The Walking Dead: You're Beautiful - A Tara and Rosita Fanfiction

Chapter 7: Comfort in a Friend

A couple of hours have passed since my confession. Every fiber of my existence wants to go running after Rosita to talk with her, to comfort her, to be her shoulder to lean on, but here I am, the last person in the world she probably wants to see right now. Part of me regrets saying anything to her, seeing just how much it has upset her. At the same time, it had to be put out in the open. It would have been worse if it slipped out.

I've asked Eugene to come over to my house once he's done repairing a minor issue with the solar panels, though I haven't given him any details. I figure if anyone knows Rosita around here, it'd be him. Though he's not said anything, I know he harbors an attraction for her, too.

For the past half-hour, I've been laying down on the infirmary bed, staring up at the ceiling blankly. I am so damn upset with myself! I acted upon impulse, one I've held onto for an incredibly long time.

Knock knock

"Come in," I call out.

Eugene bumbles in and stands right beside the bed, awkwardly. "You requested my presence, and thus, I am here to fulfill said request."

I invite him to sit down, which he accepts. I sit up next to him, positioning us side-by-side.

"So, first off - I need you to promise me that no matter what, you'll keep this secret, okay?"

"Willingly obliged." He nods confidently.

"At the party last night, well, you probably saw how drunk Rosita was from the whiskey. She made out with me, and things got pretty fiery back here. Thing is, I knew what I was doing. I could have stopped, but I didn't. I took advantage of her. She didn't remember any of it. When I told her what happened, she got pissed. Haven't seen her since..."

Again, he nods his head. "You do indeed possess feelings for Miss Espinosa, is that correct?"

"Yeah," I reply softly, reflecting. "I love her, Eugene. It sucks. I think the world of her. She's the one, and yet I can't have her. I don't know. It just seemed like she was so open to the fact I liked her, like part of her was interested. Maybe I misread everything...I thought maybe, just maybe, there was hope that she was bisexual or something, that maybe she had just never tried anything with another girl. God, I was so wrong. I'm so stupid...I feel awful. I gauged everything wrong and now she's going to hate me for it."

Eugene sits quietly, without much motion or acknowledgement for a moment.

"Eugene?"

"Hush, pondering."

After a little while, he begins to speak.

"Perhaps, she is caught in a pickle of the metaphorical variety, wishing she could harbor the same lovey-dovey for you as you to her, but is either A, incapable of reciprocating your cardiological pitter-pats tit-for-tat due to an unfortunate predisposition of exclusive, but nevertheless curious, heterosexuality, and-slash-or B, she is far too traumatized given the nature of our current predicament that forced her to bear witness to the repeated cranial-clubbing of her ex-significant other, the one and only, yours truly Sergeant Abraham Ford, which I must confess tickled my ducts senseless and brought upon a salty rain down my face like none other I have experienced. You encroached upon her 'don't-tread-on-me' mentality and received a bite unintended for you. That, sister, is how it is."

Sometimes, I swear I have no idea what he's saying, but I know beneath all the rambling, there's truth, wisdom, and heart to it all. I pushed too hard on a fragile egg-shell. How could I possibly expect this all to go over well? It's one of those "straw that broke the camel's back" situations.

"I would advice proceeding with utmost caution and walking at a wary distance of her until her jets have cooled, so not to damage any further relations."

"Could you keep tabs on her for me? I want to make sure she's okay, you know?"

"Understood to the finest grain of the sentiment." he nods a final time before standing up. "I will keep this convo confo."

"Hmm?"

"This conversation. I will keep it confidential."

"Thanks, Eugene."

"Not a problem."

I decide to follow him out as he leaves, so that I am not confined to the house the entire day. It's such a bright and beautiful day. Shame I don't feel happy enough to enjoy it... Even in spite of my depression, I decide to take a nice walk around the safe zone in order to stretch my legs, and (hopefully) boost my mood.

Near the gate, I bump into Aaron and Rick.

"Hey Tara," Aaron greets me. "Rick and I are about to leave for a supply run. I'd ask you if you want to come with, but I think you need to recoup from that hangover there..." he laughs, gently punching me in the arm.

"I would totally go, but yeah, you're right. I'm not ready for another one yet, either. After last time, I mean..."

"Oh, hell. I'm sorry; I didn't mean to stir up bad memories..."

"It's okay, Aaron."

"Take the time you need to recover," Rick chimes in, adjusting his belt to fit around his hatchet. "Make sure you get some rest. We're gonna need you back with us, soon. You were gone two weeks - you've got to have some sort of leads, somewhere. The more help we can get right now, the better.

He pats me on the shoulder and walks in back of the truck to load up the necessary scavenging supplies. Damn. If only I could mention Oceanside, I could prevent them from going out, risking their lives for guns and supplies...but I swore to Cyndie that I wouldn't say a word. But are the promise and those women worth more than the lives of my friends? Those guns could change everything, but the preservation of life and honesty is so important these days.

I wish the two of them farewell and hastily walk away in order to leave this moral dilemma. I continue my walk to distract myself from the issues at hand. When noone is looking, I run behind the armory and sit down, gently nestling my face into my arms, sobbing over Denise. Over Rosita. Glenn. Abraham. Oceanside. Everything. I can't hold it together any longer.

Eugene's words ring in my ears as a reminder that I shouldn't have too much worry for Rosita, as it most likely wasn't anything personal. It still hurts. I need to take comfort in my friend's help and believe what he said is true. Otherwise, I will only beat myself up over it...