Six Feet Under ➳ Rick Grimes

Trying times.

The panic of the night keeps me awake. Ricks arm is heavy on my waist as my head races. I never got a good look at Amy. I don't even know is she was bitten or shot or what.

The nervousness makes me anxious which is never good. I came from a long line of manically depressed and severely anxious people. My great grandpa killed himself over his wife's affair.

My grandma died when she was on life support and her heart rate got dangerously high from an anxiety attack; I didn't even know that could happen. My uncle killed himself because my other uncle stopped talking to him. My mom killed herself when I was 4 because well...she was just suicidal and my dad couldn't support her.

My dad died when I was nineteen, about five years ago because I'm 24 now. He was a drunk and he got in the car at the wrong time. He wasn't a bad guy, he just made stupid decisions and blamed them on others.

My breathing heightens as I panic, I barely knew Amy, but she fed me and she was too young to die. Not to mention Andrea, other than Dale, Amy was the only person she had left.

"Janey?" I hear Rick ask and my breath catches. "You're breathing heavy." He says. "Its...my anxiety." I whisper, pulling my arms into myself. "I expected that." Rick whispers.

"How'd you expect it?" I ask. "I've known you for more than 12 years, I know about your anxiety, your asthma, your manically depressed past and your hate for oranges." He says and I can hear his smile.

"I do hate oranges." I whisper, a smile pries at my lips. "You'll be just fine." He says and I hear sleep cast in his voice.

Soon, his steady breathing against my back helps to calm me down. I notice my eyes flutter closed and sleep takes over, throwing me into an adventure of dreams.

I groan awake before Rick, but not Carl. I can hear his soft giggles from the camp. I decide that I need to change the clothing I've been wearing for weeks.

I sneak out from under Rick's arm and stand over my "laundry basket". Which s really just a large bucket with miscellaneous clothing articles.

I pull out a white tank top and a dark green, light material sweater. I decide on a pair of leggings with strips of leather down the legs. I quickly pull off my pants and slip into the new ones.

As I pull my shirt off, it gets stuck on the hook of my bra. "Shit." I mutter as I attempt to pry my shirt unhooked. I hear a huff of laughter from the cot and I close my eyes, feeling embarrassed.

"What are you doing?" Ricks raspy morning voice rings from behind me. "I'm stuck." I laugh slightly. "Here, let me help." He says. He walks up behind me and fiddles with my bra and shirt before getting it unhooked.

"Thank you." I say and pull the shirt the rest of the way off, replacing it with the tank top and sweater. "No problem." He snickers and I playfully hit his arm.

I push my fingers through my messy, short, black hair and put on my utility belt. "We've got some work to do today." Rick says and I nod. We walk out of the tent and into the camp.

I take a moment to take in the sight. Daryl sticks a pick axe through an already 'dead' walkers head and drags it to a pile. "What's goin on?" Rick asks. "We bury the ones we loved and burn the ones we didn't." I say quietly, my eyes glued on the bloody mess our camps turned into.

"Janey." Shane whistles. I nod to Rick and walk over to Shane. "What's up?" I ask. "You don't have to do any of this, okay? I'd rather you be with Carl today. Rick can help us." He says. "First of all, you don't get to tell me what to do, second of all, I was already planning on being with Carl today." I smirk and he rolls his eyes.