Future Ghosts • TWD

144. Should've Known Better.

Everything- God, everything- was just getting worse and worse. Rosie was coming out of her room less and less. She helped stop the herd from taking down Alexandria, which left her completely exhausted, as you'd expect.

But while everyone else rested and recovered, Rosie didn't seem to recover. Sure, she'd still help with whatever people asked of her, but she wasn't hanging out with anyone. She wasn't talking nearly as much as she used to. And she was getting those bad panic attacks more often than ever before.

She'd come to dinner and sit at the table upon Daryl's orders, but she would sit and she would stare into space until someone grabbed her attention by saying her name. She was just off.

Daryl thought it would pass, like it had in the past. But it wasn't passing.

Negan tried to help, but Rosie would get yelled at practically every single time she tried talking to him.

There were several things that were on her mind. Of course, the constant reminders of that night in the barn were always picking at the back of her brain, but it wasn't only that. She wanted to settle her feelings and thoughts on what happened with Negan.

Rosie wanted to get over it and move on, so that he could help her. He'd helped her when she was younger. He was trying to be a good person. She wanted to move on. But it was so damn hard to do that when Rosie would look at Rosita's and Eugene's faces and see Abraham, or when she'd look at Ian and think of Glenn.

And Daryl wasn't making it any easier. He only wanted what was best for her, of course, but his hatred for Negan and what he had done overpowered anything else. He couldn't see Negan as a good person, and therefore, he did not want his kid around Negan.

Cigarettes were on Rosie's mind, too. She still wasn't quite sure where Daryl kept his. He'd smoke them. She'd see it. He'd always try and hide it, nowadays. He used to not care at all, but now that he'd yelled at Rosie for smoking, he didn't want her to see him smoking. So he'd see her coming and put out the cigarette as fast as he could. Rosie saw, though. She saw it and she couldn't stop thinking about it.

She'd smoked such a small amount of cigarettes in her entire lifetime, so how could they be so prominent in her brain? How could they be on her mind as much as they were? It wasn't fair. It wasn't fucking fair at all.

David was to blame, Rosie decided. He always managed to somehow fuck up her life from the grave. A wound that would never heal, a cut that would forever bleed.

And Lydia. Oh, Lydia. Yet another source of confusion and mixed emotions in Rosie's life. The butterflies never went away around Lydia, even when Rosie was at the lowest of lows. But Daryl was right, Rosie always reminded herself. She could change her mind, but that doesn't mean she's goin' to, baby.

No keeping her hopes up. That was the rule. But, damn, it was a hard rule to follow. And, again, Daryl was right. You can't keep your hopes up or you're just gonna feel shitty all the time. Boy, was Rosie feeling shitty.

There was a knock on Rosie's bedroom door. She called for them to come in. She could tell it was Daryl by the knock. Each person knocked differently. Daryl's knock was somehow firm and gentle at the same time, and he always knocked twice.

The door creaked open and Daryl stood in the doorway. Rosie was lying in bed with her face towards the wall and her back to the door. "Rose-" Daryl began, but Rosie already knew what he was gonna say.

"Get outta bed and take a walk. I know," she mumbled. If he didn't have a job to give her, then he'd always tell her to take a walk. Anything to get her up and moving.