Future Ghosts • TWD

145. Two Lives.

The sun had gone down and Rosie was sitting in her room once again. She felt guilty for what she said. She knew it was bullshit when she said it, but she was angry so she said it, anyway. Sure, Daryl didn't want to help her in the beginning, but he made up for that. Hell, he chose to be her dad because he cared so much. 

For now, Daryl was busy trying to get Lydia to calm down. She was getting more and more fed up with people treating her like crap all because of who her mother was. Someone had even spray-painted the words SILENCE THE WHISPERERS on their front door. Rosie hoped they'd get it figured out so that she could talk to Daryl and apologize.

Sometimes, Rosie felt like she was being an asshole to people just because she felt like shit. And she hated that. She wanted to be good and kind to people. But sometimes that constant sunken feeling in her gut just got her so worked up that she couldn't help but explode at people.  

Daryl didn't end up coming into her room that night to talk. Rosie wasn't sure if he was still up or if he had gone to bed. All she knew was that he was still mad. She understood. She'd be mad, too, if she'd spent the last, maybe, eight years trying to help someone out of the goodness of her heart just for that someone to spit in her face and act like she was an asshole. 

Rosie had all that guilt from being a jerk to Daryl weighing on her now, too. Not just the guilt of watching so many people die in such a brutal way and not doing anything about it. That was the heaviest part that Rosie couldn't ever seem to get off her mind no matter how hard she tried. 

I'm a piece of shit, she kept thinking to herself, sitting on her bed and pressing the heels of her palms into her hows. 

How could she have the audacity to act like Daryl was a bad person for not wanting to help her all those years ago when she hadn't helped all those people in that barn just months ago? She could've gotten up and tried to stop it. Sure, maybe she would have died, but at least she would have tried. She didn't even try. 

She was an awful person. An awful, awful person who didn't have the guts to try and save her friends. 

Everything hurt. Her head, her heart, her eyes, her whole body, but most of all, her mind. She should have died in that barn and that hurt to think about, but she was sure that it was true. She should have died with Henry. She should have had her head on a stick. Sure, Daryl and a few other people would have been sad, but at least Rosie would have died with a purpose. She would have died trying to save her friends. But no. Instead, she was living like a coward.

That was something David would do. Sacrifice his friends' lives for his own. I'm no better than the monster that beat me, Rosie thought to herself.

Her breathing was getting to that point that felt impossible again. She found herself craving a cigarette. Another thing David would do. God damnit. She dug her nails into her scalp, curling up tighter on the bed. She bit down hard on her lip until she tasted metallic blood in her mouth. 

Soon enough, Rosie was crying. She pressed her hands harder into her eyes. "Stop cryin'," she muttered to herself, sucking in a deep breath. Next, she pressed her hands over her mouth to keep herself quiet. Daryl was busy was Lydia, and Rosie had been an asshole to him, so he didn't need to waste his time trying to comfort Rosie when she could- "Stop cryin'."- get over it herself. 

Rosie growled in frustration, rubbing her hands up her face and through her hair, pulling, pulling, pulling on the roots of it. She was a glass of water, one crack away from shattering and flooding her bedroom with her tears. She wanted to hit something, but she didn't want to break anything. So she slammed her hand against her head just once.