𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. XLIX - 《one step closer》

.oOo.

The funerals were held among friends and acquaintances, an air of melancholy and bitterness hanging over them like storm clouds about to break open. The scent of upturned earth was heavy and the humid grey skies made for a stifling atmosphere that raised sweat on everyone's brow.

Hershel read some Bible passages over his friends and family's stony graves as the remaining ones wept for them. Rick and Dale said some pleasant words about Shane Walsh, a glossy eyed Lori under her husband's arm. Carol cried over her young daughter in Andrea's sympathetic embrace. The trespassers with no name, those had received the same courtesy as the loved ones; equality in death – a grave each and a few words spoken for their eternal soul.

Alice attended for Sophia's sake, to say farewell to the kind, soft-spoken child she had grown attached to, and had a small smile fight back the permanent glare when Carl slipped his small hand into hers. Naturally, Felix didn't attend, for both physical and mental health reasons; there was no need to put him through any more pain than he was already in, so he relocated to the RV, where he napped under Diana's watchful eye.

Diana was also a no-show; she hadn't been able to bring herself to go, even if she had been the one to put a definite end to most of the departed ones' lives. First of all, she couldn't bring herself to care, even if she did pity Carol for her terrible loss. Second, her brain was like a mess of tangled Christmas lights, no matter what end she pulled, it ended up tightening even further instead of letting loose. Consequently, her brain-to-mouth-filter was under maintenance, and she didn't want to say the wrong thing to anyone.

She needed time and space to rationalize her feelings and put her thoughts in order, and only then would the façade of normalcy be able to go up. She needed that mask, she needed that refuge, she didn't want to appear weak any longer.

Diana would usually rant to herself out loud to help unclutter her mind and organize herself, but she'd never been this fucked up before. Not to mention Felix was sleeping in the back of the RV, and she didn't want to wake him up. As an alternative, she dragged The Passage from her messenger bag – the iridescent sleeve was torn at the edges, and the pages were well worn by her fingers and the scribbles she'd written on its margins.

She opened the book to the next page clear of her handwriting and began jotting down everything that came to mind.

The regret. She had been as stubborn as a bull by insisting on going back to the city after Merle with the others despite her parents' wishes. She'd been blinded by duty, by the highly addictive feeling of playing good Samaritan. Those last words exchanged between her and her father, along with the disappointment in her mother's eyes, would weigh on her heart and conscience for some time. But, in the end, she knew they loved her unconditionally, and it wouldn't be that idiotic fight that would change that fact.

The guilt. She was a dumbass, clear and simple. A dumbass with a streak for martyrizing herself. It was time she listened to those who had told her that she shouldn't blame herself for the circumstances of her parents' death. It would always be bitter, but she had to accept that it wasn't her fault, it was none of their fault, just like she'd told Felix earlier.

The grief. Diana would be hurting for a long time. The ever-present dull ache in her chest wouldn't simply vanish from one day to the next, that she knew. But it also shouldn't hold her back from living. She had been neglecting herself and others because of that pain; losing sleep, isolating herself, caring less, denying herself happiness. She knew all of that would've earned her a lengthy lecture and a twist of the ear from her mom and dad. Diana couldn't succumb to the pain; she couldn't let it drag her under. She would feel it and survive it. One day it would hurt less even if that day felt like an eternity away.