Junebug • TWD

24. Randall.

I had a really awful headache last night. I started complaining about a headache about half an hour after we got into that house. When we got back to Hershel's farm, Dad took me up to the farmhouse to ask for pain medication. 

Now, migraines ain't exactly uncommon for me. I get them a lot more often than most kids do. But, before, Dad would just let me stay home from school and lay on the couch all day with a bowl right on the coffee table and cartoons playing on the TV, even if it hurt my eyes too much to actually watch them. 

But ever since Hershel's been telling my dad about malnourishment, everything is different. This time, when we went to ask for medicine, Hershel asked me how much I ate all day. 

And the answer was nothing. I didn't have breakfast because we got distracted with the whole Randall situation, and around lunchtime, Dad told me to go up to the house and have some crackers... but I didn't. He gave me a glare when he found that out. 

Anyway, instead of lying on the couch and watching cartoons, I was forced to sit down at the table and eat a bowl of mediocre-tasting soup. Turns out that not eating enough can make your head hurt real bad. That's annoying. 

Because of my headache, I didn't sleep very well last night. And because I didn't sleep very well last night, I am very tired today. Which is why instead of doing the math problems Lori put down in front of me, I'm watching my dad walk off to the shed with my chin resting on my arms. He's gonna beat up Randall, I'm pretty sure. 

"June, honey, please do the work I gave you. It's good for you to know this stuff," Lori says, tapping her finger on the little notebook page.

"Can't do it," I murmur, shrugging my shoulder. Long division is what she's trying to have me do. I can't do long division. I can hardly even do regular division. 

"Are you ok? Did something happen with your dad?" Lori asks me. 

And I know it's bad to do this, but I slam the tip of my pencil down onto the notebook, snapping the tip and leaving an indent on the page. Lori jumps at my sudden movement. "My dad ain't evil, Lori. He ain't," I mutter. 

Lori sighs, putting her hand on top of mine. "I just don't think you understand, June. I know you think it's normal, but it isn't," she says. I want to roll my eyes at her, but that's rude and I know better. "Your dad shouldn't be hitting you," she says. 

"He doesn't," I say, my jaw locked up tight. 

"Carl told me-"

"That was before. He doesn't do it no more," I tell her, biting down on my lip.

"Hon, I just don't think you understand what I mean," Lori says with a look of pity on her face.

I can't stand it no more. My dad is a good person. He's a good person with a good heart. I know he is. I don't want Lori to take me away from him like the cops did. "He's good! He ain't a bad dad! He takes care a' me and he loves me, so you don't gotta take me away from him!" I shout, throwing the pencil down and pushing myself up off the seat. 

That was bad, and I know it was, but I couldn't help it. I hate that my dad was bad to me. I hate thinking about it. I don't want Lori bringing it up to me every time I ever look like something's bothering me. 

I'm storming off like Carl sometimes does when Shane stops me. "Hey, hey, hey. Where're you goin'?" he asks. Probably because all he sees is me walking quickly towards the shed, where we both know Randall is being locked up.

"To get my dad," I murmur. I didn't realize I was tearing up until now. My voice is wobbly and my eyes are wet. I wipe them dry with my sleeve.

Shane kneels in front of me and puts his hand on my shoulder. "What's goin' on?" he asks me.