The Last Resort (Sequel to The Last Hope)

11 - Social Hour

When I went downstairs, the group was sitting around the lobby, socializing. The bodies were cleaned up and it actually looked decent. The adults we're chatting about past experiences. Daryl was telling everyone how he had to kill a wild animal with his bare hands. They looked like they were doubting him, but Daryl never said what kind of animal it was. It could be a rabbit, for all they know.

The "children" were scattered out around the floor, either messing with a weapon or talking amongst themselves. Carl was with Becca, Brianna and Morgan. Obviously, he would be the one surrounded by girls. Brandon was in the corner, messing with a revolver, occasionally looking up.

It's funny. Everyone is capable of murder. It just takes a certain amount of anger to get someone to that point. If you pissed someone off so much that they ended your life, you must have made them awfully mad.

I sat down behind Brianna and Morgan, who were so into Carl's story that they didn't even aknowledge my presence. The way they looked at him made me cringe. I shouldn't be jealous though. It's pointless.

I was listening to Carl talk about his mother and Judith. He was so into it. The way his cheeks grew red when the girls would compliment Judith. His small smile. The way his eyes would wander around the room, searching for her.

Long story short, group members were missing. Judith being one of them. The group members either left the church on foot or were killed in the fire. Tyreese, Beth, Sasha, Victoria, Anne, and a few others who had joined after I left were apart of the group. 

The remaining groups were truly concerned. They just couldn't risk losing more people trying to find them. There could be someone out there looking for the group. Walkers could have gotten them. They might have joined a whole other group. (A/N: Foreshadowing yet again)

Today, members were going on a run. Hopefully, the group would stumble upon the lost members. They would bring them back and reunite them with their family. Except me. I would sit back and watch, like I usually do when these things occur.

I was to busy to notice that people had gotten breakfast. Canned peas and fruits. Just like yesterday. I shouldn't complain. How ungrateful of me. But when that's what you have to eat for a year, you might get tired of it. When I raided houses, thats all there was. Stale potato chips, canned goods. It got boring after a while.

A can of peaches was rolled to me. We had to wait until the can opener was passed around the room until we could eat. The group had only one so everyone had to be patient and wait for the opener to come their way. Of course, the "children" got to use it first.

Morgan and Brianna fought over who would use it first. Bianca swooped in and took it from the both of them. Her action left them speechless. The girls looked at each other then back at Bianca, who had already dived into her food. She tossed the can opener to me.

The metal landed on the ground. The sunlight reflected off of the metal and onto my shoes. I quickly picked up the can opener, knowing the savages around me would snatch it in a heartbeat.

I twisted the blade around, taking off the lid. I handed the can opener to whomever was seated next to me and looked down at the food. Peaches. Bland. But something to eat.

Don't complain, thats ungrateful. Think of the people who have nothing to eat as you nag about perfectly good food.

I could practically hear my mother nagging about how ungrateful I always am. To her, I was never perfect. If I was doing something right, there was always something wrong. I couldn't do one thing without her critiquing me.

I dig into the can, using the lid to get the peaches out of the bottom. I had about four. Not enough to fill me enough, considering I decided to skip dinner last night.

Why do you always have to whine about the amount of things you have?  Be thankful you have what you've got now.

The thoughts of my parents have been haunting me more and more lately. Everything I do, my conscious judges in the voice of my parents.

I was staring at the can. I was so deep into thought I didn't realize the blood flowing down my forearm. It seems I squeezed the lid so hard, it cut into my palm. I wince and let go of the metal.

Blood lined the rim of the can lid. There was a line of blood going down my arm, barely reaching my elbow. I sighed and used my shirt to wipe it. It's not like this shirt isn't already dirty.

"Need help?" I look up to Michonne, holding out a napkin. She smiles at me as I reach for the napkin.

"I swear you have been the most injured out of this group." She laughs and shakes her head. The group. Does this mean I'm back in? Because I don't want to be. I was supposed to leave, but I got distracted. I mentally facepalm.

I wipe down my arm with the napkin. I struggle to stop the bleeding with only a napkin. Michonne takes the first aid kit from behind the front desk and takes a seat in front of me.

I watch her. She takes a small bottle of peroxide out of the kit. She douses a piece of cotton in the liquid and places it on the gash. I wince at the action but hide it. She doesn't seem to notice.

I'm told to hold the cotton against my palm until the bleeding stops.  Michonne walks away to go find something and I'm left to heal myself. By the time she comes back, the bleeding has already stopped.

In her hand is a bandage. Michonne unwrapped it and continued to wrap around my palm.

I watched her carefully. She concentrated on making the bandage being fully on the cut. Her brow was furrowed and she bit her tongue. Once she finished putting the bandage fully around my palm, she smiled.

"Might need stitches, but it should be fine until we find a permanent place to stay."
I thanked her and she went back over to the adults. For the first time, I thought of Michonne as a motherly figure and not a sword spinning maniac.