When The World Ends

The Cost Of Staying

The night after I got back was... unbearable.

I thought coming home—if you can even call it that—would bring some kind of relief. But I couldn't shake the weight pressing down on my chest. I couldn't sit still. Couldn't breathe right. Every time I caught Rick looking at me, I felt like I had to leave the room. Not because of him. Because of me.

Carl and Michonne holed up together in the living room. Whispering, laughing low like they hadn't done in months. And I just stood there on the fringe like a damn ghost. Rick tried—God, he tried. Kept trying to spark little conversations, asking how the run went, if I found anything good, if I was hungry, if I needed anything.

I brushed him off every time. A quiet "I'm good" or "It's fine" and kept my distance.

By the time the sun dropped, my skin was crawling. I dragged a blanket off the back of the couch and planted myself right in front of the front door, curled up like a watchdog. Couldn't bring myself to sleep upstairs. Couldn't bring myself to even close my eyes for more than a few minutes at a time.

Every creak of the house. Every groan of the wind outside. Every little shuffle from the others. I was convinced someone was coming for us. Coming for me.

Morning broke gray and slow. I hadn't slept.

Michonne woke Carl up and they left together for another scavenging trip not long after dawn. I watched them leave from the window. Watched Carl joke with her about something and the way she grinned at him like they were in on some secret together. I didn't even know when that started—when they became... whatever they are now.

Family.

The word tasted bitter today.

I didn't even hear Rick come up behind me until his voice broke through the quiet.

"Jade."

I turned halfway to look at him. He was rubbing the back of his neck, eyes soft in a way that made my stomach twist.

"Stay back today," he said. "I wanna talk."

I almost said no. Almost told him I was fine. But I was too damn tired to argue.

So I sat at the kitchen table, and Rick took the chair across from me like we were back at the station again. Like none of the rest of this had ever happened.

For a while, neither of us said a word.

Then he sighed and leaned his arms on the table. "You know you don't gotta keep doin' that, right? Pretending you're not carrying all this."

I looked down at my hands. Picked at a ripped seam in my sleeve. "Feels easier than the alternative."

"What's the alternative?"

I shrugged. "Breaking down."

He shook his head, smiling just a little. "Ain't nothing wrong with that."

Silence again.

Then Rick cleared his throat. "Been thinking a lot... about the Governor. About the prison. About... who we lost."

That made my chest ache.

"I keep seeing' Hershel," he admitted quietly. "And Judith. Wonderin' if... if I'd just made one different call. Maybe I could've stopped it."

"You couldn't have."

"Neither could you," he said pointedly. "And yet here you are... carrying' it like it's yours alone."

I felt my throat tighten.

"I lost everybody," I whispered. "I lost... who I was. I feel like I don't belong anymore. Carl's off with Michonne. You three—you've got each other. And I'm just... the extra. The leftover."