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H E R
What's happened? What's happening? What's going to happen?
The questions hung heavy in the air of the crowded train car.
Maggie had indeed made it to Terminus, along with Glenn, Sasha, Bob, and a few nameless 'friends' who I was yet to be acquainted with.
I was happy to see Maggie, she pulled me into a one armed hug after Rick's declaration had settled and we had all begun speaking. "You alright?" She asked me.
I nodded. "Just spooked." And now a double murderer.
Once you hit three, you're technically a serial killer.
I felt the urge to convulse, to scream, to cough up whatever evil sickness was taking over me. I could feel it—it was like this awful rot in the pit of my stomach. It was eating at me, my hope decayed orderlessly, replaced by something that festered. All that anger, that resentment, that ugly truth of what my life had become seemed to leak from the place I had tried hiding it all.
"I didn't see you in the thick of things at the prison, how'd you get out?"
I realized Maggie was still looking at me and I had to swallow down that ick, rub the tension from my jaw, act like I wasn't about to lose it.
I told her the same story, same details, I had told Michonne. The very basics. She nodded, I wondered if she was going to ask if I'd seen Beth but she didn't. I guess we were both wondering where she was.
"At least most of us are here now, together." Maggie told me, perhaps Glenn's happy-go-luckiness rubbing off on her.
Luck. That word mocked me.
"I was worried about you." Maggie said after a moment, looking like she meant it. I know she did. Maggie was the type of person to worry about orphans who had no one left to fret over them. With one last squeeze of her arm around my shoulders, she left to speak with Michonne.
I went to sit, my back pressed up against the wall, my legs sprawled out before me. I pressed my fists against my eyes, I felt sick. I thought about the man from the train tracks and the man in the courtyard. Both dead.
Suddenly, a kaleidoscope of blurry water color memories of my nights alone after the prison fell. The emptiness of it, dangling by my fingertips from a branch over a herd of walkers, a bitter chill that sank through to my bones and never seemed to go away, imagining the person I loathed most in this world to keep me company. My mind was sick then, must be sick now. There's something wrong with me. Now that I could sit with it, I couldn't run from it any longer. I tried pushing it back down, like swallowing vomit.
