FEARLESS ➳ TWD¹ [REWRITE/COMPLETED]

21 ➳ FOR GLENN RHEE

THE days went by...

I was starting to lose my mind a little bit.

Everything from obeying Negan's every order to protecting Daryl at all costs to even trying to avoid Dwight altogether... I was losing myself — and who I have always been.

Most days, I find myself locked away in my room — unless I am due to do something else for Negan. Every night, before I lay my head to go to sleep, I am up and writing in my personal journal. I keep it under the mattress, so that nobody will hopefully not find it.

I do not necessarily start off every new page with Dear Diary, but I do write in it every night to keep myself somewhat sane. I write letters, poems, and scribble some drawings down, too. I have written a letter to each person back at home, even Glenn and Abraham, too.

Every time that I go to write one for Maggie, though... I cannot seem to do it. I cannot place that pen onto paper without feeling overwelming guilt. Not even writing those letters to those who have passed away get me like this. I feel guilt every time that I think of Maggie — and her unborn child, too.

The way that she reacted when I was being dragged away... She cared about me and my safety. Yet, every time that her back was turned, I was undressing her husband with my eyes. There is only one way to put it...

I was in love with Glenn Rhee. In the short time that I knew him, I had fallen for those eyes. I see why Maggie loved him... He was damn near perfect.

I wanted to put that in the letter that I could probably give her one day, but she will never forgive me, though. She will not ever forget, no matter what happens. She will always look to me with disgust and hatred, and I cannot live the rest of my life with that. Yet, somehow, I cannot let this guilt go until I finally confess to her.

What would I say to her, though? Dear Maggie, I'm sorry that I was in love with your husband. I hope that you take care. Sincerely, Tess. This is straight bull-crap.

I have been for over two weeks now, so it's been well around sixteen days so far. I am losing my touch with reality. I really miss everyone, alive and dead. I miss having people to be around to tell your problems to and to just have a really good laugh with when you need it.

So, when I woke up on the sixteenth day of being at Camp Hell, I did not even want to get up and start my day. I have been feeling like that a lot lately. I have become so depressed with myself and what I have turned into, it is not even funny anymore.

However, just as I ignored the alarm clock on my bedside table once again, I heard my bedroom door open and close within two seconds of each other. Nobody could get in here, unless they had a key — and only about five people in the whole place had them, so this could be any one of them.

I was curled up and buried under the covers, tightening my grip on the inside of them underneath my chin. "Go away," I groaned out to whoever it was, even if it was Negan. "I don't want to get up. I don't feel good."

"Yes, you are," I suddenly heard and recognized the very familiar voice of Dwight say to me. I could practically feel him hovering over my bed, too. "Now, get up and let's get going."

"Leave me alone," I demanded of him, bringing the cover over my head to bury myself. "You're not my probation officer, so just leave me the hell alone today."

He did not say anything immediately, and I was silently hoping that meant he was giving up. Yet, it did not because, just as I began to close my eyes again, I heard him messing around with my things. As long as he did not find my journal that is underneath my mattress, I did not care what else he will find.