Vanessa Taylor, a sassy blue haired, tattooed cosmetologist with a mouth of a sailor was born and raised in Ohio. One summer while she was visiting her sick father, her connecting flight ends in the city getting shut down, leaving her stranded in th...
I reach for the keys, thankful as the sounds of its roars on its returns to life. Atta boy, I smile triumphantly under the mask. I stand, wiping my dirty, bloody gloves across my pants. I drag my bag and Carol's bow back over my shoulder, still ignoring the uninvited company that has decided to crash the party.
"Ya got a group?" He questions, again; voice gruff and careful. "How many walkers have ya -"
I kick my legs over, cocking my head at him, getting ready to leave him in the dust. However I didn't expect him to try the same spiel Rick had spewed once upon a time. For a split second, I'm taken aback; I miss officer friendly dearly. I watch as Daryl's eyes spot the swords across my back, widening in shock at the sight. I swear under my breath; he drags his wide gaze back to my covered face, mouth agape. I raise my chin, challenging him, thankful that he can only see my eyes.
"Blue?" His voice cracks under the single word. Blue is dead. I raise my middle finger before I race back towards the Kingdom. I realize that if I'm not careful, he'll track me down if he decides to pursue his albeit correct assumption, hating that he was a little too on the nose with his guess. That was a close call. I flip off the universe for allowing things to fall into place, just to have Daryl standing at the end of it.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I drag my mask down, allowing it to hang loosely around my neck, when the gates surrounding The Kingdom come into view. Shouts fill the air a second before the gate groans under the weight of being open. I abandon the bike, limping towards Jerry, Carol, Jesus and Ezekiel who watch my approach. Each face twists in a mixture of concern and relief upon seeing the shape I'm in - injured but alive - however, my eyes zero in on the question lying behind Carol's concern.
I stop, gripping the gate for support, grinning, "I fought the devil, and I fucking lived to tell about it," I choke out. "He's dead."
Carol hangs her head; through my blurry vision, I spot her shoulders relax upon the news. Ezekiel and Jerry match my smile with one of their own while Jesus drags me into an embrace, sighing in relief. His lips meet the flesh on my forehead while his hands tangle themselves in my hair. I close my eyes at the small act of platonic intimacy. I can feel his body relax into mine; squeezing my frame like he was terrified that he'd never get to hug me, again. My friendship with Jesus reminds me much of the bond I shared with Kelly, minus the messy feelings. We just have an admiration of how bad ass the other is. "I'm proud of you, Lilith." His hands rub calming circles along my back. I allow my guard to drop a little, wrapping my arms around his middle, sobbing into his shoulder. If it wasn't for his hold on me, I would've crumpled along the ground. Small blessings and the like.
"I fucking won," I sob, voice muffled against my friends body, still in disbelief. "It's over."
I glance up feeling a hand grip my shoulder. I peer up, seeing Carol share in this emotional moment with me; her tears mirror my own. She nods, "you did, honey. I'm proud of you."
