No Good (Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 26 (Clyde's POV)

~Clyde's POV~

 

I really didn't mean to do it. I didn't mean to let the walkers into the neighborhood. 

Okay. That's a lie.

That group was going to take Frankie away and kill me and I couldn't risk losing anything else. It's so stupid how they thought they could beat us. 

Sure, letting the walkers in wasn't my brightest idea, but it worked. It also managed to get Frankie, Peter and I moving again. 

Peter was slowly beginning to make sense of things and some of his later memories were coming back. Not all of them showed up, so I twisted his mind.

I made him think that the group hated him. That they didn't want him. They thought he was useless. Then I showed him that I cared, I wanted him and I thought he was useful. 

I had turned him into my personal lap dog. Nothing was going on between us, but he hung off my every word. Sure, he was cute, but I wasn't it to that. 

I wanted power.

I wanted someone that could make me feel like I was in control of everything. I needed someone to make me feel like I had a rightful place at the top. If I had to kill to get that, then so be it. I would.

"Are we leaving or staying another night?" Frankie asked me, tugging on the leg of my pants.

I looked around, "We should get going,"

Frankie nodded and began to gather his supplies, stuffing them into the black, canvas backpack we had taken from the house. It wasn't much, but it made him happy and that was all that mattered.

Peter was busy putting out the fire and I knew that I should help around. I took out a map from my already-packed bag and began to scan over it, looking for the nearest town.

We needed supplies. Frankie was suffering from malnutrition, but he was doing his best to hide it. He needed real food faster than we could get to it.

If he didn't get a meal by tomorrow, he wouldn't even be able to walk. He would need medical attention and IVs and other things we didn't have.

"Peter, could you carry Frankie? He's having trouble walking." I asked Peter.

He nodded and Frankie ran up to the two of us with his backpack strapped safely to his back.

"I can walk, see? I'm fine, Clyde! Please! Don't make me be carried." Frankie whined.

"No. You need to be carried and that's final." I told him as Peter picked him up.

Frankie didn't fuss. He just crossed his arms and let out the occasional huff of frustration. He had a small crease between his eyebrows and his nose was wrinkled in distaste.

Seeing him upset made me think of how we met.

I had been walking in the forest when I felt someone grab my hair. I almost screamed at the pain, but I knew better. A knife was held at the tip of my forehead and I knew this wasn't a walker.

"I'm not a walker." I had said.

The statement hadn't made them ease up, if anything, it had made Frankie worse. He yanked my hair even more and at that point, the pain was so excruciating that I let out a small cry. A tear had fallen down my cheek and only then did he release me.

"I'm sorry for hurting you." he had apologized.

"It's okay, I would've done the same." I had said.