Rise

Humanize

It's for the best, she reminds herself over and over again. Every outcry, every desire to run into those arms and beg to be taken back, every burning ache in her heart – extinguished by her reasoning. It's for the best. It's for the best. It's for the best.

Trish stares up at the wooden ceiling of the place she's called home these past...Has it been three weeks? Four? She's lost count of the days, often staying up late and sleeping into the afternoon. Not that it matters much to her anymore – time is no longer of much relevance. She lives, no longer just surviving - her fear of the creatures pushed aside by a fear much greater.

The throaty growls serenading her throughout each day have become somewhat calming. In a way, they're her protection. Turning the threat into her shield, she managed to take her circumstance by the reigns. She climbed until she found herself back on top of the food chain – in control. At least for the most part.

Of course, she needed to hack off many a limb and unhinge dozens of jaws in order to attain this power. The pained gasps and guttural noises surround her, the stench of the chained-up creepers' masking her own - keeping the others at bay. If one is to somehow get past them, she'd add them to her ever-growing collection.

Collection. She frowns. She's not quite sure what they are anymore, but they aren't hers. They certainly aren't people – not anymore. But they aren't her pets, or some kind of cattle. They aren't wild animals that can be tamed. She cannot afford to forget. She cannot afford to get comfortable.

Still, her concerns aren't centered on any of the undead. It's the living she fears. She prays no one would come around. For their sake. For her own safety, she's not as concerned.

Her recent dreams had been vivid – concocting ideas in her mind that she could never imagine herself. Lives in her hands. The thirst for control – for power. The strange sense of elation from committing such terrible acts. She wakes often wondering if it's just her mind playing tricks on her or her inner urges clawing their way out. Either way, she cannot risk contact. Not with the blood on her hands already.

Though human beings and isolation don't quite mix. She finds ways to fill the void. Whether it's conversing with her growling hoard, or with the air. Pretending there's someone there to hear it all. Sometimes she feels like there really is.

"Shut up, you doof." She rolls her eyes as she fixes herself up in the vanity mirror, carefully applying some red lipstick the previous owner of the household had left behind, scrunching her hair product-coated curls. "Flattery won't get you anywhere." Her mind fills the silence around her with a reply, to which she laughs out in response.

_______________________________________

"You won't be able to find her if you don't rest." Dez flinches as the brunette rests her hand on his shoulder. She quickly pulls her hand away. "You need to sleep."

"I'm not wasting any more time." He grips the wheel tighter, his adamancy relentless.

"Dez–" the blond starts, groggily. He hadn't gotten much rest either, watching over Dez as he drives the semi. Falling asleep at the wheel is not an option.

"–It's been too long, who knows what could've happened to her by now?" the redhead interrupts, his bloodshot eyes unwavering from the road ahead of him. "Every day that passes without us finding her..." He trails off, not wanting to even entertain the idea.

"We will find her. But you not sleeping isn't helping anyone." Austin pushes against Dez's side, hitting the breaks and forcing the truck into park. Dez doesn't retaliate; instead he rests his head on the blond's shoulder, drifting off into a much-needed slumber. The blond rubs his back, then hoists him up, carrying him into the cargo hold to lay down.