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

onehundredtwo.

A month later.

I groan, rubbing the exhaustion out of my eyes as I make the trek towards the kitchen. I shove the evening's nightmares into the back of my mind; locking them behind a steel door I created to keep my sanity in check during the waking hours. My footfalls silent while my feet glide along the tile. When I awoke, Daryl's side was empty; the redneck no where to be found. Upon further inspection, the twins have seemed to abandoned their room as well. I refuse to look a gift horse in the mouth; he must've taken them out for some training or much needed father children bonding time. However, he left no note or clue to inform me what is exactly on his agenda for the day. Though, that doesn't stop the assumption that Daryl decided I needed a break for the day.

While preparing to savour my first cup of coffee for the day, I begin to mentally compile a list of things I'd like to attempt to finish today, or rather, people I'd like to drop in and visit while I have a moment to myself. Ain't no rest for the wicked and the like.

With my mug firm and warm within my grasp, I turn around, heading for table, noticing I wasn't alone for the first. If this was an enemy, I'd be turning cold on the kitchen tile. Lydia's hunched over, face etched in annoyance, painted with tones of hurt. I lower myself down, positioning myself across from the teenager. She glances up in surprise at the sudden noise, but quickly relaxes when she notices it's just little ole me.

"Everything okay?" I question, taking a sip of the liquid gifted to us mere mortals by the gods. I close my eyes, biting back the moan that's building once it hits my throat. I have a feeling I might entering a very important conversation with the teenager across from me, and I can't make it weird. However, I have a way of making everything weird in one way, shape, or form. It's one of my many charms, I suppose.

She shrugs, "I'm still being blamed."

"Uh huh," I click my tongue against my teeth, trying to formulate an appropriate response that would bring comfort to this teenager. She shouldn't be blamed for the actions of her mother. She can't help or control the actions of others, family or not. She made the right call running to us. We should be protecting her, not shunning her. As stated previously, worse people have joined our ranks, yet it's totally okay to publicly shame and humiliate a literal child? Yeah, not cool, guys. "Okay, so what do you need me to do? I can kick some assholes ass. It's been way too quiet for the last year. I'm itching to ruin someone's day." Violence is always the answer, right? It seems to be the only way to get anyone to listen at the end of times we've been faced with.

Her brown eyes wide, annoyed, slamming her fist against the table, "I don't need you to protect me. You aren't my mother."

Unbothered and unflinchingly, I raise my gaze to hers, meeting her head on, "you're right, I'm not. I won't put my hands on you because I respect you as a fellow human, period, and one that's been hurt by someone they loved. My bad. But she's out there, doing god knows what, killing god knows who, and I've been here for you, without question or hesitation. Because you sought me out to help you. I thought we were passed this, Lydia." I sigh, wondering where the hell this is all coming from. We didn't have these many problems getting her acclimated at Hilltop. Maybe, we should've stayed there.

Her face twists in anger as she quickly stands, the chair gliding loudly along the ground. She heads for the door without looking back at me, "maybe that was a mistake," she mumbles under her breath. I close my eyes, rubbing my temples as she slams the door behind her.

I peer up as I detect a second set of footsteps stalking towards the kitchen, spotting Wren's questioning expression, brown eyes flicking between me and the door. I shrug, glancing back at my coffee. I guess, it wouldn't be a normal day here if I did get to finish my morning routine. Teenagers, man. I rub my face, realizing I should probably chase her down before she gets herself into more trouble. I glance down, noticing my baggy black pants, and black hoodie adorning my body. I haven't changed from the clothes I had fallen asleep in. I don't think I even had a time to run a brush through my hair.