"To be perfectly honest, I like pressure. It's something I find exciting. And I am the kind of personality that gets very bored very easily. The work I try and involve myself with is ordinarily determined by how much it sort of frightens me." -Taron Egerton


When night came in, it came slowly and rather uneventfully. The group dispersed to their designated sleeping area, Hershel and his family went into their house for the night. Maggie and Glenn had returned earlier on, the two separating as the day had progressed. Charlotte had noticed something slightly different between the two, but she wasn't sure if she was imagining it or not. But, eventually, she went on to mind her own business.

Carol and Lori went on to make a quick dinner—heating up some canned beans for the group—before everyone had gone back to doing their own thing.

And by the time everyone was getting themselves ready for bed—or at least trying to get a few hours in before watch—Charlotte found herself getting just a little crowded in Dale's RV. Carol and Andrea slept in there, with Dale sleeping near the front, and while three people wouldn't have bothered Charlotte much, she just felt like the RV was suffocating her. She needed to get some air.

Wrapping Beth's blanket around her shoulders, Charlotte quietly stepped out and stood close to the RV, not wanting to wander too far. Looking around, Charlotte took in the details of the nighttime scenery. Though, it wasn't like she could take in much; she could barely see a foot in front of her. But that didn't mean she couldn't admire the sounds. Hearing the bugs chirping, maybe even the occasional owl hooting, was enough to at least dim the feelings Charlotte had. When she'd been on the road, Charlotte had grown accustomed to not sleeping for multiple nights in a row. Her longest time without sleeping had been three and a half days. That had been after she robbed the last group she'd been in. She had been scared at the thought of being caught by them. Not to mention she had to worry about the injury she got—a cut, not too deep, but still deep enough to get infected if not treated properly.

As it would turn out, Charlotte wouldn't see or hear from that group again. Others would have probably said Charlotte had some kind of guardian angel, but she found that to be a load of crap. Charlotte didn't believe in any kind of higher power, she believed in what she could do for herself.

A slight breeze drifted by, causing Charlotte to involuntarily shiver.

When the door to the RV opened, Charlotte jumped, instinctively going for where she'd normally keep her knife. That was when she realized her first mistake. She had forgotten to take her knives.

"What're you doing out here?" Andrea's hushed voice filled Charlotte's ears, making her let out a slightly relieved sigh. But that didn't stop the adrenaline.

"I needed the air."

Andrea came and stood next to her, a look sweeping across her face. "It's dangerous to be out here at night," she said, crossing her arms over her chest.

Charlotte shrugged. "I'm used to staying up at night," she said. "I used to do it all the time before." Turning to look at Andrea, Charlotte tried for a smile. "Besides, I don't know if anyone's keeping watch."

Letting out an airy chuckle, Andrea nodded. "It's still important to get some sleep. Especially if we're going to look for Sophia and practice with guns."

Humming in response, Charlotte shrugged again. "You're right."

A silence fell between them. Neither made an attempt to move, and that didn't seem to bother Charlotte in the slightest.

"How long were you out there?" Andrea asked, her voice still hushed.

"For a while," Charlotte said. "It's important, being able to go by yourself. That's when you know how you really are."

"Sounds like suicide to me."

"I had to learn a lot about myself when I was alone," Charlotte murmured. "What would I do if someone tried attacking me? If I had to choose between my life or someone else's, would I let them die or me? Those were the big questions I had to ask myself. Who would I let die so I might live?"

"You made your decision, though?" Andrea asked. "You saved Carl. It probably wasn't easy, but you did."

Charlotte didn't respond. It took her a few moments before she decided to speak again. "Not long after I left my first group," she said, "I did travel by myself for a while; then I met another group. I had no intentions of staying with them, I was just going to use them for their resources. I planned on stealing as many things from them as I could."

"Why?" There was a tone in Andrea's voice that made Charlotte's stomach twist. It sounded almost like judgment.

"They had things I needed," Charlotte responded, shrugging nonchalantly. "Sometimes abandoned towns or cities won't have that one thing you need. There's always someone else who has it."

"What did you do?"

"I got close to the leader. I gained their trust. Once I was positive they trusted me, I took whatever was important and ran. They caught up and cut me, left a nasty scar. I still managed to get away."

There was a silence before Andrea spoke again. "Are you planning that with us?" she asked, her voice sounding almost harsh.

"No." Charlotte looked at her. "I may have some respect for Rick, but he's a married man. What I did with that other group, it was for resources. I had no intentions of staying. You guys look out for each other. You care. I don't want to mess that up."

—Us Against the World

Charlotte looked at the group of men surrounding her. They were genuinely pissed off. If Charlotte hadn't already been feeling terrified, she would've been scared shitless. She shouldered her backpack again; it felt heavier than it ever had before. The group had been easy to manipulate; they were mostly men, and in the world they were currently living in—one where the survivors were relying on instinct mostly—a man's instinct could be molded to fit someone's needs. If it's done right, that is. It had taken Charlotte a long time to get them to trust her. She had to use a little feminine charm on some of them—not really going beyond some flirting, maybe some empty promises thrown around—but it worked.

In no time, Charlotte managed to manipulate the leader's trust. Freddie, the leader, was a rather overconfident man. He took pride in his appearance, in his ability to lead his group. If anything, Charlotte couldn't have picked a better person to have under her thumb. Freddie was the kind of guy who would do anything to impress any woman who showed interest in him. Only two times since Charlotte and Freddie had been a "thing" did it escalate into something intimate, despite Freddie wanting more. Freddie found the whole ordeal groundbreaking; Charlotte hadn't been that impressed. But she had pretended relatively well.

Needless to say, there had been a lot of "heartbreak" when the group found themselves without a lot of their supplies and Freddie found himself without his "girlfriend". It shocked Charlotte that they managed to find her.

"What're you doing, Charlie?" Freddie barked, crossing his arms over his chest.

A strained smirk came across Charlotte's face. "What does it look like?" she said.

"I don't think you understand just how awful it feels," Freddie said slowly, his eyes narrowing slightly, "to realize that my girl stole from us and ran off."

"'Your girl'?" Charlotte exclaimed.

Freddie's hazel eye blazed with fury. "Yeah. My girl," he snapped. "You're mine, Charlie."

Rubbing her face in exasperation, Charlotte looked at them with almost exhausted eyes. "Freddie, I was using you," she said, emphasizing each world. "You're too cocky for me. That's not going to help you survive out here."

The intensity of Freddie's anger and rage had become so prominent, that it oozed into the air heavily, nearly choking everyone else.

"Look, I'll give back the things I stole," Charlotte lied, "but you have to promise to let me go." She tried making herself sound scared, almost petrified, at Freddie's growing instability. Part of her fear was real, she was scared on what would happen.

The sounds of groaning and shuffling caught there attention. A small herd of rotters appeared out of the underbrush, clearly drawn to the noise Freddie had been causing.

"Ren, take her back," Freddie exclaimed, getting a handgun out. "Make sure she puts everything back."

Ren DiMaggio was a relatively heavy British man who was older than Freddie. Freddie himself had to be somewhere in his late twenties, early thirties, having some years on Charlotte. Ren, on the other hand, could've been Freddie's father. The middle aged man clearly didn't like being told what to do, but he knew better than to argue against his leader. Grabbing Charlotte's arm, he yanked her away from the direction of the rotters and back to the camp. Once they had managed to outrun the rotters and were clearly far enough away from the others, Charlotte yanked her arm out of Ren's.

The relationship between Ren and Charlotte hadn't always been great. The two hardly spoke, but Ren seemed to see right through Charlotte's little flirting techniques. What surprised Charlotte the most was that Ren hadn't told anybody.

"You brought this on yourself," he muttered, his voice gravelly. Digging through his shirt pocket, Ren pulled out a box of cigarettes. Once he had one lit and in his mouth, he started walking slower.

Charlotte had been spending her time trying to figure out a way to escape, being in no mood for the older man's little spats. Charlotte knew Ren had a nasty habit for smoking, and that it was starting to catch up to him. He'd start coughing violently, sometimes blood spattering out of his mouth. As far as Charlotte was concerned, he was a dead man walking.

When Ren had come to a stop to have one of his coughing fits, that was when Charlotte had her opportunity to run.


(A/N):

Sorry for the delay in having this chapter up, but hopefully you guys like it. I'm trying to establish at least some kind of relationship—whether it's friendly or not—before I start any kind of relationships between other characters. I hope that makes sense.

I own nothing in TWD.

Leave a thought on anything I can improve on.

Sincerely,

Alek Haydn