Daughter of a Dixon ✔️

62: You Shouldn't Be Here

With Bailey's assistance, Dad was able to get me moderately "sobered up" before I had to retell the events of the previous night to Deanna. I was still fairly out of it, but I could at least control my own words and know what I was talking about. Although, the bad thing was, Bailey had to stop giving me the pain medication flowing in through an IV for me to become lucid, so the longer time went on, the more pain I began to feel.

Thankfully, though, I was able to tell Deanna what had truly happened quickly enough; she listened to everything I had to say, but the skepticism in her eyes told me that she was uncertain of my word. In a way, I could understand her reasoning; she had known Pete a long time, he was an advanced surgeon, and Alexandria needed him. But, in another way, I was angry that she was about to believe the word of a man who constantly put bruises on his wife.

After she heard my testimony, she said that, that night, she would hold a meeting to decide what should be done. She explained it would be sort of like a hearing, where Rick and I would share our sides of the story while Pete and Jessie would share their own. She promptly left after that, and as soon as she had left the room, I turned to Carl, who had stayed in the room with me. Dad had go check on Baby Judith, since Rick was locked up and Michonne was keeping a special eye on Pete.

"I need to see Rick," I had told Carl.

He scoffed. "How exactly are you gonna do that?" he asked, gesturing to my hospital bed. "Not only are you hooked into an IV, but somehow, in the fight, Pete dislocated your knee. It must've been after you were unconscious."

I cursed under my breath, letting out a sigh. I hadn't even felt any pain in my knee; it was only on my head and face, which were, in no doubt, covered with dark bruises.

I exhaled once again before muttering, "I have to see him." With that, I yanked the IV from my arm, and winced as I did so. I clamped my hand over the area and swung my legs over to the right side of the bed, letting them dangle off the edge. My left knee screamed in pain, and I groaned.

"You aren't going anywhere," Carl told me adamantly, shaking his head.

"And you're planning to stop me, how?" I asked, my voice strained as I pushed myself up from the bed, using the bedside table as support.

He opened his mouth to speak, but closed it a second later. He took two steps away from me, and gave me a shrug. "I guess I can't... Go ahead."

I gave him a death glare; I knew what he was doing, but I was determined not to let it work. Exhaling slowly, I grabbed onto the nearby wall, and limped a step forward. My knee yelled at me angrily, but I didn't listen to it, even though I probably should have. I took another, limping step, and this time I couldn't fight the pain-filled groan that escaped me. I looked to the floor, inhaled a calming breath, and went in for another step.

Apparently that was all my knee could take. It buckled beneath me, and I let out a cry as the floor became closer and closer.

A part of me was annoyed that Carl was still there, but another was thankful, because he caught me at the last possible second, bringing me up and supporting me with two arms around my back. "Okay, alright," he said, pulling me carefully into a standing position. "Do you really wanna see my dad?"

"I have to, h-..." I was going to add, "he's in there because of me," but I figured that would only lead to more conversation, when in reality I wanted to get to Rick as quick as I could.