𝘐𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 // 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘋𝘪𝘹𝘰𝘯

ʀᴇᴜɴɪᴛᴇᴅ

I never really drove much. Before all of this, I mean. Growing up in a big city, you get used to walking every where and even now, it's not like I need to know the laws of the road. My dad never taught me and my mom got sick before she could even try. 

"Fine I'll do it." Daryl grumbles, throwing his bag down with a thump. We've been walking for two days now. Two days of silence and death glares, two days without sleeping. 

I thought I would have been passed the loosing my mind stage but I haven't cracked yet. That might be a good thing for Daryl, but each time I see a walker, I want to rip my hair out. 

Watching as he goes to the driver side, something in the distance grabs my attention. We had found this truck only twenty minutes ago and after further examination, Daryl thinks he'll be able to start it. My moneys on it staying in place, but like I said, I don't know cars. 

"Daryl?" I ask, the frame of someone standing in the distance shocking me. They have a tall frame, almost as tall as some of the street signs. They stand motionless, almost like they're waiting for us to come to them. 

Daryl hums absentmindedly, half his body still in the truck. "Daryl." I say, stricter this time so he actually looks. But he only gives me a confused look, looking around for a moment before diving back into his work. Does he not see it? 

 Running an exhausted and shaky hand over my eyes, I rub until my vision goes blurry for a second. When it finally adjusts, the figure is still there. Sighing, I step towards the figure and then again. 

Daryl seems to not notice my absence as I move further away from him and closer to the figure who is moving now, moving towards me. What started off in a slow walk has now turned into a full on sprint, rushing towards the trees lining the forest. 

I have no clue who this person is or why they are watching us, but there's something telling me I know them. They don't feel like a stranger.  Not when as I get closer, his face comes into view and my feet stall mid run. 

He stands in front of me, as out of breath as I am, with his arms next to him. He wears the same shirt he always wore, the gray t-shirt with the blue sleeves. I bet it still smells like him, like home. He looks tired, like he hasn't slept. With his hair unkept, falling over top of his eyebrows. The same scar that has always been there, resides on his left cheek. The scar my moms wedding ring gave him, the only night she ever tried fighting back. 

"Dad?" My voice is a mere whisper, out of breath and wobbly as I sway a bit. 

His mouth opens and a strange, wind like noise flows out. Like a gush of air passed through. He opens his mouth again, words finally falling through. A quiet sorry escapes, his shoulders falling. A single tear falls onto his aged cheek, rolling down and damping his shirt. 

"Dad?" I ask again. 

"Scarlet?" His voice is clear, scratchy and thick just like mine. It sends goosebumps down my body. 

"Why?" 

My father thinks for a moment, his eyes never leaving mine. It's as if the trees have stopped swaying, everything is suddenly silent. 

"Because I was hurting." 

"So you hurt us?" My reply comes out quickly but doesn't seem to surprise him. 

"It's easier to hurt others than live with the hurt were experiencing, you should know honey." 

A tear escapes my eyes, a manic laugh falls from my lips, "What the hell does that mean?"