"Why do you care?"
"Because you let me. No one's let me care for them before...but you did."
"I've never allowed anyone to care for me before you showed up."
"Well..."
"I suppose we're in similar predicaments."
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A Carl Grimes/Walking Dead F...
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TRIGGER WARNING: Mentions Of Sexual Assault
*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ✧*:･ﾟ*:･ﾟ
Every part of my body trembles, my knees shiver and quake as they are pulled up to my chest. Tears brim at my waterline, but for the past few minutes they have ceased to fall. The lack of my clothing reduces the temperature of my body and my teeth chatter in the cold night air, even despite the roaring fire that sizzles nearby.
Breathe. Breathe. Breathe.
Breathing seems like the only thing I can do as of now without sending shocks of panic and fear through my body. Eventually, I use both my calloused and blood stained hands to pull my hair back from my face - the same hair that the most disgusting man just touched.
Placing my hands on the base of the tree my back rests against, I hoist my body up and I almost immediately stumble back onto the dirt. My wound upon my thigh leaks small amounts of blood due to its exposed and damaged nature.
Using all the strength I have remaining inside me, I stumble and hobble over to the fire, which contains my clothes laying right beside it. My knees buckle to the dirt and I lift the fabric in my hands. My black shirt is dusted with grime and there's rips and tears all across it. My green cargos are partially stained blood red, making a disgustingly brown color. At this point, my mind pushes aside all the mixture of blood, sweat, tears, mud, and dirt that slathers my clothes and I simply put them on.
Having the worn out clothing on my body was enough comfort to relax my heart rate. For the most part, my body is covered and I have hidden the areas that the two most horrible men were able to view.
I peacefully slide on my boots while sitting on a wooden log. Taking a simple rubber band from my wrist, I pull my long locks of hair into a tie.
As my own hand brushes over my own hair, I feel disgusted. My hair was used for these men's sadistic pleasure. If he were still alive, he would have went for more people with long hair, long enough to fulfill his desires. His calloused and filth covered hands touched my hair, grabbed at it, enjoyed it.
I feel sick.
The sounds of a walker groaning in the distant is enough for me to be motivated to continue moving.
My eyes scan the entirety of the half-assed camp that had been set up by the two men. It consists of a large area for fires to burn, a place for stolen goods and supplies, and two simple sleeping bags. Swiftly, my feet carry me towards the large stacks of supplies.
There I find canned foods, weapons, ammunition, everything that I could have possibly dreamed of getting my hands on in the midst of an apocalypse. I also find my discarded tote back. There's a thin layer of dirt covering it, but I easily brush it off.
