but got on. Her gaze was distant.

"I've already packed you guys with multiple painkillers and first aid shit. I also put my special recipe in there just in case," Trick told them.

"Special recipe," Troy dared asked. He had a feeling he already knew, but the way Trick's lips curled up like a mischievous cat's grin confirmed it. Troy smirked. That recipe would probably alleviate some of the throbbing banging against the side of his head.

Ryan didn't even speak to him when Sophie helped get two horses ready. There were five of them and chickens. For some reason, the chickens thrilled him. Their white feathers plumed and they squawked.

"How do the walkers not hear all of them?"

"Oh, well…" Sophie grimaced. "They do. Sometimes it's hard. I usually bring a couple up top just in case. Breeding purposes and all."

She shrugged like it wasn't a big deal. Troy was completely mystified by it. She was thinking miles ahead. Instead of killing these little guys off, she was reserving them. She was making sure they never ran out. It was…

"Impressive," he said.

Her eyes lit up and she smiled. She handed him the reigns to the black horse.

"It is something," she agreed. Then she nodded off at Ryan who'd gone over to the brown horse with the perfectly placed white diamond between its eyes. She looked back at Troy, her eyes wide with awkwardness directed at him. "You're in trouble."

"I've only been around here a day." His eyebrows pressed inward and upward with confusion.

"Oh, that doesn't matter. Ry has this thing. She likes to keep people alive." She turned and picked up a pink, chipped, plastic bucket filled with what looked like muck and seed. Using the measuring cup floating on the surface, she scooped out bits, plopping them on the ground. The chickens came running and clucking. "It's understandable. She nearly died at the beginning of this whole thing. Reed told me about it once. I'm never ungrateful about whatever she musters to bring home. I'm always most grateful when she makes it home."

Troy turned his head to look at Ryan. She was rubbing her hand up and down along her horse's nose as she whispered to it. She nearly died? Hm. The scar on her chest reflected across his mind. Troy bit the inside of his cheek.

"When you get back I'll cut your hair." That snapped his out of his short-lived thought.

"What?" he said quickly. "No. No no."

"Yes. Yes." She hissed out the last yes. "Floppy dogs are cute, but they can't see that well when their hair in hanging in their eyes."

He grimaced. He may have been wobbly, but not enough to let a person half his height get at his head.

"Geez, don't look so sad. I cut almost everybody's hair. Plus, it does grow back."

He half laughed, still not feeling it. Sophie sniffed, tucking her shoulder length hair behind one ear and then rolled her eyes, as if to call him a pansy.

"Whatever. Go get yourself killed. Dinner is at sunset." She turned away from him to feed the rest of the chickens.

Lifting himself up and swinging one leg over the horse was more difficult than he thought. His legs burned and so much strength was gone out of his arms. The muscles spasmed. He clenched his jaw, waiting for the sharp pain to subside.

Ryan had trotted ahead some, causing her pony tail to bounced behind her. A shotgun was strapped to her back. To her thigh, a…short sword? Jesus. You find anything out here.

"Do I get a weapon to defend myself with or do I depend on the fair maiden," he quipped after a half an hour of riding in silence.

Without a word, she pulled out a blade—a bowie knife longer than her forearm—and handed it to him. There was no hesitation.

"You don't worry I'll kill you?" his eyes narrowed. It was a thought. An extremely distant thought, but one none the less. The bossier she was, the more it poked around.

"You won't," she said.

"Won't I?"

She pulled on the reigns, stopping the horse. He nickered and blew through is nostrils.

"You're still healing. If—IF—you were going to kill me, it would be after you've recovered. No sense in killing the people feeding you and keeping you healthy right this second," she replied with complete calm.

Troy tucked the knife in his own saddle bag. And whipped the reigns lightly, getting the horse going once more. There was no direct path except for what Ryan knew and her ears were on alert constantly.

"We don't live too far from New Orleans. Every once in a while we trip through the outskirts. There are also the farms and other little stops. A lot of them are ransacked, but then there are the hidden nooks and crannies," she said after another long bout of silence.

Troy didn't respond. He glanced around. There wasn't a walker anywhere in sight. It was strange. Ryan caught his eye and said,

"They like to stick to the city. Don't know why. Guess they don't like to be lonely."

Making it to an actual road, it wasn't long before a truck stop came into view. It wasn't one of those small stop-and-gos. It had an attached restaurant and mini shop. Like Ryan said, most of it had been ransacked.

Before seeing if there was anything to find, they swept through the place for walkers. Troy remained tense and alert. He'd brought the knife with him and Ryan had already unsheathed her medieval weapon. He would've laughed if it didn't seem like such a good weapon. Probably real fucking sharp.

After an initial sweep, they'd only come across four walkers. One of them had been stuck in the bathroom, in a stall. Better than a herd. The thought made Troy squeeze his eyes shut. An image flashed through his mind and then another, but he couldn't place the meaning of them. A hoard was creeping its way across dryland. Real dry. Not a drop of green. Couldn't have been far from the Ranch. And he sat there in a lawn chair up on a high rise, watching them go, like it was the best fucking show on earth.

A shudder ripped through him and he paled.

"You okay?" Ryan touched his arm, trying to catch his eye. "You're phasing out a bit. Maybe it was a bad idea putting you in so early. You did only wake up a few weeks ago."

"No, I'm fine." Troy spoke hoarsely and then swallowed hard, making his Adam's apple bob.

He rubbed the back of his neck. A bead of sweat slid down his cheek. He'd already taken a couple of the pills that Trick had sent with them. He couldn't take any more for a few hours, not unless he wanted to knock out for a while.

She wandered up and down the aisles. The store reeks of old food and sour milk that had churned to rust colored lumps in the freezers. Shelves were verging on empty.

"So, what's your story?" Ryan asked, peeking over the shelf at him

"Long," Troy replied, and as an afterthought, "I can't remember much. It was dark a lot."

"Hm." She stopped. Her eyes narrowed. "Dark."

She wrinkled her nose. He paused and rested his arms on the top shelf and leaned.

"I have this feeling," he started, refusing to look at her. Somehow, even though she was smaller than him in height and build, she was intimidating. "If I don't ever recall it, it'll be for the best. For everyone. Something's not right."

His head nodded to the side of his head wound.

"Whoever did that—" Ryan started.

"Had their reasons." He cut her off. "I don't think I want to remember that either. There's these shadows of feelings. Like a nudge. A clenching. I wasn't a good person."

He pushed away from the shelf he leaned on. There were shadows that lurked around him, the metaphorical ones, and he was struggling to decipher the dreams from memories. He didn't want to. He wanted let it all stay hidden and locked and gone.

"Whatever you say, Jack," she smirked and wandered off toward the next mini shop. This abandoned place really was a piece of shit. A hubcap skidded across the hall, scraping along the linoleum.

The hairs on Troy's arms prickled. Slow and cautious he followed the noise, wondering if Ryan had kicked it out of boredom or something else. Something else.

Peeking in through the doorway, he leapt into action. A walker, it's jaw unhinged and snapping, covered Ryan. Her foot on its chest was the only thing keeping it from biting her. It's left eye dangled from its socket. Brandishing the knife, he shoved the sharp tip right up the base of its skull. Ryan lay there on the ground, breathing hard.

"Huh. Forgot one, I guess," she said.

Troy shook his head, watching it, wondering if it would come back. And for some reason, he counted. But why? Thing was dead. Troy wrinkled his nose. And it was oozing all over the floor.

Only after scourging a few pots and random clothing—a thick jacket, a long sleeve shirt, and socks—Troy was ready to head back.

"You know," she started, "I found throwing stars once. Still have them. Fast little things and a hell of an impact if you throw it hard enough. It's just like in the movies. Though, with how fleshy these ugly ass things get, it's no wonder it's easy to cut through them. I lost one in a walker's head once. I did not go digging for it. Disgusting."

She patted to one of the saddle bags after she packed it. Troy chuckled at the face she made, remembering it. At least she was able to protect herself. Even back at the truck stop, she would've gotten the walker if he'd given her a minute. He didn't need to worry about that. No, what he was worried about was himself. A strange feeling seized him. There'd been no hesitation when he rammed that thing with his knife. Not a worry. Not a care. It actually felt…good. Relieving.

"So," Troy started. He was too curious not to ask. "Sophie says you were dying? As all of this went down."

Ryan burst out laughing, throwing her head back. What was the joke? After getting hammered—no joke…well, a small joke—Troy didn't understand.

"I laugh every time she tells the story. It's like she wished she would've been there." Ryan sighed. Her eyes changed with something resembling sadness. Her hand touched her chest. "I wish she'd quit with it. I wish I hadn't even been there."

"Where?" Troy strode up next to her now.

The sudden distant look in her eyes was blinked away and she scowled at him playfully.

"Okay…" she said knowingly. "I see. You're trying to weasel stuff out of me. You know what? When we become friends then maybe I'll tell you about my end of the world experience. Until then, you just go on and be everyone's little helper. Figure out where you need to be. Who knows, you could be just passing through."

Little helper? Was she out of her mind? He didn't pick up other people's shit. That he knew for sure. People could carry their own weight. Where did he need to be, though? That was a good question. He could pack up and head back to the Ranch, though did he want to. He did grab a couple maps from the magazine stand. One of the country and one of New Orleans. If there was anything worth having it would be there, maybe even in the French quarter. Washing up on a broken river shore, he wasn't sure if there was anything left of the Ranch. If it was worth going back. The place was in the middle of a desert. This place was greener than anything he'd ever seen. The twisting in his gut whenever he thought about the place didn't help. It was like a nagging. One that said he really shouldn't go back.

Troy set aside the debate with himself for later.

"Little helper…ha. No," he said finally.

"No?" Ryan's eyebrows piqued up.

"I'm alright with this. I need to get out. I'm too cramped up in that…place."

"Careful what you ask for," she sang. "My brother could really use some help from somebody like you. It's not easy managing the upkeep of the place."

Reed, her brother, was the one worked on keeping everybody up there in the trees. Ryan told Troy about how he would fix lose boards, replace rotting ones, find a way to strengthen the place. He was even expanding it, too. She mentioned that he'd gotten some sort of degree with it.

"Fine," he replied.

They arrived back at the Canopy—what Ryan called it—as the sun fell into the tree tops. Sophie wasn't around and the chickens were locked up in their coop, which was nothing more than a shed.

Looking up, he couldn't see anyone to drop the flat.

"This way, Jack," Ryan said. She looked at him over her shoulder, completely amused. That was the second time she'd called him that. She was enjoying him being completely lost. She'd shoved most of everything they got into her lucky pack, and dangled anything that wouldn't fit.

Moving under the Top, Ryan searched and then stopped.

"Give me a boost," she said, pointing up at a branch nearly twice her height.

Without a word, Troy clasped his hands together for her to step her boot up. Even with her pack, she was light. Ever so carefully, she hoisted herself up onto the thick branch and sat there.

"Let's go," she said.

Fuck. Getting up on the damn horse was a feat in itself. This was going to be hell. Using a knot bulging from the massive trunk of the tree, he lifted himself up onto the branch next to her. She positioned herself with ease and moved upward.

Walkers weren't climbers. They were more fallers and rollers and dumb. They could swarm it they wanted, but they weren't getting up there.

The climb was grueling. They came up on the deck of the fire pit. People were gathering plates for dinner, talking and relaxing. Nobody paid much mind. Leaving him to lie there on his back and out of breath, Ryan wandered off to where Tuck and her brother stood.

"Ye lived. I thought for sure ye'd be dead, friend. Glad ye ain't. That's for sure." Grant braced his knees, bent over and staring at Troy. His breath reeked of alcohol. Where the hell did he find it? Grant held out his hand to him. "Come on, lad. Let's get you some food."

Troy took his hand and let him pull him up to his feet. As they made their way over to pig on the spit. Meat had been peeled off already.

"It's a good sign ye back. That little truck stop is Ryan's test to see if newcomers stay."

Troy's eyebrow knitted together. That entire day trip was a test?

"She likes to make sure about people. Make sure they ain't the killin' type, ye know?"

Troy glanced over at Tuck and the twins. Ryan's back was to him as she spoke. Her hands were relaxed on her hips. Strands of hair from her ponytail stuck to the back of her neck. As if sensing it, she turned, looking over her shoulder, meeting his icy gaze. Feeling pissed was an understatement. The side of his head ached. So did his arms. He could sleep for a week.

Troy nodded stiffly. The killing type. His gut churned again. It was because he was hungry. That was it. That's what he told himself.

Ryan's gaze wasn't all that friendly either. This whole time, talking to him like he was welcome, she was making her observations, figuring out who he was, if he was dangerous.

"It's a good thing, lad," Grant said, handing him a brown bottle. The label was ripped off, but the taste was the same one he'd always known and it was good. "She like ye and that goes a long way. Tuck takes those kids' advisements very seriously. They got themselves a good head and Tuck values that."

Troy still said nothing, but he looked away from Ryan and into the flames of the pit. Grant kept talking and Sophie sat on Troy's other side. His gaze didn't stray once as he ate. He didn't speak either. He could barely hear them as they talked because of the rush of blood in his head. It was loud and thumping painfully.

He did pull out of the stupor at seeing Kenny across the pit. A cold look filled his eyes. He was dangerous. Troy didn't look away. Whatever contest this asshole was looking for, he would lose. Troy's jaw clenched and molars grinded.

"I'm off to bed," Troy said. He bumped his knee with Sophie's in a bid farewell. She beamed up at him. It made him falter for a moment. Nobody had looked at him like that before. Like he was somebody to look up to, and not just because he was taller than most people.

Though completely exhausted, Troy didn't go to sleep. His head throbbed more agonizingly tonight than it did earlier today. Under a faint lantern light, he opened Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde and began reading.

"You can't be upset, you know? I didn't even know she was planning that today. I won't disagree with her about it though. It wasn't a bad idea. She does it to most newcomers, especially ones that wander in in mysterious ways. It's an easy way to see where their instincts lie."

Troy looked up. Reed stood in the doorway. None of the places had doors. Troy had heard many things.

"I'm not." Troy replied honestly, though his words were clipped. How would he handle some random person walking in here? The strive to survive could make a person do crazy things. He just disliked that it had been done to him. how could he trust them?

"You are. But, get this," Reed said. Troy looked up from the book as Reed sat on the end of the cot. "You washed up here. Your memory is a fragmented piece of shit. We don't know what to expect if it returns. You get it? So yeah, we got tests. Nobody here dislikes you. Except Kenny, but he's a dick, so he don't count. Trick thinks you're some kind of god the way you ended up here and after all he's been through that's high praise. Just don't let it get to you," he finished. "It ain't worth it. Everything will work out if we've got nothing to worry about."

Reed eyed the book in Troy's hand.

"My sis got you into the library, eh? She's so damn obsessed with it. Can't blame her though. Who knew we'd be thrown back to the dark ages." Reed chuckled heartily.

"What would it take to be a scavenger? Ryan avoided it when I brought it up."

"Why the hell would you want to do that?" Reed looked at him incredulously.

"I'm grateful to be here, but I need to get out." Troy said, avoiding eye contact.

"For right now, today is the only day. You gotta be able to keep up and hold your own weight. See, Grant is a hard hitter. He's taken out three walkers at a time. Ryan is fast and agile. She can fit in small spaces. They've got it. You? You're a ways off. Help me out with this place for a while and we'll see."

Troy pursed his lips. Not what he wanted to hear. A scratching sound came from outside. Came from the ground. It was followed by a raspy sound. It was a walker.

Troy sat forward. Was there more than one? Were they going to need to move out?

"Hey," Reed drew back his attention. "Don't worry about it. We got watchers. Teams of seven. Three shifts. Ain't no one or nothing getting up here."

Troy nodded.

"Get some rest. Yeah? A new day tomorrow." Reed exited the room, his boots clomping across the bridge.

Troy rubbed his forehead. How long until this dulling ache didn't want to make him blow his head out? Sighing, he set the book down and stepped out on to the balcony. The thing wrapped around to the trunk. Looking out at the night sky, he decided this was better than the Ranch. It was open. There were no places to get locked up. Not that he saw anyway. He wasn't going to try to go back. What would be the point? It's not like Dad or Jake was looking for him anyway. Considered rotten, they wouldn't. Here was a good place. Or it could be.

For some reason, he fought each of these thoughts as they pressed against his memory, and he couldn't place why. A nasty swirl occurred in his stomach. Leaning over the wooden railing, he vomited and his head twisted even more. There was disgusting, faint splat on the ground below.

"Eeesh. Gross."

Using the sleeve of his shirt, Troy wiped his mouth.

"Now, I know that wasn't from the food. We take care to make sure it's cooked. And Grant butchered that pig last night. So…" Ryan trailed off.

Her hair had been relieved of its pony tail and fell in waves around her shoulders, touching her waist.

"I'm fine."

"Is it your head?"

He closed his eyes. They wanted to trust him. He bit back bile and the urge to snap. His jaw went taut. Trust. He needed to.

He nodded.

"I'm having trouble. My thoughts…" he took in a deep breath.

"If you want to talk—"

"No. I don't."

Her eyes widened and then she scoffed, grimacing.

"Okay…Well, when is the last time you took something?"

"What, are you going to take care of me? Huh?" Troy's voice escalated. He stood upright and turned, encroaching in on her. First, she played him, made him think he could do something around here and now she wanted to coddle him? "Would it make you feel better? Feel warm at night? I don't need you."

Ryan back stepped, breathing nervously, swallowing nervously. The tension in the air was uneasy. Troy's eyes narrowed and he smirked.

"Take it easy. There were reasons. It's not like you were in any danger."

"But neither were you. Just playing around. See, out there-" Troy pointed out at the darkness. "-it's not a goddamned playground. It's life or death. You wanted to kill me…"

"What? No!" Ryan hissed. He saw her arms tense and imagined her heart pounding in her chest. "Why would we work so hard to revive you only to kill you?"

"Some sick game."

"Troy, you're not well. You should lie down." She touched his arm to try and guide back into his room.

His knife, still at his side, was unsheathed and he held the grip tight. Slitting her throat would be so easy. Ryan eyed the gleaming blade. He swore he could see her pulse throbbing.

"Don't make a dumb mistake just because you don't like what I did. You're not feeling well," she said, but didn't back away.

Troy's eyes lingered over her. With the tip of the blade, he skimmed over the length of the scar that pinched the skin down the center of her chest and stopped when it disappeared beneath her tank top. He couldn't help wondering how far down it went. Certainly between her breasts, that, though they weren't very present, still moved in the slightest with each breath.

"I wonder how you came upon this," he wondered. He canted his head.

She swatted the blade away, getting herself nicked near her collar bone. A droplet of blood slid down her skin and Troy skittered out a breath. He shook his head. Where the hell did that come from? He'd never felt so out of control, so angry. It was ridiculous. His head really was fucked up.

That terrified him.

"I-I'm sorry." Flipping the knife in his hand, he held it out to her.

Hesitantly, she took it.

"Something's wrong with me," he whispered low.

He retreated back to his room. The bridge swung and clanked with footfalls as he heard her run off. Now he was done. Now he was thrown away. Big surprise.

Sitting on the cot, he leaned back. The room creaked as the nightly breeze swept through the room. He closed his eyes.

He started suddenly at a creaking sound. Ryan stood next him. She'd come back, but was still pale with fear. She was brave.

"Take these." Ryan held out her hand. Two capsules were in her palm. Not even asking, Troy swallowed both of them dry. If it was poison, then maybe it'd be good.

"I'm sorry," he said again.

"You weren't kidding when you said you thought you weren't a good person," she said. Her voice had lost emotion.

Troy shook his head. Ryan scratched her nose. He wondered what she was thinking with such an intense gaze.

"Hm. Come here," she said.

"What?" He gave her a confused look.

She pointed down at the spot in front of her.

"Come here." She reached behind and pulled something from her back pocket. Metal glinted and she pulled handles apart. Scissors. He remembered Sophie mentioning a haircut today.

Troy stood uneasily and she craned her head back with a look of regret.

"Okay, never mind. Sit. You're a freaking tree."

"Sorry," he mumbled.

"Don't be," she replied. She ran her fingers through his hair, judging the lengths. Then leaning down to his ear, she muttered, "Girls like to climb trees."

She paused.

"And guys…" Her eyes darted away…with slight disappointment?

Troy chuckled. She moved onto something new quickly.

"I overheard Sophie say she wanted to cut your hair. She'd bug you about it until you cave, but it's a good idea. And who knows, could do you some good," she said. She turned the lamp light up, brightening the room enough to see.

She snipped the curly lengths, giving a close cut, but not a complete buzz. The process was quiet. Troy watched her face as she worked. She concentrated hard, turning his head side to side here and there. She was careful around his temple, holding her breath at that part. And at times, Troy closed his eyes as she ran her small fingers through his hair. He resisted leaning into it. She touched him so softly, with no timidity like he expected. He hadn't felt that in a long time from anyone, not even before all of this.

With each cut, each minute, he could feel all of that strange anger fading away. He still couldn't figure out where it came from, but it was gone. He could breathe a little easier.

He noted the cut he'd made on her. He wouldn't do that again. Not if he wanted this to work. This was his decision. He didn't want to be out there on his own. He wouldn't make it. So, he would stay.

"There you go," she said, feeling accomplished.

She stepped back. Troy felt lighter.

"Hmm?" She inquired his thoughts. There weren't any mirrors, but as he felt through hair, it felt good. Relieving. The sides were shorter, and the top, too, but not as much. His hair still curled there. He could run his hand through it comfortably. The air on the back of his neck was nice. Sent a chill through him.

"Good." She tucked the scissors back in her back pocket. "Get some rest. You need it."

At that, he lay back, tucking his arm under his head.

"And Troy?" He tilted his chin to see that she was still standing in the doorway. "If you need to talk, I'm here. No matter how crazy."

She blew out the lantern's flame and walked out. Troy sighed. Talking. That's what he was afraid to do. What if he talked about these dream-possibly memories? How did he convey that he felt completely threatened and challenged to the point that his chest pained and he puked? It was all crazy. He was crazy.

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