I would usually still be asleep at this time, but the group's shouting and bickering woke me up this morning. I lingered in my cell for a moment to listen. Rick was telling the group he didn't want to negotiate with the Governor - something about standing their ground and a future here at the prison and a bunch of other reasons that I could barely hear when his voice calmed down. It didn't take a long time of eavesdropping to understand that the rest of the group was arguing against him. Herschel, as expected, told Rick to consider this a peaceful option. More shouting ensued. I grabbed my book and slipped out of my room, opting for a quiet morning in the sun, away from their palpable chaos. Only, the prison walls couldn't keep their shouting inside. I rolled my eyes and failed to read a page before glancing at the fence, now surrounded by hungry walkers, their bloody fingers wrapped around the chain-link. As usual, I eye each one of them from the safety of my perch in the grass. Not Robert, I think. I study the next body. Not Robert. And the next one. Definitely not Robert. I laugh at myself for even hoping anymore.
A week has passed since Rick took me downstairs to look for my brother. I've spent it outside, laying in the sun just like this, book in hand. Whenever I offer to help around the prison, I get rejected with a polite smile from most and an annoyed, dismissive wave from others. It seems they've already had a decent set up before I arrived. There's not really a place for me here other than just… existing - waiting for the storm to blow over so I can finally leave. I've spent many days planning out where I'll go. There's a cluster of woods in the distant east, the opposite direction from which I arrived nearly two weeks ago. I figure Robert must be out there somewhere. Perhaps he is seeking the hoard way out there. Perhaps he is already in the hoard. I clench my jaw at the thought, at how impossible it would be to find him in that, and force my nose into the book.
I think I've memorized every plant in this book. I can differentiate between toxic, edible, and non-edible plants. I know which plants are found in this area, and the areas surrounding us. If I had an artistic bone in my body, I could probably even draw some of them by memory. There's an entire library of books in the prison, but for some reason, I'd rather re-read this one from the little house. Anytime I want to transport myself back into the past, back into my life before any of this chaos existed, I just close my eyes and smell the pages. I can see my grandma's grand bookcase, stuffed to the brim with old publications. I can hear my brother and sister listening to the radio. I can smell the bread cooking in the kitchen. I'm thwarted out of my little fantasy by a slamming door and boots on the gravel. It's Rick.
My stomach drops at the sight of him. We haven't spoken much at all since that night in my room. That suggestive invitation. That touch that I've dreamed about. It's pathetic, really, the sort of puppy love infatuation I've developed for the man. He doesn't even think of me like that - why would he? I'm probably a kid to him, as much as it hurts to admit. He's got a whole life here, responsibilities, and two kids to look after. I'm just some girl who wandered uninvited into his territory and I'm not even welcome to stay long term. Rick hasn't been ignoring me, necessarily, but he's just been busy. He took Michonne and Carl to his hometown to look for more guns at his old job. Him and Daryl spend most of the days checking the fence for holes or walkers. He even went on a few solo supply runs. I had considered asking if I could join once, but I felt like I was prodding, like perhaps he prefers the solo runs to get away from everyone for a while. I know the feeling. So instead, I just waved him goodbye and asked him to grab me some chocolate, which he did.
"Supply run?" I ask as he passes by, his boots kicking up dust in the early morning sun. Just his presence makes me remember that night. His hand on my skin. His eyes searching mine. I clench my jaw and snap out of it. Rick shakes his head, leaning against the truck door.
"Nah," he says. Already his tone is evidently annoyed. I bite my lip and return my attention to my book, though he continues speaking after a moment. "We got a meeting with the Governor," he mutters, leaning against his truck door. I glance up and shift my posture, closing the book in my lap.
"What? Why?" I ask, sounding more concerned than I'd like. I thought Rick would have been able to stand his ground in there, but I guess the group convinced him. I certainly don't like the idea after what I've heard about the man. "Was it his idea?"
"Sort of," he shrugs and runs a hand through his hair. "Andrea says he's got this proposal, a truce I guess, to divide up the land and stop botherin' each other."
"You don't sound too happy about it," I gather. He glances down at me with a twinkle of intrigue, his lips slightly parted as he studies me, as though he's surprised I can read him. He's an open book whether he thinks so or not. Everyone can read him, I think, they just choose to keep their mouths shut probably, because they know how he'll react. I would hate to get on Rick's bad side. Again.
"Not necessarily about the meeting, no, but I would like a day off." He stuffs his hands into his jean pockets. "Just to sit and relax for one minute."
"Do it. I do it everyday," I joke, a nod to my lack of help around here. Rick knows it. He's seen me try to wiggle my way into chores, cooking, cleaning, organizing, and he's seen me get waved off everytime. He laughs a little at my self-deprecation and lightens his tone a bit. I even shock myself to see I've made him smile after a long morning of arguing. I bite the inside of my cheek to remind myself to stop reading into things that don't exist.
"Tell you what," he says with a newfound energy. "When I get home later, I'll come up with some things that need to get done around here. I can see you're itchin' to contribute." I smile at his idea.
"I just don't want anyone to think I'm lazy," I admit. I drop the book in my lap and look away, my eyes boring into the treeline again. I've memorized it by now.
"You walked halfway across the country, Reese. Nobody thinks you're lazy," he says with a wink and climbs into the truck.
Herschel and Daryl exit the prison, their heads down and their faces irritated. They both carry a weapon and enter the truck. Daryl slams his shut with a seemingly purposeful force. Herschel keeps his composure and sits patiently beside him. Rick rolls his eyes away from the men until he lands on me, speaking through the open window.
"Hopefully this meeting will end things and we can forget about their threats to take the prison," Rick explains to me in a low voice. I feel a sense of responsibility. Is he confiding in me or just filling me in on what's going on? Either way, it's a major step up from a week ago when he wouldn't let me say a word without punishing me for it. I nod and offer an encouraging smile, though it's hard to pretend I'm not slightly worried for them. After what Beth has told me, I'd be wary to step into a room with that man.
"C'mon, Rick. Ain't got all day," Daryl shouts from inside the truck. I purse my lips and nod at Rick, signalling that he should listen to the man, but Rick's attention lingers between us and our conversation. After a breath, he breaks away and revs up the truck.
"We won't be long," Rick says with a nod before veering down the driveway.
I watch as Carl closes the large gate behind them, locks it with a click, and heads up to the prison. I wave at the kid with a kind smile, but he only stares back, no emotion on his face, and keeps walking inside.
/
With Rick gone, the group seems to lighten up. The loud bang of fists on tables and echoing shout matches have been replaced with a lighthearted chorus of laughter and chatter. They've left the main door open just a crack to let some fresh air in and though I don't intend to, I can't help but hear their conversations.
Before long, Beth steps outside with a bowl in her hand, outstretched toward me.
"You hungry?" She asks, lingering near the door. Part of me wants to stay outside and avoid the group. I know they have other things to worry about and I'm just someone passing through, but it's hard to not feel unwelcome in their downtime, like sharing meals or telling stories at night. The one time that I did join them in their bedtime group talks, I left early after Carol made a snide remark about that girl who broke our fence. She must have forgotten that I am that girl. Like they said before, they get a lot of visitors. Glenn gulped and looked away. Beth cleared her throat and changed the subject. Lately I've been locking myself in my room to eat and just listening to their nighttime stories from the comfort of my cell, but Beth's kind eyes are hard to say no to. I can't help but see my little sister in her. So, with a forced smile, I lift myself from the grass and walk inside.
"Thank you," I say, taking the bowl of oatmeal and following the girl to the table where everyone sits. Even Michonne is here for once. We have a lot in common - unspoken, of course. For one, we keep our distance from the group. We are tucked away in our cells if we aren't outside wandering around. When I was reading my book yesterday, she walked outside, sort of aimlessly. She found her way to the fence where she impaled a group of walkers, one by one, until they all fell silent on the grass. She stared down at them for a while before wiping off her long blade and returning to the prison. I wonder what they did to her in Woodbury, though I'll never ask.
I sit in the only empty seat, in between Michonne and Carol. The group continues their chatter without a word in my direction. I eat my food in silence and listen to Maggie's story about growing up on the farm. I catch Glenn beaming at her and I smile, too. They aren't bad people, or even mean people, I just haven't found my place here. As I take another bite, I glance over to my left, noticing a pair of eyes on me in my peripheral. It's Carl. He stares a moment longer before grabbing his bowl and walking to the sink. I look away and continue enjoying the meal and the chatty company.
"You grew up on a farm, too, right?" I hear Maggie ask, though it takes me a while to realize she's talking to me. I look up from my food to see all eyes on me, except for Carol, who looks bored. I clear my throat and set my spoon down.
"Oh, no." I shake my head. "Not a farm, just a little house on some acres in a pretty rural area. But my friends from the city liked to say it was a farm," I explain with a small laugh and so does Maggie.
"To them, any house outside the city might as well be a farm," she adds.
I catch myself smiling at the tiny connection. Aside from Beth and Rick, nobody really asks me about myself. I'm mostly grateful for that, however, because some topics are still a bit touchy even now. I'm sure we all feel that way, though.
After breakfast I head back to my spot in the grass and lose myself in the book. I learn about Georgia's placement and how the climate is suitable for both northern plants and tropical plants. I read about jewelweed for treating poison ivy, sassafras for immune health, and flowering dogwood as a natural aspirin. I dogear the pages that seem important, but by the time I'm done, most of the book is folded. I look up at the sky and the high noon sun that is becoming more and more blinding with each passing minute. Shutting the book closed, I stand up and stretch my legs, ready to go inside for a while. That is, until Rick's truck appears at the opening gate and pulls up to park. Carl closes the gate and walks back inside with a quiet Hershel. Daryl hops out of the truck and glances at me without a word before joining the rest in the prison.
I lean against the cinder block walls and watch Rick exit the truck, his gaze a bit meandering. He pushes his long hair back with a deep sigh and leans against his truck.
"Didn't go well, I assume?" I ask. Rick chuckles and looks around the yard.
"Didn't go as well as expected, but it could be worse, I guess," he speaks gravelly. He takes a few breaths, some more like sighs, and rubs the back of his neck. "I could use a little escape. You in?"
I look around to see nobody else present, as though he were asking someone else. My heart flutters at his words, his confident stance, his seemingly effortless charm. I press my teeth together to stop a growing smile and lift my back off the hard wall.
"Sure," I nod. "Where to?"
He cocks his head toward the truck and I take the signal to climb into the passenger seat. Carl isn't outside to open the gate, so I get out to do it. After Rick drives through, I close the gate behind us and latch the lock. Before I turn to hop back in, I meet Carl's eyes. The boy stands at the top of this hill, his small arms crossed over his chest as he leans against the front door. I nod and turn on my heels.
"Let's go," I say, and smile over at Rick.