Sightless

Meg Genovese

A/N: I just wanna brag on myself real quick, I got my grades back from those three exams today, and I got a 100, a 93, and an 86 (two As and a B) which means I could literally get Fs on my finals and still pass the classes. Of course, I won't do that because GPA and scholarships that I still need, but I could! So yay!

Also, super sorry I didn't update yesterday like I said I would, but I do actually have a good excuse this time! I have a super duper case of carpal tunnel, and yesterday I couldn't move my left hand without sparks running up my arm and it sucked really bad, it still kind of sucks when I reach over to touch the 'T' but I'm powering through! So, I hope you all like this next chapter, don't forget to vote, comment, or follow, or all of the above!

Also, I'm stupid and watched Suicide Squad like four times yesterday, and now I'm re-obsessed with the soundtrack (is it 2016 again?), which I was listening to while writing this, so sorry if anything sounds weird 😅 

Also, last thing I swear, if anyone happens to find the reference to Suicide Squad in this (think music), I'll give you a shoutout or dedicate a chapter to you or something, whatever you want! It's pretty un-obvious I would think, so I'll be super impressed if you get it!

~ Today ~

It had been a long two weeks. 

I was allowed to do a few things, simple things but they needed to be done. Like wash the clothes, help with dinner, and sometimes I was allowed to sit up on the roof of the RV to keep whoever was on watch awake at night. But I felt like I was given these tasks simply to keep me busy. I was never alone. Andrea, Amy, or Carol were always with me, and sometimes Lori would join us, but she never was alone with me. I think she was a little scared of my disability. 

But beyond that, nothing has really happened. I begged Shane to teach Max how to shoot a gun, which he did and by the end of the first week Shane said he was doing really well. Daryl's been teaching him to track sometimes, on the days when Merle goes awol. 

Speaking of Merle, he has made a game out of my blindness, and has been trying to beat my hearing and scare me. It hasn't worked yet, like most people with a sensory disability, whatever still works tends to become a lot more sensitive, and my hearing is not exempt from that. I can hear that man coming from a mile away, he's not exactly quiet. 

The only person that has been able to sneak up on me is Daryl. That man walks on air I swear. I cannot hear a single thing when he walks up to me. But he never tries to scare me, since he normally starts talking to me from a few feet away so I know he's coming. 

Speaking of... 

"Meg! Come 'ere! Come help me skin these up!" Daryl called from across the camp. I had been sitting with the kids, teaching them math (which is very difficult when you can't draw things out by the way). I let out a grateful sigh, and definitely didn't miss the relieved sighs from the kids. 

"Coming!" I called, standing up from my seat, and Hendrix stood up with me, and I turned in Daryl's direction. 

"Hendrix, come 'ere!" Daryl called, knowing by this point that if he wanted me to walk over to him without help, he should just call the dog. Hendrix walked us over, and before I could ask where to sit so I didn't step in the fire, a large hand wrapped around my waist and I shrieked. He jerked away, stuttering out apologies. I instantly felt bad, he didn't know, but that spot... I don't like people touching there. 

"I'm sorry! I'm sorry, what'd I do?" He harshly whispered, probably trying not to draw any attention to us, but I knew they would probably be over here any minute to check up on us, and I needed to tell him before they were. But there was a problem, I was struggling to breathe, and their hasty footsteps were getting closer.

"I'm... I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I have... just please, watch it around my waist okay? I don't like people touching me there." I grumbled out, and before he could say anything, we were surrounded. 

"Are you okay?" They all asked at once, with varying applications of those words, and I nodded, reaching a hand out, and Daryl's firm hand grasped it and lowered me down into my usual chair. 

"I'm sorry guys. I'm fine. Daryl just scared me is all. I didn't think we were that close." I explained, plastering a fake smile on my face which they all seemed to buy as they all mumbled and started to walk off. Whispering things like 'fucking woman' 'scaring us like that' 'what is wrong with her' et cetera. 

"Seriously, you okay?" Daryl grunted out and I nodded, but I still had a lump in my throat and I was on edge. I needed a distraction. 

"I'm fine. Now, what am I skinning?" 

~ Daryl ~

She is freaked. 

After I handed her one of the rabbits and a small knife so she could skin it, she seemed to calm down a little bit, but every crack of wood, every breeze, she flinched. 

I wanted to pretend like I didn't notice it, because honestly it's just none of my business. But I recognize the fear on her face. I've noticed it several times over the past few weeks, and anyone else would just assume that she was afraid because it's the fucking end of the world and she literally can not protect herself, but I knew the difference between that fear and the one she showed every once in awhile. 

Whenever someone touched her anywhere but her shoulders or hands, whenever someone yelled, whenever the guns went off, or Merle went off on one of his tangents, she would make the face. The face of someone who has been abused.

I mean it was obvious. You don't get scars like the ones on her face easily. They are harsh, angry. The memory behind it is probably ten times worse. But I don't want to ask. She's not my responsibility. Neither is the boy that she came with, but especially not her. Dale and those girls can look after her just fine, they don't need my help. 

So why do I feel the urge to protect her all the time? 

Merle says I'm going soft. He hates that I've been teaching Max to hunt, and he especially hates that I let her help skin the animals. Says that I could do them faster by myself, which is probably true. She isn't the quickest at it, but she's a lot faster than she was when she started and I have no doubt that she'll be faster than me eventually. She has tiny, nimble hands. She'll be great at it when she stops doubting herself. 

Fuck. Why am I still thinking about her? 

She'll be dead soon anyway. Ain't no way she can survive in a world like this. And if she got separated from us, or her dog? Shit, she'd be dead in an hour. Doesn't matter how many lessons Shane gives Max on how to use the gun, or how good he is at hunting, she'll die without help. And it's not like we could teach her how to use a gun. She wouldn't be able to shoot anything. 

Maybe we could teach her how to use something else? Not a gun obviously, or my bow. She'd need something close range. Not even close range, like right-in-your-face range. Like a knife. But not that small. She'd need something that hit a lot of stuff at once so she wouldn't have to worry about missing. Like a axe, a bat, maybe a hammer? Like a sledge hammer? 

Whatever, but we need to get her something. There is no possible way that we can protect her twenty-four seven. I mean, we can't promise the kids that, so why are we promising her that? 

Maybe we could teach the dog how to direct her aim? Or kill the walkers itself. That'd be pretty cool. A walker-killin' dog. 

I don't know, but I'm gonna figure somethin' out. I know she's not my responsibility, but I couldn't live with myself lettin' this woman die just because we were too lazy to try and figure something out.