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

ninetyfive.

I step into the auditorium behind Michonne. Upon entering the room, I sense tension thickening the air. Daryl, Carol, The King, Father Gabriel, Rachel, and Tara are talking amongst themselves, standing atop the stage. Daryl turns at the sudden noise filling the air. His eyes find me, facial expression unreadable, but there's something about his body language that's bothering me...

He just feels bad for you.

He doesn't care.

He doesn't want you.

That redneck barely fucking likes you.

For a brief moment in time, I'm thrown back into the night of the attack before the war with Bundy Jr. The auditorium fades out of my sight, and the road covered with glass takes it place. I step aside, watching a version of myself trying to crawl away while Owen stalks after her, trying to end our life for giving Negan the file of our case. The fire from the accident causes sweat to break out along my flesh, while I'm forced to rewatch the assault. My stomach sinks at the fear twisted in my face. I swore I'd never be her, again, when he got locked away but she returned and I'm staring her down.

I'm really not here, I keep reminding myself. He's dead. I'm safe.

I feel my fingers twitch with the memory of his blood coating my body; I smell his burning flesh, and faintly hear the screams ripping out of his throat as the flames cover his body. The fear in his eyes mirror mine from that night Simon rescued me. The glass road is replaced with the image of myself I barely recognize standing before me. I notice the blood mats my hair causing it to stick to my forehead, but I flinch at the lack of emotions staring back at me. This was how I looked the night I stared the devil in the face and took the air from his lungs. That wasn't me; I'm not that monster, I delicately remind myself. I became her to survive, but she's not me, neither versions of myself I that I had encountered just now are me, but instead versions of myself that Owen helped create. But that monster lives under my flesh; she killed the version of me that was terrified of the monsters that wear sheep's clothing to blend in.

Memories begin to suffocate me. Memories that I had long thought I've healed from. Jokes on me, I suppose. Even with him in the grave, I can't seem to shake the trauma. I grip the seat closest to me, closing my eyes for a moment, forcing myself to swallow the panic clawing at my flesh and bile raising to my throat. I take several deep breathes to return myself to my center, to the present. I learned from my previous life that anything, big or small, could trigger an episode. I had gaslit myself into believing that I had a handle on my triggers by now, but something about the tension growing in the air and Daryl's expression stirred something deep inside in my soul.

Once I have a grip on myself, I let go of the seat, returning my gaze to the stage. Father Gabriel and The King smile upon my arrival, but concern dances behind Zeke's dark eyes. Carol nods in greeting, her signature smirk etching itself into her pretty face; though it's clear she picked up on my short-lived episode by the tightening of her lips. Rachel crosses her arms, but I detect a hint of surprise dancing across her delicate features. I was never close with Oceanside but we fought along side one another in the last war. I cock my head at the stress clearly eating Tara alive, but I soon locate the reason why.

"Your mate took my daughter with that boy," Alpha's words replay through my mind like another ghost I've been dying to forget. If I ever see the dirty bitch, again, it'll be too soon. However, I've never been so lucky.