In The End | Daryl Dixon

Chapter 65: First Day of the Rest of Your Life

Jordyn's POV

I lost count of the days. They all bled together — days into nights, nights into more of the same. Sleep. Eat. String walkers on the fence. Clean blood off walls or scrub floors until my knuckles bled. Whatever bullshit they threw at me to try and wear me down. Then it was back into my cell like some damn animal.

Lately, I noticed Eugene taking lead on the walker fence. Eugene. Seeing him strut around giving orders — like he'd earned it — made my stomach twist. The coward who used to hide behind big words and braver people... now switching sides.

So when he stepped into my cell carrying fresh clothes, a lamp, a pillow, and a bottle of water, I didn't hide the look I gave him — brows raised, eyes sharp.

He looked guilty as hell, like even he knew how pathetic this was. "I, um... I got you these." He crouched and set the clothes down next to me, then handed over the water.

I snatched it, unscrewed the cap, and downed half of it without stopping. Cold water felt like heaven in my throat, but I didn't thank him. I just wiped my chin and waited.

"Full disclosure," he added awkwardly, "the pillow is not hypoallergenic."

I looked up at him, unimpressed, but said nothing.

He stood there, fumbling with his own thoughts before finally speaking again.

"You know, I believed I could be brave, that I could be a survivor like Abraham was, and when I drove that RV that night... well, it was the greatest thirty-seven minutes of my existence. But I know now that I was full-tilt delusional. I have never in my life been as scared as I was that night in the woods, kit to the grit, fully believing my number's about to be called, then seeing it happen to someone brave... to a survivor. And then the pants-pissing terror of the rinse and repeat of that very same event — I just... I couldn't." He took a shaky breath. "Being here means I'll never have to again."

My jaw tightened so hard it hurt. I could feel it building — the heat rising in my chest like wildfire — until I couldn't hold it in anymore.

"Are you even hearing yourself right now?" My voice cut through the room like a blade.

Eugene blinked, startled. I pushed myself up to my feet, slow and deliberate, the bottle still clenched in my hand.

"You talk about being scared like that gives you an excuse. Like that justifies all this." I motioned around the cell, "You think bringing me some water and a goddamn pillow makes this okay?"

He opened his mouth, but I wasn't finished.

"Abraham and Glenn died protecting you. They bled for you. Fought for you. They put themselves on the line because they thought you were worth something. Because they believed in the possibility of you."

Eugene looked away, jaw trembling.

"And you repay them by switching sides? Standing next to the bastard who took their lives and thinking that's surviving? That's not surviving, Eugene. That's surrendering."

He flinched at that, like the words physically hit him.

I stepped closer, my voice dropping low but laced with venom. "You're right about one thing — you're not like Abraham. You never were. He had guts. You? You're just a coward with a brain who ran outta people to hide behind."

The silence after that felt loud. Eugene didn't move. Didn't speak. Just stood there, guilt etched into every inch of him.

"Get out," I muttered, stepping back toward the mattress Dwight brought me one night. "Before I decide to make sure you don't forget who the hell got you this far."