Poisoned Waters | ✓

|𝟏𝟓| "𝐲𝐨𝐮'𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐞 𝐰𝐢𝐭𝐡 𝐦𝐞"

𝐖𝐄𝐒𝐓 was hurled from the rover and thrown onto the ground, as the others rushed to respectfully transport the corpse. Noah jumped out after him, aggressively grabbing him, pulling him onto his feet and launching him into the side of the rover.

The fury in his eyes couldn't be contained, as he stared at his terrified friend, "What the fuck were you thinking?"

"Noah, pleas—"

"What the fuck were you thinking?" he bellowed with another slam against the rover.

"He had my sister! My sister, Noah! He had to know not to try that bullshit ever again!" West screamed his reply.

The ruckus was drawing attention, seeing Noah losing his cool was worrying; the people of Everwinter knew that something was wrong.

"We were going to get her back, you dickhead, now she's not with us at all!" Noah moved his hands to West's neck.

   "Well now Angelo knows not to mess with us,"

   "You opened fire in a fucking switchover,"

"I only shot Travis—"

"Murphy is dead, West! Murphy is dead! If you hadn't shot, they wouldn't have fired back!" He squeezed his neck, as waterfalls of hot tears cascaded down his cheeks in rage. West struggled under his grip.

"Noah, ple...ase—" he choked.

"I should kill you too, motherfucker," he grunted lowly.

"Noah," Mackenzie rested his hand on his shoulder, he brushed him off harshly. "Noah!" he shouted, just as West was beginning to falter. Noah threw him to the ground.

West hacked and heaved for air, Mack tended to him, even though his reaction towards what West did was completely unreadable.

   "Throw him in the dungeon," Noah muttered, he watched him struggle for breath for a moment before he walked home, ignoring the crowd that had formed around the altercation.

He stumbled in a zigzag. The ground felt like a seesaw beneath his feet, as he couldn't look away from his crimson-stained palms through his blurry tears. Helplessly sobbing, he tripped on a rock, falling to his knees as the cry left his throat.

The guilt was sickly, making him want to vomit as he felt the texture of the velvet, ring box. The ring that Murphy would now never be able to put onto Sasha's finger.

He'd failed. No one else was ever meant to die, he swore by it. He was meant to protect Everwinter, and he'd failed—and soon his friend was going to be six feet under.

•

Dusk was nearing and Monet hadn't returned. Noah knew no way else to settle his fear than with whiskey. He was dreading having to bury another body; that was, if she hadn't already turned or been eaten alive.

He filled the pit of his worries with alcohol, hoping that it would get his mind off of it. Instead, it caused him to fall into a mental trap of thoughts, imagining all of the worst possible outcomes for Monet, for Everwinter, and even for himself. He was scared; more than he was when surrounded by the flaming walls of the burning house.

Noah opened his eyes, exhaling the breath he hadn't realised he was holding, and picked up the radio, He stared at it, internally pleading for it to spring to life.

The heaviness that sat with him was suffocating, so he stood up, taking the radio and whiskey with him, and walked up the stairs, then up to the loft. He flicked on the lamp in the corner of the small space and it somehow illuminated everything else perfectly.

The record player hadn't been touched for a few days, he never felt like painting so he never felt like jazz would do the job. But he was desperate today, sad and agitated, looking for an escape.

Soothing melodies diffused into the thick air, snatching gravity and making all the heaviness float with the saxophone riff. Noah's shoulders fell, allowing his head to rock to the rhythm to the sight of the vast nothingness of his closed eyelids.

The music eloped him and danced with his stiff, wounded body, waltzing him around the creaking wood boards beneath his feet.

It was his mother's favourite vinyl record.

He slowed his swaying to a stop once the hot tears felt like they'd burned his cheeks. The feeling caused him to wipe away the vulnerability furiously. He stopped the record.

He picked up the radio, as he fell into the cushioned arm chair that resided near the lamp. All he needed was some information from the team sent out to look for her. Something to rid him of the fear of losing her too.

"Front gate to NR, do you copy?" He sat straighter, staring at the radio in disbelief. "NR, do you copy? Monet is safe!"

Snatching the radio, "I-I copy, I copy, I'm coming," he stumbled, both on his words and his feet as he ran. He ran so fast.

She was there. Alive. Exhausted, distressed, and alive. After hours of trying to sneak back to Everwinter without being caught in groups of walkers that congregated after the shots fired at the bridge, she'd found her way back. Noah didn't stop running until he enveloped her fatigued body in his strong arms.

She collapsed in his grasp with a uncontrollable sob. Her body shivered with timidity and he tightened his hold, whispering warm promises against her neck, "You're safe now, okay, everything's okay, you're safe with me."

He pulled away and held her face, gazing upon her muddy cheeks, but otherwise she was marginally unscathed.

Monet stared into his worried, hazel eyes. "Did he hurt you?" She shook his head, resting her head on his chest and he held her tight.

Her arms tightened around his waist and he stroked her cornrows, she calmed herself with the sound of his heartbeat that eventually fell into a steady, metronomic pulse.

"You're safe with me, Mo, I promise," he whispered so gently that it was almost inaudible. But she heard it, and she finally did feel safe.