𝘐𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 // 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘋𝘪𝘹𝘰𝘯

ʀᴏʏ

My grandma married a man named Roy when they were only 17. She was a sweet girl with straight brown hair and loving eyes. Roy on the other hand had tattoos and scars, a crooked smile and hair so curly, it grew into an afro if he didn't cut it enough.

Roy, or my grandpa, was a quiet man. Whenever we came over he didn't say much, sitting in his lazy boy with a beer in his hand. Even as a kid I tried imagining what it would have been like having him as a father. His silence didn't prove him fatherly and the thought of him laughing made my younger self shiver.

Right before my mom got sick, Roy did. I expected my dad to be sad but he never even shed a tear. Even when we visited the hospital for the first time my dad didn't seem fazed by seeing his dad laying there, paler than a walker with IV's everywhere.

I was 15 at the time but I had never seen anyone die, never knew anyone who died. It all fascinated me, the doctors running around the halls, the nurses plugging in cords into machines I had never seen.

Roy slept most of the time we were there or at least he pretended to be. The only time he was ever awake he asked for water and just that alone spooked the whole room. Then he told the nurses to leave, looking at my mom and dad strangely.

I can still remember the look he gave my father. His eyes spoke for him. When he finally said something it was to ask for my parents to leave as well. My dad didn't want to at first, obviously worried I'd say something I shouldn't have. But dad didn't didn't need to worry. Roy spoke the whole ten minutes we were alone. More than he ever had my whole life.

"Scarlet?" He asked, his boston accent thicker than anyone else's I had ever heard. I nodded, sitting closer to him. I was leaning against the bed, trying to get as close as I possibly could. After years in the war, he was not only a quiet man because he wanted to be.

"I know what your father does to your mother." It was a bold statement and suddenly I wasn't leaning against the bed anymore. My hair was just as long then as it is now, stuck underneath me as I slouched in the chair, trying to comprehend what he had just said.

"I'm sorry I never spoke up" Roy lets out a breathy sigh, looking at the ceiling. "It hurt, knowing Isabell and I did that, created such a thing." It was my turn to sigh. I was only 15 but I suddenly felt old too, like I was the 80 year old. My shoulders felt as heavy as my heart did as I watched Roy reach for my hand, gripping it loosely.

"Roy?"

"Mhm?"

"Are you scared to die?" This whole time we've been here, all I've heard from the nurses is that he's going to make it, that the medicine should be working. But it wasn't hard to see the truth. It was written all over his pale face.

"I've been through two wars, Scarlet." I nodded slowly even though I didn't really understand. "My best friend died next to me, his ear cut straight off and a bullet wound in the eye. I haven't been afraid of death in a long time, I haven't been afraid of anything really, besides your father."

I gulped, looking down at our conjoined fingers. I was afraid of my father too. 

"What do you think Scarlet?" Rick's southern twang brought me back to reality, I was sitting in the back of the car, next to Daryl. Our hands were placed on top of each other and he squeezed.

"About what?" Hershel chuckles from the passenger seat, still fixing the guns strapped to his stump. My idea by the way, I know I'm pretty amazing.

 Rick looks at me through the rear view mirror. After yesterday's little tantrum, Rick's been extra strict, barking orders at me. When our eyes meet, his eyes furrow and a small smile breaks. Hah! Can't stay mad at me forever.