Trespassing (Daryl Dixon x OC)

when the party's over

"Quiet when I'm coming home, and I'm on my own."

I woke up exhausted. Not exactly surprising considering how the past few weeks have gone. I laid in bed for a while. I'm surprised I managed to spend the night in my own bed. To be honest, I don't even really remember getting into it. Maybe Carl brought me up. I don't know.

Everything was silent so Carl must have left early, probably so he didn't get caught sneaking out. Everything was just so messy. I haven't had a coherent thought since the lineup.

After a while, I managed to drag myself downstairs. My footsteps were eerily light as if I were just a ghost passing through the quiet halls. The only thing that could be heard was the ticking of the clock in the living room, occasionally some sound from outside would pass through, too.

I sat down on the couch, delicately placed right in the center. From my seat, I was sat perfectly in front of the mantle. The David Bowie record stared at me strangely. It felt incredibly wrong to accept such a thing--there's no way I could call it a gift. It made me wonder about Negan's past. Why is he like this? What happened to him?

The man is terrifying, I won't lie. He's sadistic and cynical in the worst ways. I can't help but want to figure him out. Maybe it's the psychologist in me reemerging after all these years. Something about his character was off. Why did he choose this persona?

I went back and forth between this and Daryl, over and over in a tiring cycle. Thinking of Negan led me to think of the Sanctuary, in turn leading me to think about Daryl. And on and on it went.

Things outside sounded a little more clamored than usual. I tried not to pay much mind to it. I didn't have the energy to be a part of whatever was going on. Although, the other half of me felt guilty that I'm not helping Alexandria. Realistically, what use was I in this state?

More time passed. The clock ticking away, second, after second, after second. Bowie nagging me for betraying my people. My brain justifying my actions, or attempting to at least. Daryl. Negan. Tick. Tick. Tick.

A gunshot silenced everything; the people outside, the thoughts in my head, the ticking of the clock. I flinched at the sound. I wanted to stay in the safety of my home, remaining naive and clueless to the problems growing outside these walls. I couldn't, though. These were my people. This was my home.

My feet carried me quickly to the front door, throwing it open and running down my front porch. It was all too similar to the night after the lineup. I noticed a group of people in the street as I stumbled towards them, tripping over my own feet. Visions of that night kept invading my head. I had a hard time breathing. Was it that night or is it today?

Carl stood on his front porch, watching me worriedly. There was a pool table in the middle of the street. Dozens of people I didn't recognize around it, a few holding someone down on the ground. I noticed blood dripping its way toward my feet on the concrete. Following the trail, I saw Spencer, pale and dead, his intestines and insides flat out beside him. The nausea that rolled through my body made my ears ring. Then I saw the baseball bat.

"How nice of you to join us, doll," Negan grinned. His words were extremely muffled. I practically only saw his mouth moving.

He kept speaking but I couldn't hear it. My ears were pounding with my heartbeat, a cold sweat grew on my forehead and neck, throat closing, mouth salivating. Carl still watched me, terrified. Things were swaying. I felt like I was about to collapse. Part of me hoped I would and never wake up again.

I started taking small, stumbling steps back towards my house. I knew I shouldn't have come out here. I can't take it. Another gunshot exploded throughout the community. I flinched again, ears still ringing. Although I swore I could hear the ticking of the living room clock again.

My hands began to shake, knees growing wobbly. Everything was spinning. My steps were crossing over one another. All I wanted was to make it home.

A few feet from my porch, I fell to my knees. My stomach caved and I began dry heaving on the pavement. I had absolutely nothing to throw up. It took the air right out of me. I was so cold but hot at the same time. I felt tears coming from my eyes, warm in contrast to my cool face. Saliva dripping from my mouth across my chin. I crawled my way to my front porch through this.

I managed to open my front door, collapsing on the ground as I entered my home. I kicked the door closed, laying on my back in any attempt to calm down. I stared at the ceiling, plain and white. A cough would resurface every few seconds, but the dry heaving subsided. Slowly, my breaths returned to normal, the ringing in my ears quieted, and everything stopped spinning. And again, I was left with the clock. Tick. Tick. Tick.

I wiped my mouth with the back of my hand, rolling over to sit up on my knees. I let out a small sigh before going to lay down on the couch. 

I'm not sure how much time passed. I don't think it was a lot. The commotion had died down drastically. I could only assume Negan had finally left. 

Someone knocked on my front door. I kept my empty gaze forward, utterly exhausted from my episode. They knocked again.

"Belle," I heard from the other side. I heard them shift a bit before knocking again. "Belle."

A couple fresh tears fell down my stiff cheeks. I just tried to stay calm.

The door handle turned and the door cracked itself open.

"Belle, it's me. I'm coming in," Rick said softly. We locked eyes as he entered. He looked as drained as I was. He gently closed the door and made his way over to me. He knelt in front of me with a sigh.

"Why was he here?" I asked quietly, almost broken.

"Carl snuck out and into the Sanctuary. He brought him back." We were both quiet for a moment before he asked, "Are you okay?"

I shook my head, biting the inside of my lip to keep the tears in. Rick frowned, patting my knee as a silent way to ask me to sit up. I did, Rick joining me on the couch.

He held his arms open and I went into his hold. I rested my head on his shoulder, enjoying his comfort. He's broken, too.

"We can't keep doin' this," Rick muttered.

"What else is there to do?"

"Alexandria won't last if he keeps taking half our stuff. I won't let that happen."

I think we always knew it would come down to this. I was hoping we'd be able to hold off for a little while longer. Maybe we thought Negan wasn't as awful as he is. Either way, this was imminent from the beginning.

"So what first?" I asked.

"We go to Hilltop."