Chapter 86- Twice as Far: A Week Later, Part 1.
"It's been a while since we've had a chat."
"Is that what this is?"
"That's what I would call it."
"Right..."
"What would you call it, Rhys?"
I crinkle my nose at Denise's question, not wanting to sound harsh.
"Mandatory therapy."
Denise chuckles at me, pushing her thick black glasses up her short nose.
"You want to elaborate?" she asks. "I won't be offended."
I roll my shoulders and feel like I could shrink into a ball that Carl can use for his PT.
Denise insists.
I give in and answer.
"Glenn thinks I need this, but he's wrong because you can't get it."
"Why's that?"
"Because you've never been out there. So how are you meant to sit and listen to me talk about what happens out there."
Denise looks more offended than she said she would be.
Maybe that's how I can help," she says. "A fresh perspective."
I shake my head.
"I don't need it anyways. I'm good. It happened."
Denise lets out a long-winded sigh.
"It's been a week since you were taken by those people, Rhys. It's okay to be not okay."
"But I am okay."
Denise does a strange little dance with her hands and pen. She then asks me something that seems offbeat for our sessions.
"Are Daryl and Rosita busy today?"
"Erm, no... maybe... I don't know," I scratch my scabbed ear over its bandage. "Neither of them are out on runs today."
Denise nods, deciding then to swerve the conversation back in my direction.
"Why haven't you spoken to anyone?"
I frown at her, chewing my bottom lip in defeat. I know everyone thinks I'm broken because I've been staying in my room for the past week. Carl keeps coming to see me, and I keep telling Glenn to tell him that I'm sleeping. I don't really know why, I feel better when he's there, but then I worry I shouldn't. Mikey and Enid try to, but they get the same answer.
Maybe they're all right.
Maybe I'm just broken.
Paula said it.
Maybe she was right.
"How are you feeling physically," Denise asks when I don't answer the last question.
Donnie broke three of my ribs and cracked two others. Molly broke my nose. Breathing is virtually impossible now. Denise says I need to learn to breathe through my mouth while I'm healing, but then my chest and ribs just scream at me.
"Are you going to answer anything?" Denise asks.
I shake my head.
She nods, knowing this is usually how these sessions end.
I go to Carol's house after the session because she doesn't ask me how I'm feeling. She just knows, and I know she's the same. She's living with Tobin now, I think. But we don't talk about that. We don't talk about anything. She just rolls her eyes at me when I sit next to her on the porch swing, but she doesn't tell me to go away— offering me her cigarette and not saying anything when I leave after it's burnt out.
I try my best to be unpredictable in my routines now, taking a whole half an hour to get home. But Mikey is knocking on my front door when I do get there. I try to dodge around the side of the house and out of sight, but he spots me.
"Rhys..."
I stand frozen, hoping maybe he's a T-rex and if I stay like this he'll forget about me.
"Rhys."
He's not a T-rex.
I slowly walk up the porch steps to meet him.
"Can I come in?"
I shake my head, feeling awful and just wanting to hide in my duvet.
Mikey looks me up and down. "Are you okay?"
I don't move again.
Mikey frowns at himself.
"Sorry, stupid question," he says.
I nod in silent agreement.
"I think Rosita and my brother are... erm... you know... doing the deed."
I glance at him. Not caring.
"It's fine," he goes on. "I just think it's weird because Rosita's always spending the night now... and she's coming for diner tonight. Spence is making his beef jerky stroganoff... so she'll probably break up with him after that."
I can tell that Mikey expects me to laugh at that because he does this awkward smile while swinging his arms.
"You want to come?" He asks.
I shake my head.
"...Okay."
Mikey shrinks his shoulders into a disappointed hunch.
"Oh, Morgan was here looking for you when I got here," he says.
"Why?"
"Dunno, but he's probably still in the Brownstone basement."
I nod, walking into the house. Mikey stands awkwardly at the door like I might change my mind and invite him in. I don't, shutting it on him.
-Mikey-
The door shuts, and Mikey frowns at it.
He feels like a book that has been read one too many times— always saying the same things each time he's lifted off the shelf and opened up. Forced to watch when Rhys gets bored of knowing what's going to come out of his mouth next. His comforting not as effective as he wants it to be.
Mikey crosses paths with Denise and Daryl as he steps off 99's porch. They're talking about apothecaries.
"Did you guys say something about an apothecary?" Mikey tilts his head, curiosity getting the better of him.
"You know what that is?" Denise asks.
"Erm, duh."
She smiles at him, cracking her knuckles as she explains the odd topic of conversation.
"We're going on a run... medical supplies should be pretty abundant at this place— Edison's Apothecary and Boutique."
"Smart," Mikey nods. "Most folks wouldn't know what that is."
Daryl watches Mikey when he speaks, watching him with this complex squint that seems to say nothing and a million things, all at once. Mikey fails to read his thoughts, and it makes him nervous. He doesn't think he's ever had a conversation with Daryl. He remembers how him and Ron thought Daryl was the coolest.
Then Mikey realises that he definitely still thinks that.
"Just you two going?" Mikey asks, having to stop himself from dancing on the spot when Daryl answers him directly.
"Nah, Rosita's just getting ready." Daryl gestures to the door that Rhys just shut.
As if on cue, the door opens, and Rosita appears from the house.
"We ready?" she asks them, a machete under her arm as she trots down the porch steps and pulls on a pair of fingerless leather gloves, nodding at Mikey.
Mikey scrunches up his face, confused. "Rosita... I thought you were teaching weapon training today... in the cul-de-sac?"
"Nope," she shakes her head. "Sorry. We've got a run to make."
Mikey bites his tongue several times in hesitation before asking, but he manages to kick himself and ask anyway.
"Can I come?"
Daryl's looking at the floor like it's suddenly interesting. Rosita sucks on her teeth and shakes her head at all the terrible things clearly forming in her mind.
"Come on..." Mikey urges them. "Denise?"
"Mikey, it's not gonna be safe," Denise tells me.
"I know," Mikey nods in agreement, a hint of frustration beneath it. "But I go on patrol now... Rosita and Rhys have taught me how to kill walkers... I'm good at killing walkers."
Rosita snorts at him.
"Okay," Mikey admits. "I'm decent at it."
Rosita smirks at him.
"You're mediocre," she says.
"I can drive," Mikey offers as a last-ditch effort. "My brother's been teaching me."
"Not happening," Daryl says.
"Please," Mikey resorts to begging.
Daryl and Rosita stare at each other, a very silent conversation taking place between their eyes. Mikey watches them both with high hopes.
"Fine," Daryl grunts, shaking his head when Mikey literally jumps on the spot and punches the air in excitement. "But you ain't drivin'," he adds.
Mikey heads home as agreed between him and Rosita. One requirement has been set before he can come.
Spencer's in the kitchen, making stroganoff.
"Smells yummy," Mikey tells his brother.
"Rosita's coming over tonight," Spencer nods, tasting his stroganoff— the look on his face after not a positive one. "Best you stay with a friend."
"Gross," Mikey pretends to yack. "I don't wanna hear about you guys doing it."
"Grow up."
"You grow up," Mikey grumbles.
Spencer smirks at him for being immature. Mikey notices, so he stands up straight and clears his throat, realising he needs to not be a kid to meet the requirement Rosita set.
"I'm going on a run," Mikey announces like it's set in stone, knowing full well that Rosita specifically requested Spencer's full permission.
The eldest Monroe puts down the wooden spoon, turning from the sauce and leaning over the kitchen counter.
"Who's your patrol partner?" He asks. "Minnie?"
"Run," Mikey repeats. "R-U-N. I'm going on a run. Not a patrol."
Spencer squints at his little brother like he can't understand.
"Rosita and Daryl are taking Denise to get medical supplies... I'm going too."
"Are you?" Spencer says sarcastically, in a way that reminds Mikey of their dad.
"Yes," Mikey answers sternly as their mom would when people didn't agree with her.
"And if I say no?" Spencer raises an eyebrow.
"Spence, come on," Mikey whines.
"I don't think you're ready," Spencer shrugs.
Mikey takes a deep breath, knowing he needs to pull out the big guns. "I'll tell Rosita how you used to pee the bed until sixth grade..."
Spencer pulls back with wide eyes, realising Mikey's deadly serious. "You little shi- How'd you even know about that!?"
"Aiden told me to make me feel better," Mikey tells him, "after that time when you made fun of me for breaking my arm."
Spencer takes a long and thoughtful second, then turns back to his sauce, stirring and nodding, which Mikey takes as permission.
Before Mikey leaves, Spencer speaks.
"You're not Aiden, bro. He was in the army. He was good at being out there."
"He wasn't," I tell him. "Aid died out there."
-Rhys' POV-
-Ten minutes ago-
"Anyone home?" I quietly ask the seemingly empty house after shutting the door on Mikey.
"Estas malditas botas!"shouts back at me.
I go to Rosita's room, and she's in there, trying to zip up her combat boots, the zip getting stuck in her multiple layers of socks.
"Ro?"
"Hijo de puta!" She jumps, glaring up at me.
"Sorry," I wince when she jumps.
"It's fine."
"I thought you heard me call out..."
Rosita shakes her head, finally getting her boot zipped after taking a second.
"Going somewhere?" I ask, noticing that those are her run boots.
She nods. Then she frowns.
"I was going to ask you to come," she says.
"Where?"
"Denise told me about some apothecary or something... somewhere with good medical shit. Daryl and I are taking her out there."
"You're taking the doctor on a supply run?"
Rosita nods like she knows how dumb it is.
"She'll go with or without us," Rosita sighs. "Better she goes with. So if you want to come..."
"I don't."
"Why?"
"Because."
"You can't deal with being in here. Maybe you should be out there."
I try and put it the kindest way I can. "Ro, you don't need to fix me. Please don't try to."
Rosita looks at me the same way they all do, a broken ornament that needs to be put away in the attic until next Christmas.
She nods, grabbing her machete and tucking it under her arm, patting me on the shoulder sympathetically as she leaves. It pisses me off. But I bite my tongue.
When Rosita's gone, I knock on Maggie's office door.
"Yeah?"
I didn't expect a response, so I just kinda stand there like an idiot for a few seconds.
Eventually, I go in.
Maggie's eyes quickly dart down to the papers on her desk after she sees me. I pretend like I don't notice. Pretend it doesn't make me curl into a ball on the inside.
"Hi," I say.
She smiles tightly but keeps her head down.
"Hungry?" I ask.
"I'm fine, honey."
"You sure?"
Maggie nods.
"I can make some of those—"
"I'm fine," Maggie says sternly, glancing up for a second, unable to look at me for long— Like I'm the sun— A star— A burning ball of gas dying in the night sky.
"Okay..." I whisper before stepping away slowly and pulling on the door.
"I'm sorry," Maggie says before it shuts, "there's just a lot of work that needs doin', and—"
"It's okay," I tell her, closing the door.
When I get upstairs and into my room, it feels cold. I wrap myself in my bedsheets and as many blankets as I can scrounge.
I lie down, but I don't sleep.
I lie still for what could be ten minutes or ten hours.
"KILLER?"
I try shutting my eyes to stop her voice.
"YOU'RE JUST AFRAID—"
But I still hear her.
"BROKEN—"
I shake my head, whispering to myself. "No wonder everyone feels sorry for you."
The ghost in my room fades away when I hear the door open. I have my back to it, but I hear someone come in.
I know it's Carl when the person sits on my bed. I know his shapes and sounds.
"Hey," he says.
"Hi," I mumble.
He kisses my cheek. It stings a little on the burn that Molly left there with her cigarette.
"Do you want me here?" he asks.
I nod.
Carl lies down behind me, curling up his shapes and sounds until they fit against me, holding me gently to not hurt my ribs. I hear him breathing me in, and I even manage a smile when he starts rubbing circles on the back of my hand with his thumb over my chest. He hums you are my sunshine quietly against my back.
"Dad was looking for you," he tells me.
I feel queazy.
"You should talk to him," Carl says.
"Why?"
"He wants to know that you're okay."
What if I'm not? Everyone always wants to hear that you are okay... but what do you say when it's not the truth? Nobody wants to hear the truth. They just want you to lie.
Carl speaks when he realises I'm not going to.
"When I was in my coma, you helped dad get through it."
"Well, he's got you now," I say.
"You know it's not that simple."
I just nod.
"I've got you something," Carl says then.
He sits up and grabs something from the end of the bed.
I sit up to look, keeping myself cocooned in blankets.
Carl's holding a shoebox with an orange bow wrapped around it.
"What's this?" I smile a little, taking the box when he pushes it onto my lap.
"Your birthday," he says. "I missed it after I got shot..."
I pull on the bow and it falls away from the box, I lift the lid and laugh a little at the contents.
"What?" Carl asks nervously.
"Nothing," I say, my voice a little husky. "I just didn't expect shoes to be in a shoebox for some reason."
I pull out one of the brown leather boots, their laces are bright orange like the ribbon.
"You need new shoes," Carl says.
I stare at him for a minute, blinking a lot.
"Thank you," I whisper.
After Carl leaves to make sure Barbara is okay to babysit Judith for another hour the house gets too big and too full of people that can't look at me, so I decide to go and find Morgan, who's exactly where Mikey said.
I almost don't recognise the room we spoke in when Morgan first arrived. The Brownstone basement now has a rusted iron gate and unmatching cinderblock walls. The windows are barred. The new cell makes me think of the Prison.
"Hey," Morgan says, turning around and looking up to face me when the gate creeks on opening. He's bent over a tray of cement mix. He looks exhausted, wearing heavy work gloves and a dusty brown shirt.
"You were looking for me," I say plainly.
"I was."
"Why?" I ask, wiggling my toes in my new boots that fit me too well.
"I thought you might like to help me."
"Help you?"
Morgan nods, pulling on one of the barred windows to check it's sturdy.
"Help me build this place," he says.
"Looks like you've already built it."
"Still need to get a cot in here." He chuckles. "Some good books."
I realise he's also trying to fix a broken boy, so tell him I'm good and turn to leave.
Morgan clears his throat. "I'm building it so what you had to do last week... you won't have to again."
"A cell wouldn't have helped," I say.
Suddenly Rick steps through the door behind me.
"Good to see you out of your room, Rhys," he says, putting a firm hand on just below the back of my neck, squeezing gently. I'm proud of myself because I only flinch at it a little.
Rick looks sorry in his eyes before he shoots them at Morgan with a more irritated look. Rick looks around the cell.
"Why?" he asks.
Morgan looks around the cell too. It's like he only just realised he's built it— like it was the result of intense sleepwalking.
"It'll give you some choices next time," Morgan nods the words he wants to believe.
Rick moves to leave after that, and I mumble to the two that I'm going home. But Rick takes me under my arm and pulls me along with him as gently as he can.
I tell him I don't want to go with him, but he ignores me.
When we get onto the street, I tell Rick to let go, but he doesn't.
When my skin itches and my eyes burn like ash, I beg him to stop touching me.
The rest happens all at once. Rick doesn't let go, so I yank my arm away. He tries to grab my arm again, so I push him. He stares at me like he doesn't know me, and it hurts, so I push him again, but he's ready for it the second time and catches my wrists, trying to hold me to him. Pent up tears and sternly held faces escape from me for the first time in a week. I scream at him and call him the worst things I can think of.
"Rhys, stop," Rick growls, trying so hard to hold me close to his chest.
I finally manage to slip out of his grip, and it hurts my wrists. I slip and twist, landing on the floor, cursing again as my palms are grazed and full of grit.
"I'm just tryin' to help you, son," Rick says sternly, extending an arm down to me. He sounds like he's trying to tell me how it has to be.
"I don't need your fucking help!" I yell at him, swatting his hand away and standing on my own. I wipe my eyes on my shoulders and curse them for being weak.
"You need-" Rick tries.
"I don't need anything from you! Who the hell are you? I'm not your son... I'm not your family. I'm just some kid that you gave handouts to when you didn't want to deal with your own son!"
We've worked up an audience by this point. Michonne stands with Mikey, Rosita, and Daryl across the road— the three adults looking like they're not sure if they should step in. Spencer and Olivia are standing outside Mikey's house with Enid and Tobin. Morgan has stepped out of the Brownstone basement. All of them watch the fight. Only, it's just me that's fighting.
"You've been through something difficult," Rick's telling me how it is again. "But you need to watch your tone, Rhys..." Rick says low.
"Or what?" I cry. "You going to hit me? Lock me up? What Rick? Why do you and everyone else in this place get to tell me what I need?"
He doesn't know what to say. Neither do I, really. We just stand and stare at each other. Ready to draw our emotional guns in this standoff.
"Go back to the house, Rhys..." Rick finally growls. I can tell he's running out of goodwill.
I think about pushing him again, but someone puts a hand on my shoulder so I push them instead. I swat the hand away and spin around and shove them as hard as I can without looking.
When I do look, I see Carl on the floor.
"Rhys—" he says, eyes wide and on his back.
He's staring at me like he doesn't know me.
Staring at me like everyone else is.
Looking at me like I'm not me.
Why is he looking at me like that?
Why is it my fault what happened to me?
I run away. Running from all the people that think I'm not working anymore. Looking for someone that doesn't want to tell me how to be fixed.
I crash into Eugene outside the armoury.
"Rhys," he jumps. "I Apologise for obstructing the sidewalk, but I was entranced in this here map of the local townscape."
I try to walk past him and the map he's holding, but I bump into Abraham next as he comes out of the armoury with a pair of rifles.
"Watch your six there, Rhys."
"Are you guys going with Daryl and Rosita?" I ask, wiping my face and trying to look anywhere but them.
"That's a negative," Eugene says, taking a step closer. "While they're stepping in the direction of pills, prescriptions, and otherwise useful medicinal goodies. We're on a journey to find some mighty fun toys."
I stop worrying about looking upset, knowing it's been completely replaced by confusion.
Abraham notices my confusion.
"Eugene here is coming on patrol with me," he explains. "Says there's somethin' on route that should tickle the fancies."
"What is it?" I ask.
Abraham shrugs. "Won't say."
"No, I will not," Eugene nods.
"I'm coming with you," I tell Abraham, deciding for myself, there and then.
"I don't know if that's a good plan."
"I'm fine," I say for the millionth time today.
Abraham squints like he's deciding, and I squint like I've been told what to do so many times over the last week that I don't care what his answer is. Abraham sees it. Then he nods.
A/N
So! Mikey will be joining Carl and Rhys as one of the perspectives in the story going forward! I have my reasons for it, and they will be revealed in time. He will be written from a 3rd perspective, though, because I think it's fun and suits him.
The jumping perspectives will continue for the next few chapters, not sure if I've done it before, but I'm excited!
Also, a note from the last chapter that I didn't put in because I felt like it would have spoilt the ending's tone— I really like Paula! I mean she sucks... Savior and all. But I think she was really interesting and her actress did a fab job. Kinda wish that she had been around longer instead of a character like Regina... but I guess good characters dying early is what makes them great.
Thanks for reading!
Next Time: Two groups set out into the unknown.