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( chapter eight ! ) - 𝐫𝐮𝐧𝐚𝐰𝐚𝐲
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Robin's head was spinning when she walked back to the farm, leaving Daryl behind in the woods.
A weird, unexplainable sadness twisted its way into her heart, and as much as she liked to deny it, she knew exactly where it came from. Robin balled her hands into fists, clenching them so tightly, red crescent moons formed in the skin of her palms. Hershel was right. She was starting to warm up to Daryl, and she hated it.
She hated it because, as he had just clarified, he didn't give two damns about her. He couldn't care less if Hershel allowed him to stay or not. He didn't care about Robin, and he didn't care whether she was in his life or not. But she was starting to care.
Robin stopped halfway to the barn, glancing over her shoulder. She didn't see Daryl leaving the woods, so she didn't know whether he had already come out or was still just beyond the border of trees. A sigh passed her lips. Why did Hershel have to be right all the time? Damn him.
Getting lost in her thoughts, she started walking again. Screw Daryl, she needed to find Rick. The most important thing right now was making sure Lori and her baby would be okay, and it wasn't like Daryl could help with that. But if Rick would be able to convince Hershel that all of them could stay, that would work out well enough.
At least then Robin could figure out whether she actually liked Daryl or whether it was just her brain tricking her into thinking she did.
Lori came up to her, wearing an apologetic smile. She put her hand on her chest and shook her head. "Robin. I am so, so sorry–"
"No," Robin cut her off before she even had the chance to apologize further for something that wasn't even her fault. She stopped in front of the pregnant woman, shaking her head. "You don't have to apologize. What happened is not your fault. If anything, it should be Shane."
Lori sighed. She prepped her hands on her hips and looked at her feet. "It... might be my fault."
That meant Shane knew about the pregnancy. And he also knew about the possibility that the baby was his. That made things more difficult. He wouldn't leave voluntarily, then, probably holding on to the hope that it really was his.
