Future Ghosts • TWD

162. Terrified.

After Leah and Carver left to question whoever else they had there, Daryl and Liam escorted Rosie back to her cell. Her hands were still shaking non-stop and it made guilt twist and turn its way through Daryl's entire being.

He had terrified her.

No matter what she knew, what she wanted to admit, or how she felt about what had happened, it would leave scars, both on the inside and on the outside. There would be a small scar on the top of Rosie's hand where Daryl had pressed his knife, and there would be a scar left behind from the gash on Rosie's left cheek.

But, deeper than that, there would be a scar in her brain. Sitting there, in that chair, felt no different than being at her old house with a drunk David Banks. That same feeling of dread and fear had encapsulated her.

It took everything in Rosie to forgive Daryl for this. Part of her was heartbroken. He would never hurt me, she had always thought. But there she was, sitting in that cell with blood covering the bottom half of her face. Blood that had poured out of her after Daryl hit her.

He-had-to. He-had-to. He-had-to.

The words drummed along in Rosie's mind with her agonizingly loud heartbeat.

Crouched down next to her, Daryl stared at Rosie: the blood, the bruises, and the terror. Rosie wouldn't look back at him and it struck a pang of pain and worry through Daryl's chest. God, he hoped she would forgive him.

Daryl pulled a black bandana from his pocket. He went to push Rosie's hair away from her face.

She flinched. He shuttered.

Slowly, Daryl tried again. He pushed her hair away from her face, gently pulling away the blonde strands- now stained red- that were stuck to the blood. Next, he brought the cloth up to her face and began to wipe away as much of the blood as he could. He didn't have any water, though, so bits of red stayed. Every time he touched her, she winced, either out of pain or fear, and each time, Daryl's stomach churned. Because he had done that to her.

I'm sorry. He had said it about a thousand times on the way in there. Rosie always responded with a weak I know. Never an I forgive you. Never an It's ok. Every time, it was an I know.

Unless Daryl said something first, Rosie stayed silent. Just like how she used to when she was little. She never spoke unless spoken to. Daryl hated that. He would give everything for her to just tell him something. Something he had probably heard her say before would even do. Something about dinosaurs, or planets, or constellations. Something she read out of a book, or maybe something she heard from Eugene. Still, Rosie remained silent.

Once Daryl was sure he had wiped away as much of the blood as he could without water, he shoved the bandana back into his pocket. Then, he sat back against the wall, right next to her. He wrapped an arm around her shoulders and pulled her into his side, kissing the top of her head as he did so. He held her there, wondering how much hatred was brewing inside of her.

"You have to tie me up again," Rosie's voice mumbled, weak and fragile.

Daryl's eyebrows furrowed. He sat up, turning his head to see her face. She didn't look sad or mad or anything like that. She looked blank. Empty. Numb. Just like she did at the Atlanta camp. Just like she did with David.

"What?"

"You gotta tie me up again," Rosie reminded him.

"Rose..."

"You a'ready did everythin' else." Everything else was code for hurting her. "You can't just quit now 'cause ya don't wanna tie me up. So tie me up," Rosie demanded.