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It came without warning.
There was a shift of mood on the way to Alexandria. Only a small one, a melancholy feeling drifting so lightly through the air she could feel it with each breath, the wrenched feeling in her gut. It might have been the odd glances from her father, the scant words shared, or the walkers that appeared over the hills and clawed at the air as a reminder. Each mile they drove away from the sanctuary, gave her more and more of an unsettled feeling.
They arrived at Alexandria and nothing much changed. Carl was there. He wrapped his arms around her so tightly he could have squeezed the tears from her eyes, but she composed herself and enjoyed his wide and child-like smile because it wouldn't last forever.
Vincent was distressed but she assured him the blood on the ground wasn't hers. When she told him about Negan, the shot, the panic to save his life, there was only disturbance in his eyes. It's when she realized she'd never had a friend as good as him. She was happy, for a fleeting moment, but the overwhelming sadness prevailed.
She confided in him, in his living room, and there was a multitude of things she needed to get off her chest. She told him how she felt about Negan, really, with her head leaned against the couch and her eyes squeezed shut.
"I love him so much... I was stupid."
"For what?" He swallowed hard. She figured it might be hard for him to talk about it, but he was accepting, and that was the most she had.
"From the first kiss, I should have let go. Hell, from the first time I talked to him without wanting to kill him. It was dangerous and I still chose to dive head first into this, knowing how it could end. When... when he was on my lap in the car, I thought he was going to bleed out. He woke up for a moment but I closed my eyes because I thought there was no way he could be alive. There was too much blood. Shit, Vincent. If he had died. I wouldn't be here right now."
A line appeared between his brows. He was holding his breath, she could tell because his chest stopped moving up and down. She continued, "I wouldn't have had the strength to push him off me. He makes me so weak and strong at the same time and ever since I've started to even like him I've been conflicted. How can the two men I love the most want each other dead?"
Vincent didn't talk much because he didn't need to. Vada merely needed to vocalize her frustration and he listened. "Only I would fall in love with the worst possible person to fall in love with. Is it selfish to keep this going?"
He answered, that time. "I don't know, Vada. That's for you to decide. You have to be the one to choose what you want to prioritize."
He didn't mean it in a hostile way, because he was simply telling the truth. They left the conversation at that. Vada went back to her room, her body slumped over, picked up her Elvis vinyl and laid it down on the old record player. The needle wasn't as smooth as it used to be. She laid down, closed her eyes, and listened to the static over the soothing tune.
