ELEANOR . NEGAN

060.

Eleanor knew for a fact that all she's done so far was stay sleeping in a hospital bed for what felt like eternity. Every time she moved, she yelled in pain, but the meds and the herbs that people have been feeding her began to subdue the horrible ache throughout her body.

She noticed over the passing days that more people would begin to leave her alone inside the infirmary hut. On the first day, the room was filled with silent whispers coming from Maya and Aaron, and then the quiet voice of Judith as she clutched onto her hand with quiet sobs.

Then it twisted into grabby hands and the thick pressure of bandages around her body. The elastic "comfort" starting around her ankles for extra support, then her fingers, she had a thick bandage around her head for some reason — she didn't realise just yet though.

But today when she woke up, the first thing she felt was the cruel absence around her.

"Hello?" Elle croaked, twisting her body to sit up against the wall. "Fuck me."

The room was empty, and all she could hear on the outside was quiet shuffles and figments of a conversation. Ffyc. Elle clutched her eyes shut and mustered all the strength she could bring. It was cruel, horrible and left a distaste feeling along her tongue.

Eleanor wasn't weak, no, she was strong, and powerful and everyone knew that. But it hurt to breathe, and it stung to move, so what the fuck happened to her? She tried her hardest to reach the other side of the building, or hut — caravan? She ignored what it was because that wasn't her focus at the moment.

Green eyes darted away from the interior in front and she followed as her hands quenched on the ceramic sink. She felt sick, disgusted, watching as her hands were covered in bandages and splints between each finger. Her once smooth and full skin was now deep in a purple and green hue of spread out bruises, seeping in with the black and red tattoos that draped across her forearm.

"Fuck..." She choked. Further along, her green eyes stared at the tips of her fingers, where blood and dirt was stuck between the gaps in her skin — nothing she wasn't used to before. So she followed the glass tiles on the wall and stopped at a rectangular mirror broadcasting her whole face.

"No."

Eleanor wanted to throw up at her poor face. The infection around her cheek started to die down, but she could see the disgusting abnormal yellow colour the edges of the jagged slice that dragged down her skin and mixed with various bloods. She didn't know where it ended. Blood curled along her chin, while three lash gashes stood proud across her jaw.

"No."

Her eyes spring upwards in her reflection and she felt a sick feeling subside in her stomach, bringing goosebumps along her bruised flesh, while she stared at the bandage poorly wrapped around her head.

Like a kid did it.

Eleanor could already feel the salty tears fall down her eyes, her once green irises now dull and let down with the harsh colour disfiguring over both her eyes. It was strange and upsetting to see the way her salty rivulets shone under her reflection, highlighting her shock and sadness as it rolled over each and every injury.

"No, no." Elle couldn't do this. "Please... not again."

She sobbed even when it began to hurt, and she didn't stop until that nasty feeling of nausea took over. Even then, she accepted the nausea like it was hug and swung her head down low to cry into the sink. Her tears rolled across the ceramic before slowly dropping down the drain, a constant rollercoaster that didn't stop — couldn't stop.

Until someone grabbed her.

Eleanor didn't know if it was someone good, or someone bad, but she accepted her fate. All her strength was gone, and if the bandage around her head led to the same fate the last time something similar happened, then she wouldn't care if she stayed breathing or not.

She didn't thrash, or scream, or beg, she just sobbed with harsh tears and a shaking body.

"Shit-"

I know that voice.

If her tears didn't blur her vision then she would've looked up to see the figure, but she didn't need to. From the way the person rushed forward and hugged her, eloping their strong arms around her feeble body, she didn't need visual confirmation. It was a hug of someone she trusted and loved, and that was enough for her.

"I got ya." He whispered in the crown of her head, rubbing a hand up and down her bruised back. "Ain't lettin' ya go."

"Daryl-" Elle hiccuped, clutching onto him like he was the only support she had right now. She wasn't wrong, that was until Carol stormed through the door with a pained gasp and teary eyes. "Carol."

"Oh, my God." Carol mumbled under her breath, rushing ahead to embrace the woman just like Daryl. "Honey, I'm so sorry..." Elle tried to tell her it was fine, but she couldn't. Her sobs were still at full power and her hand was still wrapped around the back of Daryl's vest.

It wasn't long until the two people got her to sit down on the infirmary bed with Daryl and Carol sitting down next to her. Carol rolled her head onto Eleanor's shoulder, rubbing her thumb up and down her hand while being careful of her bandages and splints. Daryl on the other hand, had his arm tucked around the back of her head while the edges of his fingers massaging the exposed bit of her head.

They sat in comfort yet it was everything but peaceful. Eleanor was crying, harsh sobs from the excruciating pain that filled her body but at some point it twisted into choked sobs where she turned and pressed her head against Daryl's chest.

"So sorry," He whispered under his gruff voice. "Shouldn't have happen'd."

"Not your fault." She forced out her cut up lips. "Everyone else is okay, right?"

Carol let out a soft string of laughter and ran her hand down Elle's back. "You and your morals." Daryl smirked, "Everyone's fine, Hon... shook up but okay."

Elle tried to smile but gave up. Instead, her sobs died down but her tears didn't stop. She didn't know why she was crying anymore — the distraction of talking to her friends stopped the pain but she still had that dull ache in her heart.

"Ellie..." Carol whispered, pushing a piece of Elle's hair behind her ear. "You're still crying, what's up?"

Elle looked around the room, like she was a robot and doing it out of her own will. She knew why she was sad... she wish she wasn't though. "Shouldn't have left."

Daryl and Carol shared a confused look. "No one's left, Sweetie." Carol hushed. "Everyone is okay, you hear me?"

"Shouldn't have... left." Carol sighed when he heard her determined words, but still was confused — same with Daryl. "Why do they all go?"

Daryl didn't know if she was hazy from the meds and herbs she's been eating like it's her source of hunger, but his concern levels expanded through the fucking roof. "What ya talkin' 'bout, El?"

"Rick left me, left us all... and- and Carl, and Tara — Abraham, Jac, Negan..." She sobbed some more, "Why do they all go?"

And despite her crying, Carol and Daryl both shared a similar look of deep confusion and wonder: who the fuck was Jac?

OOOOOOOOOOOOOOO

SPILLAGE SPILLAGE!!! SPILLAGE ON CHAPTER SIXTY!!!!!

who is jac??? who is this strange mysterious figure??? where art thou jac??? we don't know (i know)

more jabs into her past life as promised

mwahahahahaha