The Fallen (Daryl Dixon fanfiction)

Chapter 11

“Do you need a break?” Deanne assumes seeing the woman stand making her way to the exit. 

“Just need the bathroom.” pushing herself up to her feet.

“The bathroom is the second door to the right.” She informs.

 Following the instructions, stepping inside, closing the door behind her. Breath picking up as her stomach did somersaults stepping over to the toilet lifting the lip and seat pushing her hair from her face. She heaved the best meal she had into the bowl. Knuckles going numb, she gripped the rim and braced her trembling body as it violently forced everything out of her. Tears fell from the ache of dry, heaving air, which was all she had left to expel. Reaching up to flush the sick away. She wiped the dribble from her chin, sniffling as she wiped her face. She rests her head on the cool porcelain. Mind drifting to a happy place.

A happy moment.

~.~

It was her turn to watch. Rifle strapped to her chest as she made my rounds along the fence. She could never sleep. Watching a few walkers pull at the fence at the sight of her. Picking at the scabs around her wrists. A nervous tick whenever she held when acquiring fresh wounds. 

“Hey, Lil’ Mama,” a voice called. Turning her head to face the archer approaching her. It wasn’t usual to see him at night, but he was most active at the crack of dawn and for the majority of the morning. He tilts his head behind him. A silent gesture to follow him.

Coming to the back of the prison and saw a mound of bodies that had been cleaned out of the prison. She coughs into her arm, shielding her nose from the smell of rotting corpses. The buzzing of flies hitting her face.

“Gettin’ ready to burn the bodies,” he starts. “Pulled him from the pile. Thought it would help.” He finishes.

“Help what?” she asks. He shrugs his shoulders, adjusting the strap carrying his crossbow.

“Moving forward.” He mumbles before handing her a shovel, which she takes. She gripped the handle, biting the inside of her cheek, not knowing what to do.

“I didn’t always hate him.” She smiles through the bitter aftertaste of her words. Looking to the bloodied face and cracked open skull. Taking a proper hold, she lifts the shovel high above her head, bringing it down onto his face. “He made me laugh.” She lifts the shovel up, bringing it down. Old blood splattering onto her pants. “Made breakfast cause I hated wakin’ up early.” Smash. “Would explain what was happenin’ during a sports game. knowing I didn’t have a clue.” Smash. “Gave me two of the sweetest angels.” Her voice cracks, lifting the shovel higher and bringing it down harder. “Because of him, they’re gone.” She cries, lifting the shovel again. “Because of him, I never want to sleep.” Smash. “Because of him, I don’t think I’m good enough.” Smash. “Because of him... I HATE MYSELF!” She screamed, collapsing into a sobbing mess, and threw the shovel as far as she could. The metal clattered across the pavement. “I miss them so much.” She sobs. 

“What were their names?” he asks.

“Isaiah.” She sniffles. “Didn’t know there was a two-for-one deal and thought of Jude on the spot after my father.” She explains. 

“Two for one.” He chuckles. It was a nice sound. It is the first time she has heard him express amusement.

“That’s what I always called it.” She mumbles to herself while watching the archer pick up the mutilated body by the legs and drag him out to the field next to a pile of charred bodies. Picking up a red container and giving the body a few splashes. Watching it go up in flames. The smell of nicotine fills the air looking to see the archer lighting a smoke. He catches her lingering eyes shaking up what sounded to be a near empty box. Sliding one out and holding it out to her. 

She graciously takes it, holding still as he leans in to light hers with his own.

 Eyes meeting the flickering embers illuminating his Georgia blues that were always concealed by his mop of black hair. Or was it brown? A very dark brown in certain lights. Taking a few puffs, leaning away to enjoy the taste. Turning to enjoy the show. The smell of burning flesh wafting into the air.

“Thank you.” She says looking at the man who gave a slight nod grunting his reply. Taking another drag, she looked back at the dancing flames.

~.~

She wiped her mouth as the stench of pure stomach bile reached her nose. She pauses, lifting her shaking hand to flush the remainder of her mess away. She felt so tired. Her arm fell to her side as the other wobbled while supporting her head.

 Pushing herself up from the cool floor that tempted her to lay on. She rinsed her mouth with water while peering up at her reflection. Flushed cheeks are extremely pale, almost gray. She could be mistaken for a walker if not or her deep brown eyes now dull from exhaustion. Switching the tap off, she returns to the room, shoulders back, straightening her posture. Plopping back into her comfy seat, she sighed as the cushions enveloped her.

“Feeling okay?” Deanne asks. 

“I’m fine. Just want to get this over with.” She breaths.