Red ~ TWD (Daryl Dixon)

Where My Demons Hide

Time was hard to track when all you did was sleep in the back of a van for days on end. It was shocking how exhausting it was to do nothing. I didn't go on runs. I didn't pull watch. I didn't drive. I didn't even eat. I slept and I mourned, that was it. Inside I was screaming at the top of my lungs, but on the outside I was silent. I felt alone even though I wasn't. Beth. Daryl. Merle. Maggie. One of them was always by my side, but they felt a million miles away.

I was still reeling from the events at the hospital, my physical injuries healing much faster than my emotional ones. The revelation of my pregnancy and subsequent loss of the child I didn't know I carried haunted me. I hadn't cried because I was certain if I started I might never stop. I hadn't told anyone what happened because I didn't want to see the look of pity on their face. Hell, I'd hardly said two words since Rick made the decision to put Georgia in our rearview, and I was lucid enough to know that was unhealthy. I just didn't care. I had 530 miles to get my shit together, and at the pace I was progressing I was going to need every single inch.

The cramping Dr. Edwards promised finally eased yesterday, and I was left with only moderate bleeding, a not so subtle reminder of the loss. I felt what could only be characterized as biological loneliness, a unique and particularly awful feeling I had no skills to cope with.

I struggled with my self-imposed isolation, not able to accept comfort from those around me, but miserable in my solitude. My emotions were erratic, raging inside me like a violent thunderstorm while my outward demeanor would best be described as catatonic. I was trapped inside my own head with no way out. The days crawled by agonizingly slow, but the nights were far worse.

At night there was nothing to distract me from the prison I was locked in. I listened to Daryl snore quietly beside me, and hated myself for wondering if losing the baby was for the best. Maybe it was the universes way of telling me I wasn't ready to be a mother. Maybe it was the safest outcome for the group. Maybe it just...was. All the depraved thoughts along with limitless guilt threatened to crush me. I'd suffered some pretty horrific things in my life, but none came close to how traumatized this experience left me.

Daryl saw it, there was no hiding it from him, and that only added to the pain. He saw it every time he looked into my lifeless eyes, urging me to eat, to sleep, to do something other than just exist. I hated myself for putting him through this. The look on his face each morning before he slipped out of the van spoke of a man who felt he was failing to protect his wife. It was no better when he returned at night, remorse he had no right to feel making his shoulders slump in defeat when he found me the same way he left me. I wanted to tell him he hadn't failed me. The miscarriage had simply broken me open, and I didn't know how to put myself back together. I wasn't sure it was even possible.

The van shuttered to a stop, doors subsequently opening, the group's voices barely audible. I sighed, the passage of time was marked by stops to siphon fuel, catch a few hours of sleep, or short runs raiding whatever house or town we happened to stumble across. I didn't know how far we'd traveled, how long it'd been since we left the hospital, but every minute that slowly ticked by felt like an eternity.

"Do you want to stretch your legs?" Beth asked quietly, still coaxing me towards recovery despite my indifference.

The young woman was never far from my side. She sat beside me in the back of the van each day, holding my hand, and talking, sometimes reading, anything to fill the endless silence. She only left at night when the back of the van opened, revealing a hesitant and worried Daryl. She would squeeze my hand gently, promising to be back in the morning, and then slide out.

She was instantly replaced by my husband who laid down facing me, taking my hand and interlacing our fingers. We didn't talk. He tried the first few days, but got so frustrated with noncommittal grunts and halfhearted shrugs he snapped an arrow in half in his frustration. The irony of the situation wasn't lost on me.