The Woman at The End of The World. (Daryl Dixon)

eighty.

(Trigger warning!)

Vanessa POV

I startle awake when a door is slammed somewhere not so far away. The echos bounce off some unseen walls.  I glance around, realizing I'm shrouded in darkness, unable to get my bearings. I let out a stream of curses from under my breath. I groan as a migraine begins to overwhelm my senses. I clutch my head, panting from the pain. I block my eyes with my hand as a second door swings open, a light from the outside world blinds me. The headache growing more intense and excruciating as the seconds tick by. As I peer away, I note that I'm in nothing but a bra and a pair of underwear. What the fuck?! Where the fuck am I?

After a few long antagonizing moments of returning to the land of living, I recognize that annoying Bad Day song by Daniel Powter is seemingly playing on a loop in the background at an astonishingly aggravating level. Fuck, I always hated that song. I moan, putting my head between my legs.

I try and fail to recall my last memories; how the hell did I get here? I was speaking into the radio, attempting to get Rick's attention when everything went black. I didn't see or hear anyone, the hell? Oh my god! Charlee... Aaron... I close my eyes, begging and pleading with the universe that they are still alive and kicking.

"It's about time you woke up, little minx. I thought Justin killed you before I had my fun. I heard you really made hm mad before he was supposed to grab you; might've hit you harder than he was instructed to." I feel the blood rush out of my face at the sound of Owen's greasy tone. I slowly turn my focus on the open door. I carefully stand, rushing him, connecting my fist to his jaw, snarling. He shoves me down, smacking me across the face. He grips my hair, fist kissing my face. I crumple to the ground as he lets go, black dots dancing into my vision. "Nah, we ain't doing that. I know better." He chuckles darkly as he gestures to someone out of my sight. "I had plenty of time to prepare for you."

I catch sight of the outside room as Owen steps out of the way. I must be in the basement of some  abandoned house. It doesn't have the features most stores or factories would have. I hear moans of walkers coming from that area, accompanied with chains rattling. 

I fall to my knees as a darker male savior I've never interacted with drags in a figure that I had assumed was long dead. "Dad?" I squeak, mouth falling open in fear. "What? How?"

My eyes urgently search his body. He's much frailer than I remember. His hands are being restrained behind him. I watch as his older, wrinkled face twists in pain as they force him inside my own jail cell.

Owen laughs, "if you try that shit, again, James is next." James is here? I sob as he produces a pistol, aiming for my dad's head. I bring my hands to my eyes, unable to watch the nightmarish scene.

"Wait," my dad speaks weakly, "you're gonna kill me, fine, but can you please give me a few minutes with my daughter to say goodbye? James and I have done everything you asked."

I crack my eyes open, observing Owen cocking his head as he takes in my father's request. "Fine. Ten minutes, 'cause I'm not entirely a monster." I let out a sigh as he steps out of the open door.

My father drags me into his arms, we cry together, "honey, I thought I'd never see you again," he whispers into my ears. "I hear the stories these people tell." I nod, unable to speak through the panic and sobs, "you got four groups that love and protect you, and you do the same for them. Yet, I hear something about this fearless man with a crossbow that stole my babies heart?"

"Daryl," is all I'm able to offer. "I got stuck in Atlanta..."

"Ah, yes, that's it." He chuckles, but it quickly turns into a coughing fit. "You got babies, too? Twins, I hear."