The Lucky One//twd

038. Still Breathing

Madison's POV

The prison looked like something out of a nightmare.

Tall fences. Towers with broken glass. Rows of razor wire curled like thorns. If you didn't know better, you'd think it was the kind of place people ran from — not toward.

But Rick saw it and said, "This could be home."

I didn't say anything. I couldn't bring myself to say that word.

Home.

It used to mean warmth. Laughter. My mom humming in the kitchen. Shane shouting at the game on TV. Now it meant walls, locks, and hoping nothing got inside.

Or that if it did, it'd kill you quick.

⸻

We'd been walking for what felt like forever. Every step felt heavier than the last. My shoes were soaked through. My knees ached. No one really talked anymore unless they had to.

It's been seven months since everything went to hell.

Since Dale died bleeding in that field.

Since Shane— my brother, my last real family— pulled a gun and ended up dead by Rick's hand.

Since the fire swallowed the farm whole and took Sophia and everything else with it.

We made it out. Most of us.

But we didn't make it out the same.

⸻

These days, I keep to myself.

I talk to Lori when she needs help. She's huge now, eight months pregnant and always tired. She never pries, never pushes. She just gives me this look sometimes, like she knows I'm barely holding it together. Like she remembers what it's like to be sixteen and scared.

Carl still talks to me. Tells me dumb jokes. Picks wildflowers when he finds them. I try to smile for him — he deserves that much.

Beth hums when she works. She sits next to me in silence and doesn't expect anything back. That's why I can handle her.

And Blake... Blake sees more than he should. He doesn't push either, but he looks at me like he wants to. Like he's waiting for the version of me that used to laugh and talk and feel something to come back.

I'm not sure she will.

Everyone else?

Glenn, Rick, Hershel — I keep my distance. I don't have the energy to pretend I'm okay. I barely have enough to stay upright.

⸻

Rick spotted the prison first — off the road, hidden behind trees.

We didn't waste time. Walkers filled the yard, but it was manageable. Rick gave orders. Everyone followed. I just moved. Killed what I had to. Didn't think too hard about it.

The fighting was fast and quiet. No one screamed. We've all learned how to die quieter now.

When it was over, I stood near the gate, blood on my sleeves, heart pounding too hard in my chest. Blake passed by, gave me a quick glance, but didn't say anything.

He never says much when I look like this. Which is most of the time, now.

⸻

Later That Night

We made camp inside the fence, just outside the main building. No one wanted to go in yet. Not until we knew what was waiting.

The sun went down behind the towers. The sky turned the same gray-blue as the prison walls.

I sat on the curb, arms wrapped around my knees, staring out at the trees.

Blake came to sit beside me.

"Scratch looks worse than it is," he said, nodding to my arm.

I hadn't even noticed it was bleeding.

I shrugged. "It's fine."

"You should clean it."

"I said it's fine."

He didn't argue. Just sat there.

We sat like that for a while, quiet. Listening to the crickets, the wind, the occasional moan in the distance.

Then he said, "You're shutting everyone out."

"Maybe everyone gave me a reason to."

He sighed. Not frustrated, just tired. "You can't do it forever."

"Watch me."

He looked at me like he wanted to say something else, but didn't. He never did. And maybe that's why I let him stay near me. He didn't try to fix me.

Just stayed close.

⸻

"You think this place'll hold?" Carl asked me, voice low.

I looked over at him. His face was older than it used to be. Still a kid, but not really.

"I don't know," I said. "It might."

"That'd be cool," he said, rubbing at his nose. "Being safe again."

I didn't tell him I wasn't sure we'd ever really be safe again. I just nodded and ruffled his hair the way Shane used to.

Then I walked away before I could start crying.

⸻

We weren't safe yet.

We weren't healed. We weren't whole.

But we were still breathing.

And sometimes, that had to be enough.

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