I updated in less than a week!?

Dale's expression when Glenn and I come upon the RV makes me smile.

The man stands up, the sun-bathed umbrella casting a red glow around him. "Glenn? What happened?"

I hold my hand above my eyebrows to keep the shine out of my eyes, answering for Glenn who is currently shuffling through a dirt and blood smeared cooler, most likely searching for a bottle of water to wash his hair with. "Maggie egged him." One part of me feels guilty but another one wants to burn the image into my brain so that I can draw it later.

His eyebrows raise and the lines almost drowning under the grey of his beard deepen as he smiles. "Oh dear." I hear him mutter, the words being followed by a chuckle. "I recommend you use the sink in the RV to wash up."

"Yeah. Okay." Glenn sends him a grateful glance before turning to me. "Could you ask Carol for a clean shirt?"

The fact that he's trying to respect that I want to aid him helps the worry that bombards me over talking to the woman diminish the slightest bit. "Sure." I respond, spinning on my heels and moving further into the camp where the clothing lines are hung. I think about just grabbing a shirt and running back to the mobile home, but the risk that the sizes could be all wrong keeps me looking for the gray haired woman.

I find her clipping a damp pair of jeans onto a line, eyes as distant as Rick's were when he'd been marking up the map consisting of theories of Sophia's whereabouts. Nerves jumble around inside of my stomach and I roll my eyes at the feeling. It's just a woman, Nevaeh. It's not like it's a walker. The words echoing around my head don't help one bit and I hate myself for being so afraid to speak to her only because I'm not her daughter.

"Carol?" I call out over the disarray transpiring under my skin. She angles her head towards me slowly, arms now encompassing her form like a layer of armor. She's trying to keep herself from crumbling under the weight of her heart just like I am and the thought that we're both nervous about speaking to each other helps me force out my next words. "Um, Glenn needs a new shirt and I'm not sure which ones fit him so...could you help me?"

Carol offers me a smile, soothing and poignant all in one, and nods her head. "Of course, sweetie."

I'm not sure why such a kind term causes my heart to drop to my feet.

She leads me around the trunks of two large and dry-leaved trees before grabbing a shirt off a particularly heavily loaded line. The orange-yellow material is handed to me and the warmth of the fabric from being victim to the Sun by some means calms me enough to meet her eyes. I smile back at her because, after Carl, I know how much it can help. "Thank you."

Her voice is soft when she replies, "It's no problem. Do you have those clothes you wore yesterday? I don't think we've gotten the chance to wash them yet."

"Oh." I had totally forgotten that the clothing would be wanted for washing. I want to smack my palm against my forehead. "Yes, I do. They're in my tent, I'll get them for you."

And just like that, the conversation is over. It leaves me feeling hollow as I trek back the tent I share with Andrea, Glenn's soon-to-be shirt crumpled into a ball by the curling of my fingers. It's the one piece keeping the words, 'I'm okay' from being a lie. Objects keep me in check more than people do, I guess. They're more concrete. Always there, never a desirable meal for walkers. Mason's jacket and other random things - just like this shirt - are reliable. They'll never leave without my say so.

Andrea sits on the sun-dried red sleeping bag invading half of the dirty and dead grass occupied ground of the sheltered square, royal blue bandana skirting over the sterling silver of the knife I've seen in her hands abnormally often. It's something that should probably scare me but doesn't. She can protect herself. That's all I need to know to be able to close my eyes in here at night.

We don't share words as I enter and unzip the dusty grey bag that's lain against my back since the beginning. I can feel her eyes on me though, burning a hole through the side of my head with the sharp blue that had me feeling that same intimidation that creeped up on me with Rick. My fingers brush against the light blue cover of the thick sketchbook inside, the sticker that reads Sketches By Nevy in a soft pink causing me to clear my throat. That had been a Christmas gift from Mason. He'd always been way too overjoyed when that holiday came around, wearing a santa hat with a huge white fluffy ball hanging off the tip when he wouldn't have been looked at like he was crazy. He was the worst present wrapper I'd ever seen and on Christmas morning he'd end up helping me unwrap my own gift because he was too excited to wait.

I'm so absorbed in the memories of watching the snow under blankets with warm mugs of hot cocoa warming up my insides that I jump when Andrea's voice meets my ears. I look to her with wide eyes and it's then that I realize I'm smiling. I don't let the truth of how the world is now diminish it. "What?"

She's staring at me, eyes slightly narrowed in a calculating way. "We're going out to look for Sophia when Rick gets through with talking to Hershel about the barn situation. You're still coming along right?"

A pang of dread hits me when I realize I still have to tell Carl about that. I can't just leave without at least letting him know and I don't even want to focus on what's going to happen with the barn. "Yeah." I answer, moving past the colorful ringed book and snatching the filthy bundle that is my clothes out of the pocket before zipping it back up again. "You still have a problem with me going out there?" I congratulate myself on my challenging tone.

Andrea tucks the bandana under the yellowed pillowcase beside her and shakes her head. "I respect that you're taking up for yourself. I was wrong with what I said yesterday. My way of thinking was that the only kids I've seen in this thing have been...weak." She stares at me straight on, that fierce blue showing no trace of uncertainty. "You aren't."

I want to protest with her, tell her that I might be the weakest person in this camp, but I don't. She thinks I'm strong and I want people to think that. I nod in gratitude, my personal and slight resentment towards her being melted away. She wasn't that bad.

A corner of her lips curve in return before she continues speaking. "We're meeting up by the green car in five minutes to discuss the plan. I was about to go get my gun from the RV. You comin'?"

I glance down at my hands, clean fabric in one, dirty in the other. "Could you get my gun for me? I have to get these to Carol." I hold up the yellow tank top and shorts. "Glenn also needs his shirt because his other one got...dirty and I have to go let Carl know where I'm going, so could you also give it to him for me? He should still be in the RV cleaning up."

Andrea takes the wrinkled ball from my fist, no annoyance visible in her expression. Or maybe she's just really good at hiding it. "What type of gun is it?"

My throat constricts. "It's a Glock 19."

"K." She stands, shoves the knife into the waistband of her jeans. "See you in five."

Another conversation over, this one giving me a sense of accomplishment instead of the consternation of uninhabited space. She'd accepted who I was - or rather what I wanted to be seen as - and moved on to bring me into the fold. I wasn't a weakling in the eyes of adults. Not anymore, not ever again.

I retrace my steps back from where I came from speaking to Carol. A leaf, a sign of moribund for the trees hovering far above my head falls from its habitat on a branch and into the wild and tangled curls of my hair. I stop in my tracks, reaching for it. A hole punctures through the middle, the light brown of death spreading from it like a disease. It reminds me of how the world is now; the walkers are the brown and me and everyone else still alive are the green.

I push away the thought that it'll all eventually be the same bleak color the longer it lays on the ground as I crumble it in my fingertips and let it get blown by the breeze shifting through the air. It seems like all the pretty things left after the end of the world are depressing, though, at the same time, being depressing is what makes them pretty.

Carol's standing at one of the wooden picnic tables when I spot her, submerged in a metal bucket up to her elbows. A small pile of clothes sits next to her and she grabs an item from it after securing a saturated salmon shirt on the line behind her with pins. Her movements are mechanical, her mind clearly somewhere else. I hope she's reflecting on something happy, but the anguish written on her face tells me it's quite the opposite.

I paint on a smile when I approach her so it'll ease the awkwardness that will no doubt shadow us. "Here." I mumble gingerly.

She takes the clothes from my hands and places them on the stack beside her after adding another piece to the black wire above. Now would be a good time to walk away; I've done my part, I don't need to stay. But I do. There isn't anyone else around besides T-Dog who sits on a bench about ten feet away and I can't accept that. I stare into the soapy water tinged with dirt, my lips pursed as I grasp onto a topic of conversation. "Are you the only one who does this?"

A shake of the head. "Lori helps out most of the time." Right. I knew that. I'd seen her washing a shirt yesterday. "Andrea too, occasionally."

Her water-wrinkled fingers curl the cloth of a pair of boxers so that the water is released from them. The sight of a boy's underwear used to freak me out, but now I don't feel a thing. "I could help out too." I offer. It would make me feel normal and lately that's been something I've craved. "If that's okay."

Her lips lift and the smile is sweet and real. "That'd be just fine."

Hershel sends our plan off the rails when he asks for Rick's help. Only Rick's.

He's an aged man with a receding hairline of white, suspenders cutting across his button up to remind us that he has farming in his blood. His eyes are blue and wrinkled at the edges, the only thing that indicates he was ever happy. They're narrowed as he speaks, all attention zeroed in on the man who was just commanding us on where to go, only skirting away to shoot Andrea and I a nod of acknowledgment. His voice is worn with the strain of life, but it's definite and leaves no room for argument after he shuts down Andrea's request of joining them. I keep my lips sewn shut throughout the entire exchange and study the man as he folds up the pale blue sleeves of his shirt with gentle fingers.

Rick handles him well. He doesn't back down and speaks with respect. I watch them as they walk further away, Andrea rolling up the map behind me and heading to the barn to 'keep watch'. She'd glanced at me with raised eyebrows, a clear invitation to go with her, but I'd shaken my head immediately. As of now, I didn't want to go near that thing. I might have another breakdown and Andrea was the person I least wanted to be there for that.

I stare at the farmhouse a distance away, squinting at the strong reflection of the white in the Sun and debating on whether or not I want to do what I'm thinking. It could help me or it could destroy me.

But it's worth a shot.

I stuff my gun that's still lying on the hood of the car into the waistband of my capris and journey over to the RV stationed a short way from the line of cars and angle my head up, letting out an irrepressible snort when I see the sight above. Glenn frowns down at me, weight supported by the long rifle in his hands. "What do you want?" He pouts, but his tone is playful.

I shake my head at his amusing behavior, not bothering to quell my smile. "I'm heading up to the house, thought I'd let you know. I'll put in a good word for you if I see Maggie."

"Really?" The expression of happiness that he shoots at me itches memories of Mason that for once don't make my heart hurt. I'm trying so hard to get the pain to stop; maybe I'm finally succeeding.

"It's the least I could do." I reply, teeth attacking my lip as I get lost in my mind. "Maybe try to talk to her one more time. And this time, don't give her your hat. I happen to like Dale's choice of clothing."

He rolls his dark eyes under the beige rim, but his teeth are showing in a grin. "Noted."

I chuckle and swivel around to start the trek up to the antique structure, my eyes involuntarily landing on Carl's form leaning against a tree separate from where we'd stationed ourselves this morning. He's too absorbed in the thick book - obviously not a comic, something that surprises me - to notice me passing and I almost join him, but I'm trying to wait until right before we leave to tell him where I'm going. That way he has no way to stop me and if I sit next to him it'll spill out of my mouth without consent.

So I fix my stare back on the lazily deteriorating home and force myself to stop looking for distractions to stall me from doing what I'm about to do. I'm the one who wants to do it; I know it'll help me if I can get through it without disintegrating into a pile of flesh and bones and torment. It shouldn't be such a big deal, but my mind tells me it is and the fanciful concrete walls surrounding me with sunlight peeking through the cracks agree too.

The rattling of the screen door when I knock my fist against it sounds far away in my ears. "It's open!" A light voice calls, the fragility and steadiness concurrent in a way that I can understand. I walk in the cool aired foyer, avoiding the view of myself depicted back at me in the mirror placed against the opposite wall and continuing into the living room of sorts to the right. The antique smell of the place takes me by surprise again and I inhale a deep breath, both to calm myself and to savor the air that doesn't smell like corpses.

Beth sits on a circular wooden stool painted black, hands pressing against random keys of the dark wood piano that looks just about as old as the man who owns the property. Yellow creeps up on the edges of some of the keys, others so white they look brand new. Her blue-green eyes are blank as she focuses on pressing more of the musical notes, stopping after sinking the very last one, a deep and dark sound echoing through the empty rooms even after her hands are bundled together in her lap. She smiles up at me. "Nevaeh, hey!" She greets pleasantly. I'm envious of how easily she can be nice and lively, but that doesn't stop my lips from twitching upwards. "What's up?"

"I, uh," I get momentarily distracted by the wooden frames sitting on top of the instrument, quickly averting my concentration to the band holding one of her bright blonde pigtails in place. I'm too scared to meet her eyes. "I wanted to thank you for the clothes and stuff yesterday. I didn't get the chance to." That's not the real reason I came here, though. I made the hike to see how strong I really was; how long I could speak to someone that's gone through the same thing as me even if it wasn't as harsh.

As of now I'm not doing so bad.

Beth stacks together the papers sitting on the music rack, fingers tapping away against the sheets even after they're as even as they can be with each other. That's the one thing that tells she could be just as nervous as me. She shrugs her shoulders. "It's not a big deal. You were really dirty."

I giggle and some of the the jumpy energy swirling around my stomach releases along with it. Beth joins me when I do and it helps soothe me. Maybe this isn't as hard as I thought it would be. "Yeah I could tell. You looked at me like I was crazy when I got out of the shower."

"I couldn't help it!" She defends, her smile one of those full blown and diverting ones. "You looked disgustin' when Lori brought you here."

"Well that's what happens when you're on your own for days."

Damn it.

I hadn't thought my response through and now the hardwood floors suddenly look very interesting and Beth's stare feels like a gunshot wound straight through my forehead. I cross my arms against my chest, running my fingers over the material of Mason's jacket in the crevices of my elbows. This was a bad idea. I'm so stupid.

"You were alone?" Beth's soft questioning sounds rhetorical, but it doesn't really matter if it truthfully is because she's not getting an answer either way. "What about…." She starts up again after my silence and trails off just as quick, interrupting her thought with a breath of, "Oh."

I feel like grabbing the cold piece of metal digging into my back and shooting something. Possibly myself, possibly not. The option honestly doesn't seem that abominable anymore.

But then I remember the promise my pinky made and the boy who conceded to it right in front of me and the one made to a dying man who'd been there for my entire life, bloody with the bite of death.

I run a stressful hand through my hair, the restraint of tears becoming a habit as I blink rapidly. I watch the door a few feet in front of me, wanting to run and escape and almost moving forward to do so, but the miniscule squeak the stool makes as Beth stands catches me off guard and blasts my train of thought off its rails. The breath I let out is heavy as I compel myself to finally meet her eyes. They remind me of Hanalei Bay from that trip I took to Hawaii when I was ten. Turquoise, but not. Tears join together in them to form a picture that brings that leaf from earlier to my mind. Depressingly beautiful.

But pity hides under all that disconsolateness, biting away at my strength like a walker bites through skin. Anger boils down in my stomach and I narrow my eyes at her. Water is gathering in the bottom of mine too and it's so hard to keep a grip on whatever pathetic defenses I have left, but I try.

"I wanna show you somethin'." It's a whisper; a secret. "Follow me." She doesn't move from her spot after the words float through the air and I begin to think she didn't say them when her eyes grow wide and inquisitive, hands grasping her hips.

I keep my gaze threatening as I mull over the potential 'somethings' she could be showing me. I know she's nice, even with the detestable look she's giving me, so it can't be life-threatening.

As if Beth knows exactly what's going through my head, she says, "It's not like I'm gonna kill you." Those eyes roll, still anger-inducingly full of sympathy I don't want. "Besides, I don't have any weapons. You do. Trust me."

I press my lips together. Trust. I don't know about it as a whole, but with the vow of not killing me, I do. "Okay." I let go of the arguments flying around my brain with the word and wipe at my eyes even though I haven't let them leak yet. I inhale and say with my breath, "Lead the way."