RJ Grimes, an old friend of Merle Dixon. They finally get reunited, and when she finally gets her brother back, it comes at the cost of losing that smart mouthed redneck.
Though somehow, his brother is able to figure out how to do the same for her...
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
RJ's POV 𓅓
I could feel the sweat as it trickled down my forehead. It was the one of the few downsides to drinking; The nightmares.
My eyes snapped open but I didn't dare to move a muscle. My sore eyes looked around the dark room. The leather beneath me told me that I wasn't there. We didn't have a leather couch.
"Christ." I mumbled as I sat up, my eyes squeezing shut for the raging headache. It felt like a jackhammer repeatedly echoing painfully through my mind.
Although I didn't want to, I knew I had to get up. I couldn't tell what time it was, but my body was so used to waking up early that I figured it was maybe seven or eight in the morning if I was lucky.
I got up and stumbled over towards the light switch. How I made it back to my room, I had no idea, the last thing I could remember was walking to Dixon's room so I wouldn't drink alone. A part of me hoped that drunk me didn't piss him off, she was notorious for being able to piss off even the Pope.
My eyes had adjusted to the darkness, but once the light turned on, I immediately shut them and placed my hands over them as I let out a groan. I made a mental note along with all the other ones to never drink again.
I trudged over to my bag that was sitting on the desk chair, and pulled out whatever clean clothes were closest.
When I reached to pull down for my shorts, it seemed that I'd gone along with my plan to pass out in my underwear. No wonder there was a breeze.
I had struggled to get my legs into my jeans, but once I got them in it was smooth sailing from there. I wore black jeans, a half sleeve loose top, and my boots. Even though we were safe, I still didn't feel comfortable not wearing my weapons, so I didn't. My weapons belt was securely wrapped around my waist. I had no intentions on using me knife or my gun, but if I had to I most certainly would.
I didn't care about my hair. From the feel of it, it seemed to be just fine, so from there I left my room and headed for the cafeteria.
My hands rubbed my aching temples as I stomped towards my destination. I hated being loud, but my brain was struggling to function correctly with all of the pulsing pains.
I was surprised to see that I wasn't the first one awake. It was normally like that, so it made me wonder how long I drank and how much.
Glenn was sitting with his head in his hands, clearly in as much pain as I was in, or worse. Dale sat beside the poor kid. Andrea was at the end of the table, still having that same hopeless look as last night. T-dog was cooking—that Saint. Rick sat with Carl and Lori, all of them eating what looked to be bacon And eggs. How I'd kill for some of those.
