22 ☞ s. walsh

42

Flasks

That Night

Natalie tore through the drawers in Hershel's house, her vision blurry from tears.

"Jackpot," Natalie muttered, her voice cracked and broken from crying.

She pulled a large flask out of Hershel's drawer.

Maggie had once mentioned to Natalie that Herschel had been an alcoholic.

Natalie kept ransacking the rest of the drawers in the house, leaving with eight flasks.

"Thank you for destroying your liver, Mr. Greene," Natalie muttered, taking a long swig from the flask.

The strong taste of whiskey washed over her tongue.

She sat in silence, a blank stare on her face, thinking about Shane, about Lori, about Nicky, about Andrea.

By the time the first flask was drained, Natalie couldn't do anything but cry.

By the time the third one was drained, Natalie was laughing deliriously.

By the time the fourth one was drained, Natalie had a sketch book out and was leaving drunken creations on each page.

"Can I talk to you for a minute?" Lori said, her head poking inside the tent.

Natalie laughed hysterically, almost falling on her back.

She patted the ground beside her drunkenly.

Lori slowly sat down.

"I'd offer you a drink, but you're pregnant with my husband's baby," Natalie said, laughing deliriously.

"It's Rick's," Lori interjected quickly.

"What're you doing?" Lori sighed, looking down at the paper in Natalie's hands.

"Making t-shirts for the I'm Using Shane Walsh for Sex Club," Natalie said simply.

"I think we're gonna have to make a shirt for Andrea, too," Natalie said, drunken laughter filling the air.

She took a long drink of whiskey.

"Shane's sleeping with Andrea?" Lori asked quickly.

Natalie nodded, laughing hysterically.

"And you're okay with that?" Lori asked slowly.

"Do I look okay to you, dumbass?" Natalie snapped.

Lori dropped her head, silently.