Chapter 46
Well this is a Pickle

Carson wanted to keep me in the infirmary for observation but I didn't want to stay there. I wasn't safer in his supervision. I wasn't safer anywhere really. I just wanted to have walls around me and be alone. So, they left me in the bedroom for that.

At the first opportunity I curled up on the bed and tried to focus on staying calm.

I was alone at last. My limbs were killing me and the bruises were big and blotchy. I felt utterly terrified now. Negan had been sure to cut the fear deep. I guess I finally got it now. But I wasn't broken, not yet. The fire inside still burned, but as a flicker for the moment.

How was I supposed to fight against this mob that all hated me? There were no friends here on my side, I couldn't even count on Daryl anymore. He was too constricted under their thumb to confide in. Anything Negan wanted to do to me, they'd let him do. An unbearable weight of loneliness crippled me and I could do nothing but curl up inside the blankets of the bed and hide from the horrible, awful world within the false-safety of the cocoon.

But even inside that, I couldn't really escape. Everything was a reminder of where I was, straight down to the texture of the sheets to the sounds I heard outside the cell.

My chest grew tight, aching more now with homesickness instead of just the bruises. I wanted to be at the island with Vanessa singing me songs as I napped on the couch or in the flower meadow or the little bed upstairs. I wanted to be in the ruins of the pagan church with the statues of gods and deities to protect me from all the evils of the world.

I wanted to be back home in my cozy hammock with my spells and charms and idols and the other bits of comfort I had filled my bedroom with. I wanted to go find my parents' bedroom and snuggle up with Dad and Michonne wedged on both sides of me to hold me close and tell me that everything was okay and no one was going to hurt me or our people again.

I just…

I wanted my dad. If I could have anything in the world right now, I'd ask for my dad.

Singing interrupted my thoughts just then and I braved to peak out of my safe cocoon to see a blond-haired angel sitting in a corner with a guitar over her lap.

"Beth?"

She was a special sort of spirit. She only came when I felt particularly distressed.

I couldn't go up and embrace her even if I craved the touch of someone kind and trustworthy. I would just sink through her. So, I stayed where I was, curled on the bed as I listened to her song lull me to sleep.

I'm just and angel that's fallen from grace
In a weak moment I doubted of my faith
I danced with the Devil and I'm so ashamed
He never mentioned they I'd have to pay

Ooh Oooh

Beautiful fiction made me believe
Love and affection from him would come cheap
But I'm in the red now and I'm on the run
I wanna go home I don't know what I've done

Heaven help us
Be my compass
Out of darkness
Because I'm a fallen angel
Finding my way back home

I'm just and angel that's fatally lost
I tried to be something I know that I'm not
I danced with the devil and I'm so ashamed
Too far down a road to go back where I came

Heaven help us
Be my compass
Out of darkness
Because I'm a fallen angel
Finding my way back home

I'm just an angel that's fallen from grace
In a weak moment I doubted my faith
I danced with the devil and I'm so ashamed
He never told me that I'd have to pay

The next day, the doctor did a follow up on me, changing a few of the bandages and doing another long tedious chuck up before I was finally, finally discharged. I was left alone in the bedroom for the remainder of the day and spent a better part of it curled in the same corner as before.

Once or twice I tried to take my mind off of things by reading the books from the shelves, but I always ended up tossing them away in disinterest, too consumed in my own problems to be burdened with nonexistent characters and worlds that wouldn't help my situation in the least. I just kept in my corner, staring off into space dazedly. I would have sat by and stared out the window if I could, but the only one in my room was a long horizontal band on the opposite wall and was too high and close to the ceiling to gaze out of. It felt weird to have a room that seem so bright and yet the window was entirely out of my reach.

I didn't want to use the things in here all that much. It felt worse to use them than to ignore them. I hadn't touched the TV or any of the movies and the clothes were no good either.

A day after being beaten up, Frankie had come to check on me, probably to make sure I was still alive since I hadn't come out for two days. At first, I didn't respond, keeping my back to her while I lied out on the bed when she peaked inside.

"Judith… are you awake?"

Silence greeted her and I curled up tighter from my place on the comforter.

"I just wanted to see if maybe you'd like some lunch?"

Again, only silence.

"I'll um… bring you some food, later… if you think you can… eat."

She made to leave, when something occurred to me just then. I sat up on the bed and turned before the door had shut entirely.

"Wait!"

She dived back inside, eager and curious to know what I wanted.

"What? Did you need something?"

"M—my clothes." I told her. "After I took that shower I left them in the bathroom. Can I have them back? Please?" I added the last part, hoping it would appeal to her in case she was holding a grudge by the way I had treated her that first day.

The request was not what she'd been expecting. Her face turned down with disappointment as she gazed back at me reproachfully. "I—I'm sorry. But they were pretty old and we didn't think you'd need them anymore and well… we threw them away you see, and—,"

I didn't hear anymore. With those words, I turned from her and burrowed back into the pillow on the bed, my back once again towards her.

"I—I didn't think… I'm sorry."

Of course, she didn't think! No one here thought about things like that. They were just ratty clothes to them; a faded pink Wonder Woman T-shirt and a pair of torn khaki shorts. They weren't pretty or new—they were almost threadbare in fact. But they were all I had of home, the only things that were mine entirely, and they just threw them out like they meant nothing!

There was plenty to wear in the bedroom wardrobe, both casual and formal clothing as far as I saw, but in all honesty, I hadn't rooted too much through it, only enough to find some pajamas after I'd thrown aside the cursed blue dress that was speckled with dirt and blood from my beating. It lay in a corner now, kept company with the cloak I wasn't able to escape from.

Everything inside this space was a trap. The clothes that wrapped around me were claws, carefully attempting to sculp me into some mockery of something I could never be, smothering the person I already was, and covering me with a layer of what someone else chose.

But it was either wear them or be naked and I couldn't be naked—being naked was a hundred times worse. So, I picked out a set of clothes that were as near to my old style as possible and tried to adjust to the feeling of them.

Meals were brought to my room regularly, but once again my appetite was nowhere to be found and the most I managed were only a few bites every day.

When night fell, I sank into the bed to try and find sleep, but it was hard for a lot of different reasons. One: I kept running through the events of the past traumatizing few days and worrying about what was going to happen in the near future and so on. Two: those thoughts kept flaring up emotions of anger and anxiety and that made it difficult for my brain to shut down. And three: no matter what I did or what position I rolled in on the bed, I couldn't seem to find a comfortable spot. And worse, I kept seeing the monsters coming through the door. Kept seeing them and feeling their hands and fists on me.

It took hours, but eventually I realized it was the mattress that was making this difficult. It was too freaking soft! It was like sinking into a marshmallow.

Once I rearranged some bedding on the floor, shielded from sight of the door behind the tall frame, and settled in, I found myself drifting off pretty easily after that.

The next morning, Frankie came in to wake me and was startled to see me curled up in a heap in that odd place.

"Did you fall off the bed?"

To that, I only answered with a simple, "The mattress is too soft." And got up to get dressed.

A few days after the incident, Negan and his men set off to return to Alexandria and I wondered in the back of my mind if they were going to return alive at all. Dad would probably be completely beside himself with fury and worry and if Negan provoked him, he was going to kick his ass. If there was one thing I held no doubt for was the love my father carried for his family. I knew perfectly well that he would do anything for us, just like I would.

I didn't eat or talk for most of the day, worried about Negan's return, if he was going to return. I tried not to be too hopeful for the suggestiveness, but my anticipation and optimism for his failed return only grew more and more throughout the day.

Sometime while sitting in the same boring room with the wives, a feeling like someone walking over my grave, fell over me. There was a horrible sensation in me that something deeply wrong had happened, all at once. I didn't have to perform spells or get a premonition to figure out that whatever it was had something to do with Negan's return to Alexandria. Anxiety overpowered me and I left to pace around in private.

I decided to wait on one of the fire escapes outside where I had a decent view of the convoy when it finally returned that day. Whatever was bothering me would be brought to light the moment Negan was back.

When the trucks finally returned I deflated to see him jump from the passenger side of one, whole and unharmed. He wore a displeased expression though and it was only when I saw the shuddering, transparent mass standing in the middle of the courtyard that I was able to figure out why it'd felt like a shadow was over me all day.

Olivia stood in the middle of it, wearing an expression as if lost and uncertain about what she was doing. Maybe she sensed my presence because her face turned up just then and met my gaze. The moment my eyes locked with hers, it was like a breeze had come to blow her image swiftly away, making her spirit vanish completely in thin air as she passed on to the next life.

I stepped away from the sight, horror and appall taking over everything as I fled back inside.

That monster! That vicious evil monster! Olivia was innocent—she wasn't a fighter! Whatever had happened in Alexandria, whatever fight that had taken place hadn't been her fault. Her death had merely been an example to the ones that tried to oppose him to get them back in line.

The trip back to my room caused me to cross paths with someone I hadn't noticed being escorted from the trucks, at first.

"Eugene?"

I saw the side of his face as he was being escorted by one of the female Saviors. There were tear-tracks down his face and he looked terrified.

What happened? I followed them down two sections of the Sanctuary, staying out of sight while I observed this development. She wasn't taking him to the cellblock, least not the ones where Daryl was. Instead, the woman deposited him in a furnished apartment room, stocked with a small kitchenette and an entertainment system.

Without a word, she unbound his cuffed hands and let him view the apartment. He quickly came to realize that whatever fate he had been expecting was not in store for him and he wiped the tears immediately off his face. What was even worse was that he was… cooperating.

There was a strange ringing in my ears while I studied this scene. He moved around the apartment considerably, taking it in with a strange sort of fascination.

I stayed were I was, atop the stairs, listening as the woman offered to get him something to eat and he quickly calmed to find he wouldn't be getting punished, not like how Daryl had been punished, not like how… I was punished.

A raw blinding rage swept me with that.

So, this was what it was! It didn't matter what had happened back home. Olivia was dead and he was being rewarded. That fucking, cowardly, bastard…

I watched on, following them as the Savior gave him the same tour I had been granted my first day here. I watched as she explained the system, moving towards a table lined with canned goods and promptly shoved a jar of pickles into his arms, indicating that he had been given the same benefits I had, if I even cared to exploit them. The more I watched, the more furious I got. I was so fucking pissed. He had sold us out… he let Olivia be killed… for pickles…

I didn't know what pulled me forward, but an overpowering sensation of vengeance took hold just then and I approached him from the side.

My fist whipped out and I all but punched the jar out of his arms. The whole thing smashed to the concrete, juice and pickles and glass going everywhere. A cry of surprise escaped him and he stepped back in shock.

"You useless, self-absorbed, COWARD!" I screamed. The market had gone suddenly silent as everyone turned towards the commotion. I knew I was making a scene but I didn't care. I wanted them all to see what sort of man they had let into their ranks. At the drop of a hat he would do the exact same to any one of them. Loyalty didn't mean shit to him! I was doing them a favor by letting them know. "This is your fault! You got Olivia killed! What the fuck did you screw up this time?! You're the reason she's dead—I KNOW IT IS!"

When his brain caught up with what had happened and he had been given time to process who had slapped the jar from him, his eyes went wide with shock, as if he couldn't believe the state I was in.

There were still bruises on my face, my arm was still in the sling, and the rest of me was covered in bandages, but he didn't care—it was just an act! From his first encounter with anyone at the beginning of this whole mess he had used pity and lies to lure people in all the time. He was just like Negan—he was worse than Negan! And he wouldn't lure me in that way!

"J—Judith? What happened to you?"

He had no right to be concerned over my wellbeing—no right to feel bad about anything! That fucking traitor!

I turned from him, growing more disgusted the longer I stood there. "FUCK YOU, THAT'S WHAT HAPPENED!" I yelled over my shoulder. "GO BLOW YOUR NEW BOSS YOU MULLET-WEARING ASSHOLE! I HOPE YOU FUCKING BURN!"

All eyes were on me as I left the market. I could feel my face burn with rage and humiliation, but despite that, my heart pounded with satisfaction amidst it all. It had felt good to throw that jar to the floor, to break something, to yell and scream at someone deserving. Since my beating, it had felt like all my emotions had been packed tight in a sealed container. There were too many to fit within me and if I didn't get them out soon, they would consume me until I exploded.

And that's just what had happened. I had exploded everywhere, for all to see.

Slowly, regret for my actions overpowered the brief satisfaction caused by it. For certain I was going to regret that scene, and the panic followed immediately when I got back to the room.

I grasped my head in my hands, dread overpowering all my senses as I replayed what had just occurred. "Oh shit! Oh shit!"

Negan would kill someone else! He would kill Daryl—or maim him in some way. I couldn't let that happen. Maybe… maybe if I did something. But what could I do?

Grovel?

I didn't think I'd have the strength for that even if he killed everyone I loved.

Give him something?

There was nothing I had.

Kill myself?

The words made me pause. The idea made an insane sort of sense. If I did that… he couldn't kill Daryl or anyone else. I mean he could, but what use would that be? I'd be dead and the threat would mean nothing.

What could I use in here?

I didn't have pills or poison and I wasn't allowed weapons, but there was a glass vase of artificial flowers.

Grabbing it almost madly, I threw it to the floor, instantly reminded of the pickle jar I had smashed. There weren't many big pieces, but there were some little ones. Maybe I could... swallow one?

The thought was scary. Certainly, that wouldn't be necessary. Even a small shard would do the trick to open up the veins in my wrist.

Just then there was a knock at my door.

My heart leapt into my throat. He was here! He already knew what happened! I had to do this now or never! If I could just get my hand to stop trembling…

"Judith… are you in there?" It was Frankie.

My hand paused momentarily at the sound of her soft-spoken voice. My own voice caught in my throat and I couldn't answer for some reason.

When she didn't get a response, her hand went to the doorknob. "I'm coming in."

In my haste to get away, I had forgotten to lock it. My hands fumbled for the pieces, trying to shove them under the bed before she stepped in. It wasn't fast enough.

"W-what?!" I said, snapping towards her in a panic.

She stopped dead, staring down at the mess on the floor and the shards that had bit into the skin of my hands and the tiny cut made on my wrist. It didn't seem to take very long for her to figure out what had been about to happen were she a few moments later.

"What… were you doing in here?"

"N-nothing!" I said, trembling more and more. "A v-vase just b-broke. I was… cleaning it up."

I must have looked pretty guilty though because she crossed the room just then and knelt down. "Let me help you."

I tried to push her hands away in refusal. "N-no! I have it. I'll get it myself!"

"Judith…"

"No! I don't want your help!" I said angrily, burned by that gentle tone. She was still an enemy and I wasn't going to forget that. I wasn't going to let her manipulate me!

"But—,"

"JUST LET ME DO THIS ALREADY!"

Her hands grabbed my shoulders and slammed me suddenly against the side of the bed, stunning me enough to jar me from my raving. I stared back at her, motionless for the first time.

She didn't say anything. Neither of us did. I was too shocked to move other than to press closer into the side of the bed, beginning to tremble as I calmed from my meltdown and that strange spell of shear madness.

I hadn't even noticed I had been crying until the tears fell onto my hand.

My gaze turned down to the shards on the floor, overcome by how close I had been to ending everything.

How had I been brought to this? Everything had fallen apart so completely in just a few days. I was trapped in a corner; enough to think that this was my only way out.

My voice was a hush as I tried to explain to this woman why this was so important; why she had to let me do it. "H-he's going to kill him… if I don't… do it…"

Frankie seemed incredibly distraught by the conclusion I had come to.

"He won't."

"He will… you know he will."

We heard a pair of footsteps coming down the hall just then and another wife (I didn't know her name) stepped into the opened door.

"Frankie, are you in here? I just came in to tell you that…" She stopped the same way Frankie had done when she first saw the mess of glass on the floor. Her eyes swerved over to gage our positions next to the bed and the pile of glass that had been hastily attempted to conceal. "What's going on?"

"Can you go get a broom and the doctor? I can't leave her alone." The heavy tone of her voice, partnered with an expression I didn't see, seemed to be enough for the other woman to understand perfectly.

Without a word, she left to obey, while the redhead stayed to monitor me, fearful that I would make another attempt the moment I had privacy.

They gave me a guard after that day. Frankie had a talk with Negan to tell him what I had been close to doing and he'd established one an hour later. I could feel the constant presence of the awful woman lingering always outside my door. I was too drained to argue it though, and accepted the change grudgingly.

All glass items were removed from my room and they no longer allowed me any knives with my food. In fact, I now I had to eat with the wives, rarely left alone it looked like, except when I needed to sleep.

Daryl wasn't punished like I had expected.

Maybe Frankie was able to talk Negan out of it. I wouldn't have thought he'd be persuaded, but somehow, she managed it. It didn't seem like my meltdown in plain view of dozens of witnesses ever even came up the next time I saw him. He didn't even say anything about how close I had come to ending everything, but his tone did seem strained, like he was having sever difficulty withholding something back. I didn't know what it was and never found out before he promptly ordered me to go to my room after the encounter.

I only hated myself a little for wishing I had been quicker in ending everything when I had the chance.

I wanted to get away from that man so badly, that having a whole afterlife between him and me almost didn't seem like enough distance.

Author's notes: This chapter was difficult to write for various reasons. Judith is so young but already she's experiencing symptoms of depression and anxiety along with suicidal thoughts. She's ten fucking years old but she already feels helpless and drawn in a corner bad enough to think that taking her own life is the only solution she can find.

Judith does not actually know what it means to "blow someone" but she's heard the term being used before by people (cough Negan) who've insulted others and has figured out that it's obviously some sort of vulgar slur.

I couldn't resist using the insult Richie Tozier used in IT after he and the other Losers won the rock war against the Bowser's Gang and really wanted an opportunity to call that cowardly shit out for stabbing Rick's group in the fucking back after everything they've done for him. Even above Negan and the Saviors, Judith hates Eugene more than any others. He's unconditionally selfish, a liar and spineless and those are traits that Judith despises above all others.

Negan's a pig and a beast but at least he owns it, and doesn't try to hide behind lengthy Shakespearian explanations for the shit he does in the hopes of distracting others with their own confusion as they try to work out what he meant.

With all the shit that's been going on with Judith, being trapped in the Sanctuary, hit by Negan, beaten by her uncle, drained daily, traumatized, starved via hunger-strike, insulted, dehumanized, and incarcerated, it's understandable that Judith has a lot of pent up aggression and anxiety that she desperately needed to release and she found that release when Eugene got there. As much as she hates him, she's grateful for his presence because she's at least found an outlet to expel some of that aggression now, and since she knows Eugene is both deserving and won't retaliate, it makes him her ideal figurative punching bag.