I shot up, struggling to force air into my chest. My fists shook with my sleeping bag in a death grip.

Those eyes flashed through my head and the ache in my shoulder jumped to the foreground, but the face kept coming back to me. It wasn't his face, but those were his eyes.

I desperately thrashed in the sleeping bag, doing everything in my power to get out as fast as humanly possible.

I kicked the fabric from my feet and in a blur of blind panic, I grabbed my backpack and was outside before I knew it.

My foot caught on the lip of my tent and I had half a second of realization when my stomach soared and my hands shot out to catch me without even thinking.

I went sprawling onto the ground. My cheek smooshed against the well treaded dirt and my neck whip-lashed in an already failed effort to save my face.

My chin was parallel to the ground as I furiously blinked, whipping around to look at everything that moved in the slightest. My hands began to sting but it was a dull sensation against the frantic sweeping of my surroundings, the sting blooming in my cheek, and the ache in my ribs.

My heart hammered painfully against the inside of my chest. The sound filling my ears so completely I couldn't even hear my own rapid breaths shaking my chest.

It took me several seconds to fully grasp where I was, and I only did so when I flipped over and my eyes landed on a familiar crossbow leaning against a tree, in the tent beside mine.

I swallowed hard and licked my lips, trying to bring moisture back to my parched mouth as I pushed myself up. I pulled my legs in, resting my elbows over my knees.

Part of my brain recognized the angry red of my hands, and the few speckles of blood rising from torn scabs, but I couldn't bring my focus to it; not while I tried to force a deep breath and stop picturing a red glow, a face I'll see tomorrow with eyes that should be long gone, and flesh-tearing teeth.

Three things that should never have coincided wrapped up in one godforsaken nightmare.

He's gone. He will never get to me, but I can't stop seeing it.

Ever since the CDC, and I saw Shane…

I fumbled shakily for the water bottle I keep in my backpack, and struggled with the cap before I finally got it off and down half the bottle.

I haven't— they haven't gone away. He hides it well, but they're still there. I feel like I'm living with ghosts. I can still see those eyes when I look at Shane sometimes. I hear his words when someone speaks, even if their voices are different.

I found my eye being drawn to the very building. In the dark it's nothing more than a dark outline against the star-scattered midnight blue sky.

My head lulled back and I stared up. The dark treetops outlined against the atmosphere. I harshly rubbed my eyes with the back of my wrist and drew in as long breath as I could, no matter how shaky.

Looking back to my hands, I stared a moment before screwing the lid back on the bottle. It took me a few tries but I managed, and stuffed it back inside the grey-black bag.

I rubbed my arm, finally noticing how cold it was, but I didn't grip my wrist because it's chilly.

I took another drawn breath; shutting my eyes as I bit my lips to keep my teeth from chattering.

I finally looked at the tents surrounding the campsite, and made a mental list of who was where.

My eyes moved to the top of the RV. No one's on watch tonight.

Why would there be? I mean, it's not like there's a barn full of walkers on the premises.

I cast my gaze towards the dark mass again, before finally crawling off my dirt covered butt, and went back inside my tent.

I sat in the corner, on my sleeping bag but couldn't bring myself to crawl inside it.

The near non-existent moonlight glinted off my gear in the corner beside me and I reached over without even thinking about it, and grabbed one of the knives.

I gripped the handle in my fist, smearing little drops of blood over the previously clean grip.

My tired, anxious gaze fixed on the doorway and I absently began tracing my fingers over the sharp steel blade.

I don't know how long I've been awake. My eyelids are heavy but they keep finding reasons to stay open.

I don't know when I laid down, using my backpack as a pillow instead of my actual pillow.

I don't know for how long I was able to close my eyes for each time I startled awake again, but the cold steel in my hand has been warm for some time now.

The light has slowly grown orange and fiery, with the rising sun; Fading into a yellowish white the higher it gets.

I stared at my cold sock-clad feet. The growing light revealing the deep blue color, and the black music notes finally became visible on them just a short while ago.

I know it's dawn, or past dawn, but all I could muster the energy to do was lay here, staring at the fabric door I'd left open all night.

I never did crawl back into my sleeping bag, but I've been using it as a blanket to stave off the cold. The cold which has been working with paranoia to keep sleep out of my grasp, all night.

When my toes finally started to warm up in the sunlight, it was like the off switch. The rising heat, and the white noise of gentle wind just...

The smell of food wafted into my tent like a wake-up call from heaven, but unlike every other day, it wasn't what got me outta bed.

I don't know how much sleep I actually got, but I can feel it in my limbs and in my eyes.

Every rustle, every slight sound brought me back to wakefulness, all night.

The wind brushing my tent had me shooting up knife first, every time I managed to fall asleep. Right up until the sun of all things let me sleep for however long I managed.

I dragged my hands over my face, kneading my stiff eyes with my fingers.

I can't be slow today. If I'm off my game I'll end up either coming back sooner, dying, or getting lost myself. Heaven forbid I fall asleep out there.

I don't feel as sleepy as I should. I know I don't, but I don't think I could sleep right now even if I tried.

I shouldn't have fooled myself into thinking this place was safe.

Nowhere is safe— there's no such thing as safe, never has been. Only safer.

My hands were sluggish in lacing up my boots, more so after I finished. I just sat there, staring at the guitar propped up next to me.

I wanna believe Sophia could survive out there on her own. It's possible but, she's not me; Or Daryl, or Rick, she's just a kid. Being a kid is hard enough already without all this crap, but being on your own?

Absentmindedly reaching over, I plucked the strings in slow succession.

That lil' girl is tougher than she looks but she's not—...she's not the kind of tough you need to be, to make it on your own.

"Ey"

I jolted straight into a kill-move; Knife brought up next to my ear.

"Whoa" Daryl stuck his hand out, reflexively. For a second he almost looked like Rick.

A tense breath released my lungs, and I sheathed my blade, waving my hand in a half-hearted apology.

"You look like shit."

Gee thanks. I rubbed my forehead just over my eye.

"Did ya get any sleep last night?"

I couldn't answer that if I wanted to. I let another heavy sigh out; those are quite popular with me today.

I need to wake up.

Just cause I had a nightmare and spent the night just sitting in the frigid night air wafting through my tent, doesn't give me a pass to be outta control.

The barn's full of walkers, and Sophia's still missing. I don't have time to be tired.

I took a deep controlled breath, stifling a yawn and stood up. Locking eyes with Daryl, I gave a solid nod.

He watched me grab my gun and tuck it into my waistband, that unconvinced look on his face, while I outfitted the rest of my gear.

When I had everything, I turned, ready to join everyone outside for breakfast but stopped because Daryl was still staring— scowling at me, with no sign of moving.

I sighed, giving a —not entirely convincing— smile.

It did nothing. He continued to stand there, raising one eyebrow.

Well, now I know what it's like to be on the other side of that 'cut the bullshit' move.

"I'm fine." I pulled on the hair tie around my wrist and put it between my lips while I started gathering my mass of hair.

I combed my hair back with my fingers and pulled the hair tie round and round until it was secured. "Just a nightmare"

Daryl pursed his lips, giving an almost unnoticeable nod and finally moved to let me out of my tent.

I followed him out, to the campfire where Carol was cooking breakfast, while I tried and failed to suppress another yawn.

Not everyone is up yet but as soon as Carol starts cooking, people tend to start getting up. I do at least.

I smiled when she looked over, and nodded in response to her muttered, "Morning"

I sat in the same camping chair I did last night, next to Daryl. It's almost becoming my dedicated seat, though I don't occupy it often.

I zoned in & out all morning as people got up, even as I ate my food. My head swirling with things I didn't even think to be concerned about before now. But I had a lot of time to think last night, as evident by the bags I can feel under my fatigued eyes.

I don't know whether I'm being paranoid or hyper aware, or if any of this crap has any relevance, but I'm starting to give myself a headache.

I was a fool to think I was long past all this— to think I'd ever be.