𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐅𝐫𝐨𝐧𝐭 𝐋𝐢𝐧𝐞𝐬.

𝐂𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐭𝐞𝐫 𝟐 | 𝐁𝐫𝐨𝐭𝐡𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐲 𝐚𝐝𝐯𝐢𝐜𝐞.

𝐀𝐭 this point, Jamie has grown somewhat desensitized to the walkers. When she hears their growls and snarls, watches them stumble toward us, or watches as we kill them from a distance, she no longer cries. I still can't decide whether that's a good or bad thing.

Perhaps the children have an easier time accepting things for how they are now than the rest of us. We frequently talk how much we wish for things to return back to normal. Up until now I'd never stopped and really thought about the fact that Jamie will grow up knowing nothing but this for a life. Given their age difference, Carl had at least a few more years experiencing the way the world was before the outbreak than she had. I've never been more concerned about someone's future than I am now being that she is just seven years old. What's worse is that my unborn nephew or niece will never know the same level of comfort and safety that back then provided.

Jamie initially struggled for the first few weeks after Miller's death. But she's forced to relive the loss of yet another parent figure, as well as Claire's death, on a constant loop due to her returning nightmares. Danny and I had to establish a new routine with her as a result of them.

We hardly ever took watch together anymore. That way, one of us would be with her throughout the night. When we'd wake her up from another nightmare, we'd lead her into a separate room in whatever house our group was held up in. Just like we'd do pretty much every other night as well.

The fabric of my shirt would be soaked from her tears as she buried her face in my chest. I'd hold her in my lap and run my fingers through her hair as I tried to soothe the pain. Sometimes, if the night terror was worse than the others, I'd rock her back and forth and hum songs that I could remember.

Beth would sometimes join us and sing softly to her as I held them both, but because of my lack of knowledge when it came to lullabies, I chose to hum when it was just us. Even if it was a rock song, or some head banging lyrics from my military days, anything could be hummed slowly and sound good enough to calm her. She or I would place her hand on my chest to make her feel the vibrations that came from my deep melody. This is how we would be until she was at ease enough to speak again. After a bit of talking, whether about the dreams or something to take her mind off of it, we'd then go back to the group and attempt to sleep once more.

"He's gone because of me." She withdrew her head from my shoulder, where she had been crying, and whispered. "He came to save me."

Hearing that she had been bearing the responsibility of his death all along was devastating. This was the first time she had brought it up. "It's not your fault, baby."

She disputed with frowning brows. "Yes, it is. I should be making you mad. You should hate me. You lost a friend because of me."

"Don't say that."

"It's true." She whimpered. "I killed him."

"Hey," My softly spoken voice increased only by a notch to snap her out of the hysterical fit she was working herself towards. "Nothing in this world could have stopped him from defending you. He wanted nothing more than for you to be safe. He wanted you to be here with me and everyone else."

She looked deep into my soul with tear-filled eyes. "Really?"

I nodded quickly. "Yes. He cared you a lot."

She remained quiet for a bit after that while I rubbed her back. She hadn't moved from laying against my chest so I figured she was falling asleep. I was going to take us back into the other room when she spoke again. "Do you care about me too?"

Without hesitation, I kissed her forehead. "Yes."

"I care about you too." She muttered making my body stiffen. Her sad little smile made me feel awful.