RIDE OR DIE | DARYL DIXON

forgive me, father

DEATH SURROUNDED HER every time she closed her eyes. Her sleep was plagued by the same memories, playing on repeat until she'd force herself awake. Her eyes were always tired, but her mind screamed at her to not let them rest. 

Instead, she remained awake, staring at the dying fire that had meant to keep them warm. She watched the flames flicker and twirl, getting smaller and smaller as the time went by. She listened to the combined snores of her people mixing with a slight breeze that rustled the nearly bare trees, carrying itself through more with a soft whistle. The skin on her arms raised under the breeze, her body in momentary shock before the fire warmed her up again until the next gust of air. 

She looked to her left, watching Daryl sit down with his crossbow after a brief walk around the perimeter of their small camp.

"Still can't sleep?" He tossed a few sticks into the fire, the flames eating them immediately. 

"No." She watched the flames become large again. 

He shifted against the log they sat on, setting down his crossbow. "Same dreams?"

"Same dreams." She nodded. "But somehow they continue to get worse."

"How?" He looked at her.

She looked back, the fire bathing half of his face in shadow. "I can feel it now."

She felt stupid with her words, knowing well it isn't possible to feel what isn't real, but it was real once. She could still feel the hands around her neck, shunning her lungs from the air she desperately gasped for. She could still feel the belt lashing against her back, painting her skin and garments with her own blood. She could still feel the rope cutting into her skin as she pulled it tight around a man's throat. She could still feel and see the dangerous red blood that leaked and poured from elongated necks. 

She looked away from him, knowing he couldn't understand it. "I don't know. It just haunts me."

"What haunts you?" He didn't take his eyes off of her. "Never really told me what they're about."

She sighed, looking down at Sienna for a moment. "The blood, the pain, the death. Me."

"You?" He questioned. 

She swallowed hard. "I'm scared of myself, Daryl."

"Why?"

She took long, deep breaths against the quick and sudden ones that forced their way into her chest. "What I did back at the prison, it wasn't good. What I did with Joe's men, that wasn't good either."

He rested his elbows on the tops of his knees. "You did what anyone else would've done."

"No, Daryl. If you could've felt the anger I felt when I did those things..." She looked at him, trying to find comfort in his eyes as her mind went back to the familiar dark place. "If you could've felt the evil I felt- you'd be scared too."

He looked at her sympathetically. "You did what you had to do to survive."

"I didn't want to stop, Daryl." She finally said, panic hitting her chest like a ton of bricks. "I wanted to do more. I wanted them to hurt like we did. I wanted them to hurt more than we did, and I enjoyed it. I enjoyed it, Daryl."

She hated the way he looked at her while she spoke, as if he understood and as if she was the same person to him. The truth is, she doesn't even know who she is.

He didn't speak, he only stared. His eyes lingered around hers, and she stared back with glazed eyes. Her chest burned when she looked at him, a reminder of what a good person truly looks like. She wished she could mirror it, but she couldn't.