𝓗𝓪𝓻𝓿𝓮𝓼𝓽 𝓜𝓸𝓸𝓷 (Joel Miller x Fem OC)

𝒞𝒽𝒶𝓅𝓉𝑒𝓇 𝒱𝐼𝐼𝐼

▷Girl of Constant Sorrow - Joan Baez

As I spent the next few days recovering, I avoided Joel as much as possible. Once I could walk again, I asked Maria for another place to stay, and she moved me to a smaller one-bedroom on the edge of town. Joel tried to talk to me a few times—small talk, pleas for a conversation—but I ignored him. Eventually he gave up, with even the smallest glances of acknowledgement turning into cold shoulders and awkward silences. I could tell he had become frustrated with the silent treatment I was giving him, but why should I give him any of my energy? For him to simply turn back around and hurt me the next day? I'm good.

Anyways, I had much bigger troubles looming on my mind, specifically how to continue living after practically dying and being fine with that. The combination of the anger and sadness I felt mixed with being alone in the woods for a few days really accelerated my mental deterioration, and you can't exactly find a therapist nowadays. So rather than hide away and feeling like shit until I do eventually die (again), I decided that being part of this community that has taken me in is better than nothing. It started with small walks through the middle of the town, greeting individuals that greet me first and pursuing around the creek, and then progressed to spending time at the bar where all the old men hang around. 

I was never much of a drinker - never cared for it or had it for the purpose of enjoyment - but after being persuaded to join in on the fun by some locals, I realised how much it helped numb the pain I felt. It was an escape from the reality I lived in, and the old men who bought my drinks reminded me that every time - they were drinking for the same reasons.

The bar was something out of an old Western: deer heads and licence plates decorating the walls, chipped and scratched wood tables and squeaky chairs, alcohol stronger than gasoline. It always smelt like stale beer and cigars, but it wasn't unpleasant. The frequenters were friendly and seemed to never leave their seat, drinking from dusk until dawn to wash away memories are their dead wives or children, their friends, or the lives they lived before the outbreak. 

They told me drunken stories of encounters with clickers and how they traveled by foot to different cities to find safety. It felt like a different world to me and by the time I'd have my second or third drink, I'd be telling my own stories. Sometimes I'd make them up to sound more interesting, though usually an actual memory would slip through and that was when the fourth drink was needed.

-

Around 5pm, after a day spent reading old magazines Maria had given me, I decided to head to the bar. The usual patrons greeted me, and I accepted a glass of whiskey from a rugged old man, probably in his sixties. His flirtations were evident, but I downed the drink quickly, letting the alcohol numb any worries I had. As I admired the quirky decor, I noticed Joel sitting alone with a glass of whiskey. My stomach flipped, and I turned back to the bar, hoping he hadn't seen me. 

Though, the alcohol must have been strong today as I realise he most definitely did and has noticed me sitting here the entire time - the bar is much too small and there's about six of us in total in this room... I'm not hiding very well. 

The door eventually opens and a younger man in his late thirties walks in and up to the bar, promptly orders a bourbon and then turns his head to look at me. He eyes me with a smirk, his breath reeking of alcohol as he leaned in much too close.

"Well, aren't you just a beaut'..." 

 His hand lands on my thigh, and I shift uncomfortably, but his grip tightens.

"Why're you drinkin' all alone, sweetheart? You're much too pretty to be all alone in here..." 

He stumbles forward a bit so I slightly push him back, an action I immediately regret doing. His face scrunches and he drunkenly trips backwards, bumping into the man behind him and spilling his drink. He roughly wipes the spilt alcohol from his flannel before grabbing my arm, yanking me from my seat, and pulling me close so his face was now against my ear.