In Time, I'll Return to You

Destruction of My Heart

"Don't depend too much on anyone in this world because even your own shadow leaves you when you are in darkness." - Ibn Taymiyyah

I've only been acquainted with some of the Alexandrian people, if that. The dictionary definition of an acquaintance is a person one knows slightly, but who is not a close friend. The Alexandrian people are just people I can make eye contact with and exchange tight, tense smiles with in a passing or from across the room. I've been here for about five months, says my calendar. Five months since I walked into Alexandria's gates, covered in filth: dirt, grime, sweat, tears, my blood, somebody else's blood, walker guts, anything that anybody can think of that would drive a germaphobe insane. But then again, that analogy wouldn't work now, considering the dead walk among the living and all of the germaphobes either died because they refused to pick up a rusty, blunt weapon to defend themselves or got over the phobia pretty fucking quickly.

It's been five months since I've reached a safe enough haven to put my shit down and rest for more than two damn hours. Yet... it has still been a little less than four years since I've felt wanted or like I belonged. Four years since the only group of survivors who kept me longer than two weeks. The people who trusted me with their lives and the lives of their children. The people who watched me take on several walkers with two hunting knives, who sought me out every time there was a run being planned, who came to me to talk and vent about how much the apocalypse sucks.

I gained a safer place to sleep in contrast to the man-built camp they crafted, but I was reduced to be a loner in contrast to the deep conversations and friendly teasing that I would participate in around a family circle. The Alexandrians don't like me. They don't like my sharp, attentive eyes that observe everything; My attitude and tone when I speak puts them off, that I will admit. However, everybody is quite alright with how Pete speaks to his family, so it is very unjustifiable, in my opinion. I'm always on high alert and my posture exudes that I'm never relaxed, and in turn, no one relaxes around me. All of my attributes add up to me not being equal to someone who is trustworthy.

It confuses me a great deal. I'm a human that has (color) skin, (color) hair, and (color) eyes. All of my internal organs work perfectly, last I checked. I'm not dead, I haven't threatened or killed anybody, I didn't steal anything from communal stocks. The only thing that these people should give a shit about is whether or not I decide to leave, if the decision ever arises. It's not like I can't do it! They don't guard their fences all around the town; It's so fucking easy to slip in and out whenever I want! I can't count how many solo, incognito supply runs I've done without Rick's or Deanna's holy permission.

When Carl mentioned to his dad about needing more blankets and clothes for Judith, Rick said in a couple of days. Carl was obviously desperate, and with her growing all the time, he needed them soon. So I took it upon myself to go outside for a bit and poke around in some department stores, later setting a box with what he needed outside of their door. I eavesdropped on Tara, Enid, Denise and Jessie asking Michonne if she could pass on a message to Aaron and Daryl once. The women's hygiene products were dangerously low, and if another female was to go on her period, there wouldn't be enough of anything to even last the approximate week. The next day, the shelves were magically stocked with more than enough products. I wanted to save Daryl and Aaron the pain of having to look for that stuff. Abraham and Rosita want more weapons? I searched. Ron wanted more comic books? I could do that. Carol wanted Sam to have toys so he would stop eating her cookies? I got it covered! Maggie and Deanna needed a restock in medicine? Already on it!

Granted, most of them, who I've done these indirect favors for, never knew I was the one who heard their demands and delivered. I was never pretentious with my supply run skills. And I never needed a 'thank you' or any sort of reward. But common courtesy states that, if a person is a least somewhat part of your daily life, you should treat them with a mild case of respect.

It's been five months, for fuck's sake!

All I want at this point is for everybody to stop looking at me like I'm a demon, ready and waiting for the most opportune time for the slaughter.

It's exhausting: trying to prove myself innocent all the time, even when there is no supreme court conference being held. It's like I'm on trial everyday. And it always feels like a one versus fifty battle. Maybe this wouldn't hurt so much if I hadn't been so fucking stupid. Being alone for a long time makes someone too aware of themselves and how the inside can be influenced to change due to environmental factors. I should have stopped as soon as I felt them growing.

Feelings are dangerous in the apocalypse, and they never existed in my apocalyptic world until...

That smile. Those eyes. That voice. The roughly coated gentleness. That warm, intoxicating presence. The laugh. That hope. That burning fire of survival, matched gorgeously with both external and internal scars, reflected the survivor that has been through hell and back to be here.

It couldn't be any more beautiful on that person.

It couldn't be any more lethal to me; The salt to my predicament in knowing that I will never have another response other than cold, bitter rejection that stems from being untrustworthy and demanding caution from any person who is in my vicinity. I made my bed, and sooner or later I'll have to lie in it.

All I can do is wait for the anticipated destruction of my heart.