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DARYL SHIVERED AGAINST the cold cement of the Sanctuary's closet floor. His hands, still caked with blood, felt around the empty space for anything to touch. His skin, once graced so gently with love and affection, was coarse and pale. He was blinded by darkness, save for the single sliver of light that emanated from beneath the door. He could see the footsteps of unbothered men and women passing by who relished his pain. The blaring music echoed between his ears and took place of all rational thought. His fingers pressed against the bandage on his shoulder, eliciting a hiss of pain from his cracked lips. He missed her so much.
Daryl always thought he'd go to hell, but this was worse.
He couldn't sleep. The tunes blared from that godforsaken box and didn't stop. Dwight had come twice a day with bread and canned dog food, which Daryl had no choice but to scarf down like it was all he could get his hands on... because it was. His limbs shook uncontrollably, but he didn't know why. He was in a constant state of burning up, yet his blood felt like ice. He could feel himself wasting away. But worst of all, the overwhelming sense of guilt permeated every fiber of his being. The low thumps of Negan's bat plagued what nightmares he managed to experience.
Daryl gripped his oily locks and tugged on them in frustration. His eyes screwed shut in the darkness, and gentle sobs wracked his body. Everything hurt, from his heart to his shoulder. Part of him just wanted to give up, then and there. What was there to go back to? The searing gaze of blame from Maggie? The pitied words of Murph? Oh, how he missed her nonetheless. He missed her eyes. He missed her touch. He missed her voice. His promise to come back felt so far from true. Was she mourning his death? Was she even alive?
The closet door slammed open with a clang over the repetitive music. Daryl jumped in shock and squinted at the silhouette in the bright light. Dwight stood over him and dropped a piece of meat-slathered bread on the filthy ground before him. Daryl sat still for a moment, debating whether or not he should ashamedly eat the "food" once more. He kept his eyes locked on the ground before he finally decided to nourish himself with what he could. Dwight stared at him for a moment, savoring the sense of power that Negan must have felt every time people knelt for him, before tossing a set of clothes to the shivering man. Daryl grunted as the cloth fell atop of him, peering at the foreign things before the room was enveloped with darkness once more.
Once a good half an hour passed and Daryl had put the sweatshirt and pants on, Dwight opened the closet door and took a handful of the shirt near Daryl's shoulder. His skin seared with pain, but he held his composure as the scarred man led him down the halls. Once Daryl's eyes acclimated to the light, he realized that he had been marked with a large orange 'A' across his chest and torso. He wondered what it meant, but didn't say a word. They stepped through the winding halls, lined with tile and cold tones... only further emphasizing the disdainful people who graced this complex.
