A Place Just For Us (Rick Grimes)

Chapter Forty-Eight: The Last Kiss

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❝ I cannot hold my tongue,
you give me much to say
I'm sweating bullets,
nervous that you'll push away ❞
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I was on total agony, every nerve ending, every emotion bruised, trampled, crushed— all of it pulverised until I couldn't tell fear from anger from the merest trickle of it. My vision remained blurry during the drive back home, the pain continuously making my head spin.

It didn't take long to finally hear the recognisable sound of the gate opening up. I would escape the known world every few seconds and seek another of my own invention. This, I thought, was one of the only times I dared myself to consider that maybe all hope had left my body. Usually, I'd avoid these kind of thoughts. I avoided them, because I didn't want to swim endless circles in a pool of hopelessness, which I knew I held onto that. Everything was out of focus, my bloody hands shaking. I couldn't bring myself to properly walk. It was Daryl who rushed me towards the infirmary.

"We need to stop the bleeding, like right now, or she's going to lose too much blood." I identified Tara's voice as my body was placed down on the bed in the medical room.

I stared up at the ceiling, unable to speak through the sharp pain, but I wanted to call for Rick. Knowing it was a desperate move, I tried to say his name so that maybe he could hear, but instead I cursed under my breath, trying to breathe, which I had been doing very minimally.

It was Daryl's hand pressing down hard against the wound, and he must have read my intentions, and with total composure, bordering on a gesture that was very gentle but also quite glacial, he pressed down even harder, waking me up time and time again. "Don't talk. Don't move. It'll only make it worse." He said, his voice sounding clear and steady for the very first time.

More footsteps, so many voices all at once. I finally started to breathe again, my fingertips searching for confirmation, grasping for anything at all that could tell me what was going on.

"Could she have fractured a rib?" It was a familiar voice that spoke, and it warmed up my heart, brought me on the edge of tears.

Tara was cutting through my shirt, which was soaked with blood, and the pressure on the wound was finally released. "I don't know. I don't know. Denise would know. I don't—"

She was on the verge of tears. I knew I could never forgive myself.

A sudden giddiness overtook me. No, I wasn't going to cry. I waited a few seconds more, and without actually planning my move, I allowed myself to say my brothers name. I had just begun searching for him when his concerned face appeared above mine, his smile telling me that he was here, and that he would stay here— by my side.

The last time he'd brought out such a reaction in me was so long ago that I couldn't quite remember anymore. Suddenly, I suffered from guilt when I realised that, because I had been so distant, and that was something he didn't deserve. Just because our journeys had nothing in common, didn't mean him and I couldn't talk about our differences. I realised I hadn't even listened to him. I hadn't even given him a chance to see how he'd changed, just like I had, we all had. And in a way, this was life's revenge on me, because I deserved it.

"Daryl, keep the pressure on." Ben seemed to have taken control.

I was clueless to where all this was leading, but I was surrendering to the pain second by second, minute by minute. "I'm going to stitch you up. You're lucky the bullet grazed you."

I knew that anything I did now, any movement I would make, might leave me with intolerable pain. For the first time, I focused on laying still, letting my brother do the stitching. I reminded myself that this wasn't something I deserved, because I had still yet to earn Benjamin's trust and care.