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...
He takes a moment, before nodding, "maybe, ya are right." He presses a kiss to my forehead, "I'll see ya tonight, okay?" My fingers replace his against the cold pack. His now empty hand falls to my hip, fingers wrapping around the shirt, blue eyes observing me. I cock my head, confused. "Still can't believe ya are here... maybe Rick is, too..." He trails off.
"Maybe. I wasn't there..." I look away, ice pack crinkling at the sudden motion of my face, still hating that Owen that from me. Maybe I could've helped save him. But, from what I heard, he blew up the bridge while a horde of walkers took over. I know Daryl holds his own regrets about that day; he and Rick got into it not long before Rick went down. "it'll be okay, Dare. One thing at a time, alright?" I pause, "you aren't alone anymore. I'm here."
"Promise?" He whispers almost inaudible.
I nod, turning my gaze back onto the redneck. "He's gone. I'm not scared anymore." I'm not angry anymore, I allow to hang on the air between us.
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"Stop! You're dead." Aaron barks out, gesturing for the duo a take a breather. I sigh, rubbing my face. It's already been a long morning. "Your eyes were on the ground. Track from head to hands always. Lose focus, and you will get killed. Remember, these people took our friends. They took our land. They must be stopped, again."
I've been standing back, letting Aaron take the reins, only offering bits of advice here and there. He's got it handled. This is his show, after all. I'm just here to assist and look pretty.
I spot Lydia with Caroline in tow coming to watch our little class with sheer curiosity painted on her innocent face. I smile at the girls in greeting, hoping my friendly face eases the tension radiating from Lydia's small frame. I know she struggles with acclimating to our community, especially with everyone watching her every move, awaiting for her to do one wrong thing so they can raise the pitchforks and shout for her death.
Not while she's under my care.
Though, this is exactly how they watch Negan, even after all these years, I quietly muse to myself. Maybe even me, since I seem to be the monster hiding under their beds, waiting to strike. I'm the scary story parents tell their children so they stay in line. When did I become so ruthless? When did my own lines get so blurred that some of my own community fears me?
This morning, I was greeted with 'silence the whisperers' spray painted on our door. Again, for the umpteenth time. When I left, Daryl and James were working tirelessly, trying to wipe it from existence. It's almost become an everyday occurrence, and frankly, I'm fucking tired of it. It was never this bad when we were at odds with Negan, though, we didn't have any of his people living with us until he fell under Rick's hand.
"Hey, Lydia!" Gage sneers while wearing a brown burlap sack with holes on his face, before Lydia could acknowledge me. "You think Mommy will take me in? Oh, right. No. She kicked your ass out. Now you're just a freak." She takes a visible step back from the trio, bowing her head like a whipped dog. Caroline reaches for her hand, trying to offer her some comfort in an ally.
