𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃 │ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 ¹ [✔]

[53]: theatrics

Marley had been sick many times. Some would say, too many times for there to be no concern.

When she turned fifteen, she started getting sick. It wasn't anything morbid. None of them were death sentences, her body was just very bad at protecting itself.

Marley's blood was thin. Her bones were fragile. Her joints were loose. Her immune system was fucked.

She had a tendency to get sick.

And for years, no one cared.

After Marley's parents died, Jimmy Blake had no concern for paying money to care for her everlasting sickness.

So she had learned to not expect anyone to care.

Not anymore.

It had been a week - she thought - since Rick Grimes declared his leadership detail, and how he had killed his best friend. Because he pushed him, she remembers him saying. Around the fire, when they were all scared and she still had bruised knuckles from punching the long dead man, their new leader hissed and spat his anger.

All she could think about was the almost teary face Shane had made just before they departed, and how she had thought nothing of it at the time. She was too busy struggling to see through red, and she hadn't cared.

Then all had been quiet.

The growing tension coming from rick alone caused most of the group to suffer in silence and have a "get on with it" attitude. All she could think about was the almost teary face Shane had made just before they departed, and how she had thought nothing of it at the time. She was too busy struggling to see through red, and she hadn't cared.

And Rick had a tension with Marley.

If she didn't have an injured ankle, he wouldn't have let her help anyways. Let her help with clearing out houses, guarding them, staying on watch. He acted like she didn't exist.

The girl stared lazily out the window. Her under eyes were dark and purplish, mimicking the bruises that littered her entire body.

She found the only thing she could have any effort to do was blink.

Her forehead tickled as she lay it against the car window, the engine vibrating all the way up to her, where she tried my best to sleep and my best to not puke.

Nothing helped; not liquids or sleep; heat on her stomach or anything she had thought of herself.

She never gave anyone a chance to put their pity on her. No one ever did, so it was a foreign concept.

"Marley?" The voice was muffled in her ears. Lori tried speaking to me for an hour, but she still kept my eyes on the road.

Marley was in the Grimes' car. Despite the father being less than happy that she was near his wife and son, it was the only way he could keep a close eye on her.

He knew she was some sort of unstable.

"Marley?" Lori leant towards her over her seat. "Sweetie, answer me."

Lori's motherly instinct must have kicked in at the mere sight of Marley. The need to constantly know how she was doing, and whether she needed any help - despite her previous actions. How she had insulted her and hurt Rick.

The redhead's manic attitude had taken a leave since the farm. Her less-civilised behaviours. She was simply... still.

"Marley?" Carl had tried this time, and Rick's neck craned at the sound of his son's voice.