𝘐𝘯𝘷𝘪𝘴𝘪𝘣𝘭𝘦 𝘚𝘵𝘳𝘪𝘯𝘨 // 𝘋𝘢𝘳𝘺𝘭 𝘋𝘪𝘹𝘰𝘯

𝖲𝗍𝗈𝗋𝗆

As a kid, it was always easier to be out of the house than it was to be inside it. I'd find ways to have sleepovers almost every night, even on weekdays if I could.

It wasn't because of the obvious fighting and yelling. I felt crazy in those walls. Like somehow being around it was all a dream. And that's the thing about alcoholics, no matter what they did the night before, when the morning comes everything is fine.

But you're stuck with the memories.

Just as the storm hit, Abraham had finally finished his bottle and had a drunken smile on his face even as we frantically ran towards a barn deep within the woods.

A part of me wants to scream at Abraham but I choose not to, not now anyway. It wouldn't help anything now.

The barn is small and barely holding up upon arrival, but we run inside, sheltering ourselves from the brewing storm.

Everyone splits up to check rooms but I stand by the door, my eyes never leaving Abraham's back. I watch as he helps Rick make a fire, just to stumble away and sit alone in a corner.

"What are ya doin?" Daryl mumbles beside me, finally noticing what I'm staring at.

"I'm gonna talk to him" looking up at him, Daryl flashes me a look of understanding, then sympathy, then agreement.

"Be careful alright, I'll be watchin" giving me a shoulder squeeze, he smiles softly before walking to the rest of the group, in front of the fire.

When I approach Abraham he tenses, his eyebrows furrowing. "What do you want?" He asks, louder than expected because I can hear the whole group shift behind me, probably trying to figure out what I'm doing.

Everyone hasn't said anything to Abraham about his drinking and that's probably smart. But I can't sit around and watch as a friend is obviously in some sort of pain.

"Can I sit?" I motion my hand to the empty space next to him and he looks at it for a while, staring at the hay placed upon the dead grass. He nods, spacing out to the wall in front of him.

I take a deep sigh as my butt hits the ground, wrapping my arms around my legs that are pushed into my chest. "My mom used to do this thing where she'd hide everything" I let out a little laugh, "and I mean everything, everything from wallets and car keys to pots and pans, my mom was always so scared that my dad would do something to hurt himself, even on the stupidest things."

I catch Abraham look at me from the corner of my eye and I take that as a hint to keep going. "She was worried that he was going to hurt himself." I shift my head to look at Abraham.

There's a look of uncertainty in his eyes. "It didn't matter how many times he punched or pushed her, she was always going to care about him because she knew what he could be like." An unshed tear pools in my eye but I don't let it fall.

"Abraham, these people" I motion my hand towards the fire, letting it linger on Rosita. "Would do anything for you, all you have to do is say the word." Dropping my hand, I look at the ground. "Instead of hiding your emotions and letting us all watch as you drink yourself away, let us hide your pans instead."

This makes Abraham chuckle and nod. He quickly wipes away a loose tear as he stares down at me. "I see why Daryl likes you, you're like a free motivational speaker or therapist." I giggle at this, suddenly remembering that he is still drunk.

Standing up slowly, I give him one last look before heading over to the fire. When I make it, I sit down beside Daryl who's leaned against the wall, leaning my head on his shoulder.

Rick's words captivate me and for the next 2 minutes I tune everything out, only listening to him. He's right.

I smile as he continues talking, remembering the man I met that day on the street. How he was stuck in the tank, scared and alone. He just wanted to find his family. Now it's so much more.