"𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥."
It was a chant Madalyn Taylor told herself every day. Every day since the world ended. She didn't believe it most times, but if she said it enough times it had to come true at some point. Right?
"𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘢𝘭𝘰𝘯𝘦."
...
TRIGGER WARNING: mentions of depression and self-harm
...madalyn taylor...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
The house was quiet, and it would forever be quiet.
Madalyn carefully walked through the house that once belonged to Glenn, Maggie, Sasha, and most recently, Abraham. But two of them would never return home, and Madalyn wondered if the other two would as well.
Three nights ago Negan killed Glenn and Abraham before he took Daryl. It had been three nights, but Madalyn still saw it as clear as day. Once they had returned home, Madalyn had showered for a long, long time. She had scrubbed at her hands desperately, trying to get Daryl's blood off them. His blood had been under her fingernails. Daryl's and Abraham's blood had dried on her face. But no matter how clean she really was, she still felt the blood under her nails, across her face, everywhere.
She hadn't slept because every time her eyes shut she saw Abraham looking at her one last time before being brutally murdered, Glenn's disfigured face as he searched for his wife, and Daryl being dragged away from her as she screamed. She could hear the sounds of Glenn's and Abraham's heads becoming practically nothing.
She had fallen asleep once, but she had woken screaming and crying. Rick had stayed with her the rest of the night.
She was the shell of a person, moving without any motive. Twice now Carl had to force her to eat. How did she have the right to be so upset about the deaths of two people she barely knew? Glenn had been her friend, but she didn't really know him. Who was she to be upset about the death of a man she was partly to blame for?
Abraham had been a good friend. Such a good friend. He was more than a friend. Family. Someone akin to an uncle to her. But she had not known him nearly as long as Rosita and Eugene. Yet his death had broken her. She would never be able to hear his stupid jokes or listen to his weird threats. She'd never be able to tell him how much she appreciated him for seeing her as someone with a fire in their soul.
Was her fire gone?
And Daryl... oh, Daryl. He was a prisoner to those psycho Saviors. He was alone. And he was so far away from her. They did not spend every waking minute together, but she had grown so used to him just being within arms reach. She had been so used to him just being there. He had slept just down the hall from her. But that room was empty now, and she had no idea if he would ever be back.
