"𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞„

three, struck

BEFORE SHE HAD KNOWN it, she was pushed out of the door and back out into the cold room. It sent a breeze through her whole body, calming the sweat-storm she had been going through in there. Scanning the room with her eyes, she found it was completely empty. Covered in blood and dirt, she made her way back up to her cell.

She didn't know what to do or think, and it seemed then that this would soon be a feeling of familiarity. Crimson clung tightly to her clothes and hair, and occasionally tickled at her face.

She hated those things. The dead, that took so much from her. They died, then killed. Killing, was all one could ever do in this world. Yet through all of this destruction, she had created something. A love? A deep hatred? A revenge? An endless loop plagued the world, and she feared it would, forever.

As she reached the top of the stairs, she spotted Beth, holding Judith Grimes in her arms. As she advanced further, she saw that the cell block was full once again. Daryl and his crew had come back from the run, and were loading some crates to take downstairs, possibly to Hershel. Everyone stopped when they saw her, staring blankly into her dark eyes like no words were allowed out of their mouths.

She felt as if they could see right through her, as they ascertained the cracks and analysed the blood that poured from absolutely nowhere. She wasn't hurt, excluding the slight bruise on her shoulder where the monster had grabbed her.

When Carl Grimes made himself known in the crowd, Jane didn't hesitate to spring into his arms. He wrapped his warmth around her, the kind that she'd been craving since closing that door. It was a relief, that's what it was. Everyone watched the two, as they stood in the middle of the room tied tightly together.

Instead of confusion, or pity on his face, there was something else there. Something that he had tried to cover behind the deep blue in his eyes.

"Carl," she whispered, her breath tickling the lobe of his ear. A few too many tears fell then, as her face became wet with sorrow and fear. The teeth, the blood. It was all too much, yet so little compared to outside their walls. The blood on her clothes brushed up against Carl's flannel, staining it slightly. Surprisingly, he couldn't bring himself to mind much, because his girl was safe and sound in his arms.

That's what she was now - what she had came to be. His. They didn't have to say it, or even think on it. It had already been decided long ago.

When they disconnected, she felt as if the cavity in her heart had opened up again, the vessels twisting and breaking as Carl let his hands unwind from her back. His eyes immediately scanned the rest of her body for injury, finding nothing but perfect skin in its place.

"Are you hurt?" He asked, showing a slight flash of worry as the girl glanced back down at herself. Though, she just shook her head at him, only managing a small smile.

"It's not my blood."

She fixed his hat onto his head, as it started to tip. He wanted so badly to smile at the action, but he couldn't bring himself to even open his mouth. What had she seen? What had she done? Hundreds of questions sparked and fizzed in his head - but he lay them all to rest, because it just wasn't the time.

Her eyes were struck with a certain knowing, one that he had come to shake hands with in the past.
His deep train of thought connected to their unspoken eye contact was broken by none other than Daryl Dixon, as he placed his crossbow on the floor roughly.