Rick stared at me in a way I can only describe as stumped by a puzzle.

"You know for someone who doesn't talk much, you sure know your way around words. Remind me never to argue with you. I'd never win."

I raised an eyebrow.

He chuckled, shaking his head, and pat my shoulder as he moved around me towards the house.

So wait, did I just...win? —That feels like the wrong word— but… he said— I'm confusing myself.

I stared after him until he went into the house, out of sight.

He said to remind him never to argue with me, he would never win.

So does that mean I got through to him, or is he just deferring to what I said because he doesn't have an answer for himself?

I offset my jaw, running my tongue over my molars. My eyebrows knit together in something akin to frustration but probably looks more like pouting.

I scratched my head, and shoved my hands into my pockets. Starting towards the RV; still confused, and probably will be for a while.

I can't tell if I'm missing something, if he deliberately withheld, or it's actually straightforward and I'm just having a brain malfunction.

When I reached the RV door, I swung it open and Daryl glanced over his shoulder, from his place on the counter inside.

Carol shifted in her seat at the table directly across from the door, but didn't look.

I stepped in, closing the door behind me and watched her for a moment.

I'm not good at this. I don't know if she needs a hug, if I shouldn't touch her, if I should just go away and leave her be, leave her be but stay here like Daryl.

Everybody's different when it comes to loss— and what they need is not always what they want.

I'd know if it were Daryl, he'd want space and I would give him that but I wouldn't leave him alone. Even if he didn't know he wasn't alone(preferable).

But I've spent a lot of time with Daryl, it's not difficult to predict how he'll react, most of the time. Carol, though?

I don't know Carol well enough to know what she needs. I knew before she didn't need to be alone, but that much was obvious. Right now I can't tell what she needs.

I don't know if she wants us to leave, but needs us to stay. If fewer people here would be better than more; in which case I would leave it to Daryl, seeing as he's been here longer already.

Daryl tapped my arm, and motioned to the counter next to him.

I think I was staring at him, oops.

Moving around his knees, I folded my arms as I leaned against the counter on his left.

I trust Daryl's judgement more than mine when it comes to Carol. He seems to understand her better than the rest of us(me at least). Though I'm not sure how or when that happened— and I'm positive he doesn't either. If he's even aware he knows her so well.

I know enough to say her behavior conflicts with what she thinks. She thinks one thing but does another, and I know why.

Anyone who's spent even 1 day in a similar situation, or the system, would know.

A lot of the kids you see carr— carried, the signs.

Skittish, quiet. Look like they wanna speak but won't.

It's in the way the carry themselves, and how they look over their shoulders every few minutes, if not seconds, without realising they do it.

How their eyes trail over other people, watching for the sign they're about to be hit. Flinching whenever they receive an unexpected or just a tad too hard touch.

They move like a magnet of the same pole around other people; always standing with a radius of space between them and others. Even people they're close to.

Carol's like me, and Daryl, in this regard.

The three of us… We make a perfect example of how someone makes it through a situation like ours. The details may vary between us, even to the extreme, but there are only so many ways you survive through stories like ours.

You either become angry at the world, like Daryl; lashing out to protect yourself, but continue to be hurt by it regardless.

You become skittish and scared of everything, like Carol; always waiting for the next attack, but desperate in seeking someone or something to make it stop. A constant struggle.

Or you become like me.

Isolating yourself.

Learning everything you can about anything that even remotely relates to your situation.

Seeking strength, or power; any semblance of control. Eventually, you find it and either become like your abuser, or you get out by becoming an island.

Doing everything on your own— never rely on someone else. Always vigilant; watching others behavior as if waiting for an opening.

Reading body language more than, and in some cases better than, words.

Constant searching for the motive behind even everyday actions, just in case.

The only person you trust, is you.

It's better than being a victim. Better than being helpless.

Being able to take care of yourself, away from whatever life you're leading. That sounds like a pretty sweet deal when you're trapped; hurting, or being hurt.

But… that's a lonesome existence. Almost not worth living, if it weren't the fact it fosters a self-reliance mentality. The 'I will endure no matter how painful it is' mindset, doesn't allow the thought of giving up or giving in.

I don't think it's a bad thing to have that mindset, but the problem comes from the trust it withholds from others.

I don't know when I realized —though I know it was after I met the group, and before Rick came back— but living like that, is hard. And harsh.

Not just anyone can do it, and looking back at it now, it was killing me.

The constant awareness. Distrust of everyone and everything. Only ever being able to achieve surface trust of another person(trusting them not to stab you when you sit next to them but still can't turn off the hyper vigilance in their presence).

Always being alone, meant there was no one to go to for help when I needed it. When even by my own power, no matter how much I fought or struggled for it, something was just not possible to do alone.

When you realize solitude is not as good as it sounds, things change.

It's difficult to be reminded, humans are social creatures. We need a pack. Being lone wolf doesn't work, no matter how appealing it sounds.

It's just the way we're wired. To seek out even just one other being to trust; even if you don't realize you're doing it.

I didn't. Not until long after it had happened.

Trust is like friendship. By the time you acknowledge it, you've already been that way for a long time.

For it to be Daryl of all people, to remind me carrying every ounce of your own trust, is one of the heaviest things in the world…

I wouldn't have believed it when we first met— not even after the CDC.

Hell, I didn't believe it right up until the moment I accepted it. That much didn't happen until after he proved to be worthy of that trust; without realising, or intending to.

Now that I think about it. The moment someone proves to be trustworthy(whatever that entails for you), is when you let go.

When you let them carry that trust for you. Whether you realize it or not—

The door opened and both Daryl and I turned. I leaned forward a bit to look around him, until Lori stepped inside.

She watched Carol for a moment. A look of mourning twisting her tired features, before casting her gaze to the floor. "They're ready."

I looked to Carol, and watched as she shook her head. Not looking at Lori; not even moving her eyes from the grimy table, where they've been since I myself walked in.

Not so much as turning her shoulders so her back wasn't to us.

"Come on." Lori tried gently.

"Why?" Carol asked, shaking her head. Her voice filled with disinterested despair.

"Cause that's your little girl." Daryl surprised me by being the one to answer.

"That's not my little girl."

My lips parted. Carol finally turned towards us, just enough her watery eyes could look at Daryl. "That's some other...thing."

She blinked, eyelids stuttering as she looked away again; Turning out the window opposite of us.

"My Sophia was alone in the woods." She nodded, as if to affirm the notion in her own mind.

"All this time I thought..." she shook her head for umteenth time. She took a breath like she was about to speak but sighed instead.

"She didn't cry herself to sleep. She didn't go hungry. She didn't try to find her way back. Sophia died a long time ago."

Silence followed and even as I heard Lori leaving a minute later, I couldn't move my gaze from Carol.

My mouth clamped shut as Daryl got off the counter with a rough exhale through his nose.

I watched him leave, finally able to look away from Carol. His jaw tight, steps angry but lighter than I would've expected as he followed Lori.

I moved to do the same, stopping to touch Carol's shoulder but I didn't make it.

My hand hovered behind her, fingers barely an inch from brushing her shoulder, but I couldn't bring myself to touch her.

Retracting my hand, I turned, stepping out of the RV.

I jogged to catch up to Daryl, and we walked in silence; Trailing after Lori towards the trees we had agreed the graves would lie under.

I know she's in pain, I know that. Everyone grieves in different ways.

I don't have any right to hold jack shit against her, Sophia was her daughter, but that—…

That was cruel.

To Sophia's memory if nothing else.

Everyone accept Carol gathered for the funerals.

A simple large stone was placed at the foot of each freshly dug grave. The same stones Otis's memorial is built out of; gathered from the same pile.

I stood beside Daryl, between him and Lori at the far end of the group.

No words were said, or if there were I didn't hear them.

There was barely a sound.

All tears had been spent after those barn doors were wrenched open, and we were forced to shoot our loved ones.

All that's left is to stand as withered, hollow shells.

The second the first person walked away(Shane), it was like a trigger had been pulled. Simultaneously everyone accept myself departed; almost running away.

I watched Daryl trek into the woods. Why he's going out there? I'm not sure, but I can venture a guess.

It was mere seconds before I stood alone at the foot of the graves. One a good foot shorter than the other two.

Part of me can't believe how much disrespect is happening today, another understands why— understands what pain makes people do, and part of me is grateful.

Because with everyone gone, I don't need to be there to lean on... my knees hit the dirt in front of Sophia's grave; finally giving in.

The wrenching in my chest since the moment those doors swung open worsened as tears began sliding down my cold skin in waterfalls.

My hand covered my mouth, the other digging into the dirt painfully.

My lungs trembled.

My legs ached.

I choked on silent cries as I knelt over a small grave. The dust my knees kicked up made me cough with the first of sharp inhales.

My hand smothered every small noise, even hiccups, as I tried to keep from making anymore sound than was necessary.

Salty drops rolled over my knuckles, and slid under the pads of my cold fingers. My throat constricted with every desperate sound I wouldn't let pass. Every agonizing breath accompanied a sniffle from forcing my breathing through my nose.

My shoulders shook like I was on the verge of hypothermia. My white-knuckled hand stung in the dirt, as it clenched a small rock.

"I'm sorry", I squeezed my eyes shut, dropping my head until my chin almost touched my collarbone. I dropped my hand from my face, placing it on the stone before me.

"I'm sorry I couldn't— I didn't—"

My lungs gasped as if I was drowning. Cold wind brushing my hair off my neck and chilling my skin even further.

My lapse is the reason you were in that forest at all.

"If I had been watching the back like I always do— instead of running off to look through cars—"

"If I had gone back when I thought to— You wouldn't have been out there alone— Rick wouldn't have been the only one—" My forehead collided with the stone but even if I had cracked my skull open on it, I doubt I would've felt anything. "—you didn't have to die, I could'a dealt with those walkers!"