traded my life [TWD]

『130』

"Look, Ahjussi, Sasha found food because she's competent!" I praise Sasha and mock Daryl.

"I swear, you two argue like two old Betty's at a nursing home," Abraham comments.

"All right, Chucky," I scoff.

The ride back home wasn't as long as Daryl floored it to Alexandria. Still, it felt like too long.

I pass the time by keeping conversation and trying to banter with friends. I try to ignore the pit in my stomach that tells me I should be doing more.

Daryl wouldn't let me drive, a stark contrast to our usual set up. He had seen my trembling hands and the anxious tears in my eyes and took the wheel before I could open the door.

Instead I was sat beside Abraham, though I'd turned around in the small area to sit mostly on the arm rest of the door, my legs on Abraham's lap. He'd drummed on my leg, his own anxious habit. Somehow, that reminded me once again of Shane.

"How long did you serve?" I ask Abraham, piddling with the new military jacket he was wearing.

"Well, for this type of get-up, maybe an hour," he jokes. "This is a dress wear. I was sarge."

"Sergeants Abraham Ford," I muse. "Has a nice ring to it. A bit hillbilly, though."

"It did back in the day," he agrees. "Especially in Texas."

"So, what's this? Getting ready for Deanna's next party?"

"I like the beer. But, no. Think I'm just trying to get some control."

The word 'control' makes my head tilt. Before I could push further on the topic, Sasha speaks up.

"Daryl," she voices.

"Yeah, I see," Daryl grunts.

I dart my eyes to the road, finding a group of men on bikes blocking the road.

I reach to my holster. "These mother-"

"Don't," Daryl scolds. "Let's wait 'em out."

"Why don't you come on out? Join us in the road," the man in front urges.

"Hyejin, keep your ass in the truck. Last thing we need is you going ballistic," Abraham says.

"Nah, I wanna talk to these bitches," I argue.

"Here," Daryl says, sliding the truck's key onto my lap. "Let's be smart about this."

I feel that old irritation build. The one that Shane and Rick tried to stop- the anger issues. The ones that made me sit in therapy for half of the week. That Shane kept me in the gym for. That got me into fights in school.

I slide the key into my bra.

"All of ya," the man continues, his bullshit like a never ending mantra. "Nice and steady."

"You don't speak English," Sasha tells me, also sensing my anger.

I start to wonder when I stopped being an adult and was instead being babysat by Daryl, Abraham, and Sasha.

"I'll show these pricks my English," I mutter nonsense under my breath as I climb out of the truck.

I cross my arms in annoyance and walk forward, standing in front of the truck and staring at the leader.

"Now hand over your weapons," the leader goes on.

"Why should we?" Daryl asks.

"Well, they're not yours."