"She was like a new light. A new beginning. A new end." - Rick Grimes.
This story is about Bella Sinclair and her journey through the new world of the dead. A story of hope, of justice, of family and most importantly, of love. It focuses on a simil...
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Stretching out my body, she sheets on the bed scrunched up into my curling toes as my fingers dug into the pillow above me. Deep inhales were released, and slowly my eyes began to open. With no light to adjust to, I wiped my tired eyes with the backs of my thumbs before looking over to the man beside me. His bare chest rose and fell gently, every exhale through his nose making a faint sound that I could listen to for a lifetime, as his head rested, soundly sleeping. The sheets fell just above his hips as my hesitant lips lowered closely to his skin, every fibre, every hair, every scar as I remembered and loved. Placing my lips delicately under his pec, I drew up the sheet as my kisses travelled further, before letting the fabric fall above his shoulders. "I love you." I whispered, placing a faint kiss upon his forehead before near silently changing into my clothes and leaving the room.
I began each morning with a training session, furthering my strength and martial art ability in the process, I had done since I made my residence here permanent. It began as a way to confront the pain, to release the fury I felt, and then it just became routine. It took me back to my military days, training at four am sharp, sir yes sir, as I would salute Sergeant Abe Ford. Their faces never left my mind, and the possibility that if I had acted differently they could somehow still be here. Every bead of sweat, every strand of matted hair, every fist plummeting into the sack, every forearm bashing into the wooden stakes, every bruise forming beneath the skin, every bit of intensity pushing me further and further. I felt it all, like I had to. Every move I made being a result of the guilt that lived deep within me. Training in the early hours, before anyone else awoke, was a way to keep myself together. Or so I thought.
I pulled back my forearm, looking down at the red glisten on my skin. Shit. My fingertips glided against the droplets trailing from the open graze, mopping up the mess. Inhaling deeply, I ran my hands through my hair to draw it all back as a light trickle of rain began to fall from the sky, clutching at my body, absorbed by my clothes. Stretching out my neck, I repositioned myself in the centre of the arena, engaging my muscles as I embraced my fighting stance. Releasing the deep breath in my lungs, I made a running start towards the target and into a fly kick, only to have my body plummet into the ground. So I ran it again. And again. Again. Again. Again. Until... finally. My feet landed to the ground in one solid movement; for months I had been practicing this one kick, consistently failing but never giving up. Every time I fell, I got straight back up and tried again.
"So this is where you snuck off to." Rick said from behind me.
As I turned to face him, I looked him up and down slowly. His bare feet padded against the large mat we had put together for the arena floor, his jeans hanging just above his hips as his unbuttoned shirt became heavier, soaking up the rainfall. The sun beginning to rise, catching his skin, setting parts of him alight from the shadows.
"I like to get my training in before the day starts for everyone else." I said, my eyes lingering a moment longer on his open shirt, taking in his abdominal and perfect pecs.
