Dead Man Walking | Rick Grimes

|11|

*LONG CHAPTER*

I could feel the throbbing before I even opened my eyes. Instant regret floored me as I slowly opened my eyes, hissing at the throbbing in my head as the light hit my corneas. I groaned and lay on my stomach, my head pressed against the couch, trying to block out any light that might worsen my headache. I heard the man to my left groan, his rough morning voice making his voice even deeper and, somehow, more intimidating. We lay there in complete silence, both of us suffering and debating whether to get up. Finally, after a few more minutes, I sat up feeling like absolute shit and slowly went to the bathroom. I had to feel my way to the bathroom since I didn't want to open my eyes and feel the throbbing in my head intensify. In all my years of drinking, I've never had a hangover as bad as this – I guess since I haven't drunk in a long time, the aftermath of a night of drinking is ten times worse. And it doesn't help that wine hangovers are always terrible.

I closed the door and looked in the mirror, gasping as I saw my appearance. My hair was its usual wavy bird's nest, my eyes were tired and filled with sleep, and I had dried drool all over the right side of my face. To say I slept good was an understatement; that was probably the best sleep in my life. Banging at the door made me come back to my senses and reminded me why I came here in the first place. I hastily used the bathroom and washed my hands, teeth, and face, making a mental note to brush my hair before leaving for breakfast. Daryl stood at the door and pushed his way in, not giving me his usual grunt to say morning to me. I smiled and sat on the couch, grabbing my hairbrush from the counter to my left and pulling out my hair tie. I struggled to get all the knots out of my hair, the price I had to pay for having thick wavy hair, and decided to leave it down.

The bathroom door opened, and Daryl walked out, his usual scowl in place and his eyes squinting as he looked around. I guess I'm not the only one with a horrible headache right now. I grabbed my hair tie and wound it around my wrist for safekeeping before sprawling out on the couch again, the ache in my head intensifying with my movement. I groaned and shielded my eyes with my arm, taking deep breaths to keep from puking.

"Please tell me you have a headache that's just as bad as mine." I groaned out to Daryl. He grunted, and I heard the cot squeak as he laid back down.

"Yup." That was all he answered, his voice hoarse. Look at the bright side! At least I'm not throwing up, but I'm close.

"I forgot how horrible the wine hangovers are." I muttered, "I've never felt this horrible when I drink beer or hard liquor."

"Gotta have some chemical or something to make the morning after worse." He agreed, conjuring up some sort of conspiracy theory. I breathily chuckled and focused on breathing, trying to make sure no vomit came up. "There's gotta be some pills in this place."

"You're right." I moaned, "We should get up, look for some, and eat!" I swung my legs off the couch and slowly got up, grabbing my pack and realizing I never washed clothes last night. "Shit."

"What?" Daryl groaned from his cot, his head raising to look at me. I groaned and put my pack down, not bothering to look through it.

"I never washed those clothes." I groaned, "I got so wasted that I completely forgot!" Daryl grunted, and the cot gave another squeak as he stood up.

"Nah, Carol came and offered to wash our clothes last night." He muttered, rubbing his arms. I sighed and decided I'd have to hunt her down to change into decent clothes. A knocking snapped me out of my thoughts, making me dash toward the door. Carol smiled at me with a lump of clothing in her arms.

"I was just going to go find you!" I exclaimed, a big smile on my face. "Thank you so much for doing this, Carol."

"Oh, it's nothing." She smiled at me while handing me the clothing. I grabbed the dry clothing and smiled at her again, my eyes squinting against the light, "Hungover?"