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"Rot in hell."
▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂︎▂
There was a reason Alex would choose to face a walker over a man she didn't know. A walker is infected, filled with an insatiable hunger. They have no clue as to who they were before the collapse of civilization — not conscious of their actions as they are blinded by their need for human flesh.
Even when they do get their hands on someone, the worst thing they could do is turn a person into one of them or devour them to shreds. Overall, there are two possibilities. However, men are a different story. Men, when confronted with the opportunity, fantasize about doing a million despicable things to women. To them, the possibilities, although horrifying, are endless.
Thus, Alex would choose the walker over the man every damn time.
Glenn had never felt silence so overpowering. Staring blankly at the floor, Alex sat, her back pressed against the wall. No longer bare from the waist up, she wore Glenn's shirt, listening to the sound of her breathing. Unspoken words gathered up in her throat, confined.
She hadn't said a word since the Governor left the room. She couldn't find it in her to do anything. All she could do was let the thoughts and the memories engulf her, feeling the ghost of his touch linger on her tarnished skin.
Distress cascading through his veins, Glenn did not know what to do or what to say. He had never seen her eyes possess such a void — her eyes looked so depleted of her usual motivation to prevail. He knew she was touched in ways no one should ever be touched, slowly killing parts of herself that she wouldn't be able to get back. His inability to comfort her was torturing him.
It was clear she didn't want to be touched, her knees pressed against her chest as she hugged herself. It was clear anything he said would go through one ear and out the other.
"Alex." No answer. Seeing how much the Governor had affected her, he struggled to restrain his indignation.
He tried again. "Alexandra." The sound of her full name — more importantly, the sound of the anguish in his voice — brought her back. Just barely. She blinked once, turning her head slightly to make eye contact with him. Sullen, she wondered when he'd ask the real question. "Alexandra, did he —"
"He just touched. He didn't..." She couldn't say it. She could feel her stomach churn. If she tried to finish her sentence, she feared she'd throw up the light breakfast she had in the morning. She shook her head, examining each detail of his face. The blood tainting his skin, the black eye slowly forming. "What did they do to you?"
"What happened to me doesn't matter. As long as he didn't —"
"He didn't. I promise," she whispered. She could tell he had one more question to ask — a question that was burning at the tip of his tongue. "Ask."
