56; wounded

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YOU'RE GONNA
REGRET THIS

❝ YOU'RE GONNA REGRET THIS ❞

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Her bare feet slapped against the mud as she darted past the porch, the trees, the cars, to get to him. His moribund body was twitching, his chest heaving in and out, and his eyes fluttering as he struggled to stay awake.

It was quick. The shot flew, wavered through the air and pierced his chest. One second a smile, stretched ear to ear, the next a trickle of blood staining his shirt. Then, before she could process anything, he was on the ground.

There was no time. No time to think about whether he would live or die, where the bullet penetrated his chest; his odds of living. There was only immense heartache. Dejected, like she'd lost everything before he even hit the ground.

She read about this. The adrenaline rush that surges through the body, cold air biting into the lungs, the tingling fingertips. All she felt was numb, and the blood that seeped through her trembling fingers as she pressed her hands to his wound.

He muttered obscenities, her name, more obscenities, but passed out before she could say anything.

"No, no, no..." she sobbed but nothing kept him awake. With rapid blinking, trying to rid the tears that fell down her cheeks, she reached with quivering hands to grip the gun in his holster.

There was no time to think about whether she'd be the next victim.

She shot up from where she'd dropped to her knees and spun around.

Then she saw him. Wavering like her, the same morose eyes as her, their guns both aimed at each other.

Rick. His finger hovered over the trigger, shaking with such intensity she thought he might press it.

Daryl, Michonne, Rosita, and with a scarred face twisted into contempt, Dwight. Each with guns raised.

Her quivering, slightly parted lips tried to make out a few words, what she could say, but she was stuck. Her gun was still raised. At her own father. He looked so miserable, yet she couldn't find it in herself to drop it.

"Who shot him?" Her voice croaked – she was surprised they understood. It was all she could say. All she could think about.

Rick lowered his gun and took a step forward. She stepped back. Lowering his head, he ran both his hands through his slicked-back hair.

"I did."

Hearing him say the words made the contents of her stomach lurch upward. A rush of overwhelming sickness. She fought the urge and dropped to her knees, hovering over the man she loved. She nudged his body as if he would suddenly awaken.

"Oh god, what did you do? What did you do?" Her fingers brushed his neck, feeling for a pulse – anything. Any sign of movement. "Please, please please..." she said it so many times she couldn't keep track. It wasn't until she felt it, the soft beating on his skin, that she sank into his body.

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