𝗔𝗠𝗢𝗡𝗚 𝗧𝗛𝗘 𝗥𝗨𝗜𝗡𝗦 (DARYL DIXON X READER)

Chapter 3

You sat on the edge of your bed, staring at nothing in particular in the evening, since you couldn't ignore the feeling that something terrible was waiting to happen just out of sight.You clenched your fists, your nails digging into your palms until they cut into the skin, thinking about how you had failed again. Another friend of yours was gone—another loss you couldn't ignore. Haley...

Why did everything have to be so goddamn hard? Why did it always seem like you were one step away from losing everything? Especially when you were finally happy after being alone for so long?

"Fuck this," you spat out, your voice cracking a little. You wanted to scream—to do something to free the anger that has been building up and boiling inside you—but all you could get out was a sobbing whisper. Your frustration wanted you to cry, each breath coming in short gasps as you struggled to keep yourself together.

The walls in your bedroom seemed to be pressing in as if they were trying to squeeze the sanity out of you. Your thoughts moved from one failure to another, most of them letting you feel nothing but anger and hate. You just couldn't stop thinking about the moments of the deaths of your friends—all of them—each death hurting you more than ever and more than they did before. But the guilt was always there when you lost someone—something that simply refused to leave your side.

"Goddamn it!" You shouted, getting up from the bed out of pure rage. You walked through the room in a few quick steps and slammed your fist into the wall. Your knuckles split open, blood dripping from the fresh wounds, but the physical pain was kind of a distraction from the overwhelming emotional torture that you've put yourself through by choice. But was it really a free choice of yours to feel responsible for the deaths of others?

"Fuck! What the hell is wrong with me?" You yelled and looked at the damage to your hand. The sight of it made you sick—now showing you just how you'd lost control. You sat down on the bed once more, sighing loudly, trying to calm yourself.

It was just the stress messing with your head again, you told yourself. It was just your imagination that was running wild because of everything that has happened. But then you heard it—a distant, familiar sound that made its way into your ears.

"No fucking way," you whispered, standing up on trembling legs, your heart racing as you turned to the direction from which the sound was coming. You reached for the door of your apartment, but your hand was shaking uncontrollably. But was it due to pain? Or rather, fear?

You opened the door slowly, taking a quick peek out into the corridor. The noise was unmistakable now—a disgusting, familiar growl that made your blood run cold in an instant. You took a cautious step forward, but the hallway was empty. The sound seemed to come from everywhere and nowhere at once, as if it were echoing through your head.

Then you saw it. At the end of the hallway, a figure stumbled in your direction, its flesh rotten and its eyes empty, and its open jaw decayed to point it where it was almost falling off. It was a walker, stumbling slowly toward you.

"Shit, this can't be real," you mumbled, your voice trembling. You rubbed your eyes, but the walker was still there. Your mind raced, trying to think about the situation, but everything felt too real in the heat of the moment and way too terrifying to ignore.

The walker reached out with one of its hands, and you stumbled backward, your heart racing in your chest. You fumbled for a weapon in your apartment—a knife, anything that could help you save your life—but your hand was shaking too violently to hold anything in without letting it fall to the floor.

"Get the fuck away from me!" You yelled, kicking the legs of the walker and trying to push it away from you. The walker stumbled but didn't fall, and you knew that you had to get out and away from it; you had to escape and warn the rest of Woodbury.