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H E R
Once Negan departed, having done his self-proclaimed duty of unleashing his terror upon Alexandria, I sought reclusion in the shower, desperate to wash away the burdens of the day. The disturbance. Disgust. Shame. Blood.
Olivia's blood. Sweet, kind Olivia. Dead.
And now her blood stained my skin.
A spray of it had caught me when one of Negan's little bitch servants lifted her gun—almost without even looking—and fired. I had just put Judith down for her afternoon nap and stepped onto the porch to see what had been taking place in the street when the event occurred. Had the aim of the barrel only went a foot or so to the left, the bullet would have gone through my forehead instead of Olivia's. I watched the back of her brain blow out as I came up from behind, the splitters of skull and gray matter exploding like a violent crimson sunrise across my unexpected countenance. She made an awful sound, with how quickly it killed her, a death rattle of breath expelling from her lungs. And now her flesh was congealing in my tangled curls, dried splatters of it along my chin and neck.
I scrubbed my hair with fervent abandon, scoured beneath my fingernails, and rubbed my skin raw and pink, but no amount of soap or scalding water could cleanse how tainted I felt. It was as if an invisible grime clung to me, refusing to be banished. The exact source of my anguish was elusive; there was simply too much I wished to purge from my being. I stood with my face upturned, letting the hot rivulets cascade over me, until the bleak realization that I had to emerge and confront reality jolted me from my reverie.
I couldn't entirely convince myself to leave the bathroom, instead I left the shower on and burning hot, and sat against the tub wrapped in a towel watching all the glass and mirrors fog up. I knew it was a waste but I figured running on expired time gave me an exception to do so anyways.
Then, there was a knock. I didn't answer but was intruded upon nonetheless.
"Hey." It was Carl. Still in his henley and jeans, closing the door behind him.
I didn't want to look at him. I was still upset with what he had done. I tightened my towel around myself and scowled at the vanity cupboard directly in front of my gaze.
"Negan's gone." He said after he realized I wasn't going to respond. A moment passed before he approached, sliding down the shower door to sit beside me. "Eleanor?"
I wanted to continue ignoring him but suddenly he was enveloping me in the warm embrace of his arms, scooping me in close.
His forehead on my shoulder, face buried in my neck. I felt him say something, but couldn't catch it. "Put your head on the other side, that's the ear I can't hear from." He obliged.
