⤐ 𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐝 𝐭𝐡𝐚𝐭 𝐬𝐞𝐞𝐤𝐬 𝐭𝐨 𝐛𝐥𝐨𝐰 𝐨𝐮𝐭 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐟𝐢𝐫𝐞 𝐦𝐚𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐬𝐨 𝐜𝐚𝐮𝐬𝐞 𝐢𝐭𝐬 𝐬𝐩𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝.
"I need you to listen to me. When we're out there together, if I say run, run. If I tell you to leave me, then damn it, you le...
"I cannot fix on the hour, or the spot, or the look or the words, which laid the foundation. It is too long ago. I was in the middle before I knew that I had begun." -jane austen
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⤐
The ride home from the outpost was tense and quiet, a stark difference from the hopefulness of before. The realization of what they had done was settling over the group in a thick fog, muting any normal conversation. Only a few words were spoken in hushed tones to the ones sitting close together.
Zepp's brain was fuzzy and unfocused, the air in the camper closing in on her harder and harder. She was squished in between Glenn and Abraham, their warm skin and hard shoulders bumping into her with every bounce and bend in the road. She feigned sleep and shut her eyes, only to find images dancing behind her eyelids. The faces of the ones they killed that her brain was kind enough to keep locked in, the fresh blood staining the walls around them, the look on Daryl's face when he heard Carol was captured.
It was all getting to be too much for her, and god damn she needed some room to breath.
"No damn room to swing a cat in here," Abe grumbled, shifting in between her and Sasha.
She was three seconds away from shoving Abraham to the floor when they finally returned to Alexandria, and she bolted out of the camper, stretching her arms above her head. They retreated to their separate houses with sparse goodbyes, and Zepp was last into the original group's home she now shared with only Rick, Michonne, Carl, Judith.. and Daryl.
The archer had hugged Carol goodbye before she ambled away to the house next door, gripping the porch banister as she slowly took each step. He lingered in the doorway for a moment to watch her, and Zepp had paused to let him through first, looking anywhere but at him.
Now, he waited for her at the base of the stairs, leaning against the wall as Rick and Michonne headed towards their room. His eyes were narrowed, though not in anger, more towards curiosity. She felt awkward under his gaze, it was like the blinding lamp in an interrogation room, sizzling into her skin.
"Ya alright?" he grunted, sleep deprivation dripping from his words. He stood up straight and tried, but failed, to hide his grimace as he stretched the fresh wound just under his pectoral muscle.
She ignored his question, exhaling quickly and beginning her ascent up the stairs. "Come on," she murmured. "Need to get that cleaned up." She didn't need to look back to know he was following, the sound of his boots stomping the hardwood knocking her brain with each soft thump.
