𝗧𝗵𝗲 𝗪𝗮𝗹𝗸𝗶𝗻𝗴 𝗗𝗲𝗮𝗱
The outlaws.
People who have committed crimes, but has yet to be caught. In this new world, it was hard to determine who was an outlaw, and who wasn't. Rick Grimes started as the one who caught the criminals...
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𝟎𝟐𝟓 𝘥𝘳𝘶𝘯𝘬 𝘣𝘶𝘵 𝘵𝘳𝘺𝘪𝘯𝘨
LORI WAS SOBBING. Gripping her hair as her face scrunched to that of fear and panic. Amari was there. Somewhere. Physically, at least. She thinks so. She hopes so. But now she felt it. The affects of Lithium and alcohol. The combination of both a stabilizer and drowsiness made her all weird. Drunk and dehydrated. Drunk and more crazy. Drunk and everything that she wasn't supposed to be feeling.
But that wasn't what she was worried of.
"A—. . . A-re you. . . good, L-Lori. . ?" These words, these words, these stupid, stupid words just fumbled out of her. Out of the mouth that cursed so much no one would ever want to kiss it. Those words came out of a tongue that had tasted so much medication and so many liquids that it must have been illegal by now to have consumed so much.
They came out of the throat belonging to the woman who saw Lori's interaction with the person she cheated on her husband with.
"i'm fine, Amari," it was like a hiss, "don't tell anyone about this," it was command now, not a suggestion, "and even if you can remember any of this," her hands clenched and shook, "which I hope you can't, but even if," her heart was loud, both of their hearts were, "we're not gonna talk about this. We're happy, and we have a home. Done," she wasn't even crying now.
She was out of the room before Amari even managed to try and hug the woman.
"'Mari," the younger Dixon's voice filled her ears, "you've been standing there for three minutes now. Get over yourself," and then said woman fell onto the couch, hair in her face. Suddenly, her eyelids felt heavy. Like weights, perhaps? Maybe. She didn't know. She never knew anything.
"Don't worry over her," she was in his arms now, "if she wanted to, she would have," and what those words meant, meant everything.
Amari was already asleep before she reached a bed that was apparently hers. And three hours into the night, she woke up, throwing up in the toilet that belonged to her room. God, she felt disgusting. She would never drink this much again, she told herself. But there was a lie in that. Of course there was a lie in that. Because even if she felt like absolute shit right now, she actually did like the comfort alcohol gave her. The happiness she felt every time she took a shot, how everything was much more tolerable and funny when she was drunk.
