AND THEN I FOUND YOU » Daryl Dixon

16. COME BACK

Nausea sat in the pit of her stomach like an animal waiting to be released from its cage. Every couple of seconds, the bed she lay in began to rattle as her body trembled, trying to shake off the queasiness that was filling her stomach. Despite this, Jasmin kept her eyes closed, hoping that maybe if she convinced herself she was still asleep, the feeling would go away, and she would return to a peaceful slumber.

Her hope was quickly discarded as bile suddenly rushed up into her throat. Without a moment for thought, she hunched over the side of the bed and let out a raw, guttural sound as her stomach spilled onto the floor below. The aftertaste of the food she had eaten the previous day mixed with stomach acid caused her upper body to lurch forward more intensely as she continued to empty out whatever was left inside of her.

A hand moved to the back of her head, pulling back the hair that was dangling around her face into a loose ponytail as sick and blood mixed together on the concrete floor. She sat in the same position for a few moments, eyes watering and nose sniffling, making sure nothing else would come up.

She wiped her mouth with the back of her hand, looking up to see her cell now basking in the afterglow of a sunset.

Half a day had gone by.

A hunched, broad-shouldered shadow was spread across the golden-tinted walls; Jasmin looked to her right, seeing who it belonged to.

Daryl sat on a metal stool next to her. His hand dropped from behind her head, allowing the hair to fall back over her shoulders.

"You're still here," she spoke, her voice so hoarse it nearly matched his.

He leaned back, reaching for the cup of water that sat on the bedside table, and handed it to her. "Couldn't leave ya alone."

Her gratitude was shown in overwhelming eagerness as she almost snatched the cup from his grasp and poured the liquid into her mouth. The feeling of swallowing a grater every time she took a sip soon began to soothe as the water continuously slid down her throat.

"Where's Hershel?" she asked between gulps.

"He, uh," Daryl paused for a moment. "Someone else got sick. He's helpin' 'em."

"Who?"

"Ya wouldn't know 'em."

It was hard for Jasmin to miss the hesitation in his voice which she was about to press further until another wave of nausea hit her out of nowhere. Her insides squeezed and constricted, so much that she had to clutch the side of the bed and silently curse at the sickness for making her feel so awful.

She forced herself to sit up and dangle her legs over the edge, resting her rigid hands on her knees, fingers bouncing up and down with anxiety and anticipation.

"Get it out again if ya gotta," Daryl said, moving from the stool to the empty spot on the mattress beside her.

Her head shook from side to side, less in response to him and more as if she were refusing to let the sickness come up again. Soon enough, the nauseous sensation retreated back to the deeper parts of her stomach, lingering enough in the background to keep her on edge.

A lump in her throat started to build as she stared ahead at the concrete wall. Vulnerability had crept in like a silent killer. The virus had weakened her body and mind, breaking down her need to present herself as independent and strong.

"Daryl, I'm scared," she whispered.

There was no shame after she said it, just the very real possibility that this was how she was going to die.

He bit at his bottom lip as he watched her staring at the empty space in front of her. "Yeah, I know," he said, "but you're too stubborn to let the flu take ya out."