I groan, fingers tracing the bruise Beta had gifted me with while the image staring back at me follows suit. The left side of my face looks as if I had a hell of a fight with Jack the Giant, though sadly, it was mostly a one-sided brawl, and I got the shitty end of the stick. Pun not intended. The flesh has swelled like a balloon. I wince, fingertips finding a cut on the skin beside my blue eyes. I wouldn't have known it was there if it didn't sting the moment I brushed against it. It's hidden in the black and blue littering my flesh. The black ink of the moons around my ear are nonexistent in contrast against the temporary injury.
"Fuck," I quietly breathe out, though, I feel no regrets stirring inside my soul. I spoke my truth and took the punishment that followed.
Apparently, my ego was growing too much in size, so the universe determined that I needed to learn I'm not as invincible as I've come to believe. I'm still as human as the next guy. In that same breath, that means that Beta also bleeds and dies just like me. If I ever have the chance to come toe-to-toe with Goliath, once more, I'll make sure he chokes on my name. I want him to remember my face as the little cunt that knocked him from his high horse; kicked him down several notches. I'll make damned sure he understands that the myth of The Reaper is tried and true and breathing. He only made me angrier than I was before - that was his mistake.
My fingers wrap around the sink with anticipation of humbling him, in a more humiliating manner, slight anger stirring in my soul. Welcome to my shitlist, asshole. Enjoy the ride, motherfucker.
I'll have to use our sizes to my advantage, next time. Maybe, I'll radio Eugene to see if he has any advice in that department.
Gathering my resolve, I reach for the brush lying beside the sink. My brown hair frames my face while I quickly run the aforementioned brush through it before securing it in a black bandanna. Aaron had asked me to assist him with training those who offered to help us wage war with the whisperers when the time comes. Instead of my regular outfit, I opted for an ordinary band shirt and skinny jeans, topped off with a flannel and tennis shoes. I'm not physically training them, instead, helping oversee and offering my own advice when someone slips up, giving an opening for their death, so I chose comfortably casual.
A small knock sounds from the door before it swings open, revealing Daryl stalking to meet me inside the bathroom. I quickly bow my head, hiding the smirk forming on my face. He really doesn't believe in waiting for an answer from little ole me. Letting out a breath, I bring my head back, still grimacing at the image staring back at the two of us. "Aye, I brought some ice for that nasty shit on ya face." He gestures to the ice resting in his grip.
Sometimes, my husband has the potential to be a romantic.
I peer over my shoulder, observing something unreadable behind his eyes, "what's wrong?"
He sighs, "Carol hasn't come out of her home since we came back."
"Ah, you know she'll be fine. It's Carol." I turn my frame, putting my back against the sink, granting him my full attention.
"Yeah, that's what they said 'bout ya, too. It took ya years and a fake death to bring ya home." He closes to the gap between us, placing the ice on the side of my face. I let out a shaky breath the second it connects to my skin. Unfazed, he continues, "This time feels different."
"And I was fine. Sort of. Give her time, Dare. She lost Henry. She lost another child. She's in mourning and she's angry. I'd be more worried for Alpha before you worry about Carol."
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.
"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.
Anger begins to sway my soul as I watch pain morph the girls innocent face.
"Hey little girl, watch who your friends are. She might try to feed you to her freak mother." Margo growls at Caroline before sending daggers towards Lydia, "get the hell out of here."
Caroline smirks, crossing her arms, "better watch your mouth, sunshine. My mama -"
"I don't care who your mother is." Margo interrupts, crossing her ams. "Probably no better than her mother if she allows you two to be close." She points to Lydia.
"Oh shit," someone in the crowd whispers, "this isn't going to end well."
I straighten up, frowning as Lydia grabs for Caroline, rushing away from us, and I glower at Aaron for not saying anything. He shrugs under my stare. When I bring my attention back to Lydia, I notice Caroline is pleading with her to stay, whispering something to the older girl.
Good girl, don't let these people get under your friends skin. Be her strength, I nod, when my daughters eyes meet mine. Proud of you, kiddo.
"Hey, you three." Aaron orders, ignoring me. "Up here. Let's run it again."
Fine, I drag my awareness back to the situation. If he won't dole out a punishment, I guess, I'll get my hands a little dirty. I clear my throat, sauntering towards the area where trainees have been practicing. Not before dropping my weapons along the table on my way through, I gesture to the trio nonchalantly, "I want to spar with Margo and Alfred, since they can sit there and run their mouth to children, they can practice with little ole me, unless anyone has objections?" I peer around, opening my arms, allowing a smirk to play out across my face.
Aaron shakes his head, lips tightening.
I watch in amusement as Gage's sneer is quickly replaced with sudden fear at my scrunity, which seems to escape his friends notice. Good; at least he knows whose attention they had just won.
Margo chuckles. "are you sure? It looks like someone already beat your ass. You really want that to happen again?" She glances around, unbothered, "this is the one y'all are scared of? She doesn't look like much."
Oh! Oh! How I love to be underestimated. I'm about to have fun.
I shrug, "you're right. I was in the field, and came face to face with their best fighter. I won't lie, motherfucker is scary as hell." I point to Margo, "I ran my mouth, just like you did. The find out of the fuck around, Margo." I allow the venom to dip into my tone, while I feel my eyes darkening as her name drops from my tongue.
"Vanessa is our best fighter." Aaron offers, crossing his arms. "This is a great opportunity."
Yeah, she might be knocking on death's door in the next few minutes.
Margo's eyes dart between myself and Aaron, drinking and considering the words that were just spoken. "I'll even sweeten the deal; you two, grab one weapon per person, and I'll be unarmed." I make a show of the lack of weaponry on my body, raising my hands in the air before returning them to my hips. "Lydia is under my protection." I raise my chin, grinning like a mad man. And you just threatened my adopted daughter, I allow the unspoken words to hang in the air.
But the comments to Caroline didn't escape my notice. A matter I'll leave for another time.
From my understanding, she's from the Highway Men. After Alpha killed their leader, the group found refuge here at Alexandria. She's at a small disadvantage; maybe even blind to the rumors swirling around about 'The Reaper.' She might be a decent fighter to have survived this long, but I'm bored, and angry, and would like to see what she's capable of.
The crowd of onlookers around us have grown still and quiet during our interaction, waiting with bated breath. The anxious looks from the others doesn't stop her from reaching for a knife resting on the table, rushing at me. I step out of the way, reaching for her wrist, while my other fist meets the side of her face.
Hearing Alfred racing from behind me while Margo takes a step back, I smile, ticking off the seconds in my head before rolling out of the way, lifting my foot, allowing it to connect to the side of his face. His head snaps to the other side. I don't react as he crumples to the ground. I kick the knife far from his unconscious form. It clatters along the gravel, taking some rocks with it.
Now, it's just the Margo and I.
While my back is turned towards Margo, heavy footsteps reach my ears. Without thinking, I grab for Margo's shirt when she's within reach, lowering my form, using my strength, tossing her body in front of me. She lands on her back, gasping as the wind is knocked out of her.
First mistake. I could've killed her.
"Get up," I growl, not done with her just yet.
"Vanessa," Aaron warns.
"Get. Up." I ground out, shutting him down.
I observe as she slowly puts her feet back onto the ground, glowering at me in a new rage. I don't take my eyes from her and the knife still firmly held in her grip. For a few small moments, we share a staring contest before she tries to rush at me. I roll out of the way, spotting a new opening, I elbow her knees as I pass her. I pull myself up to my full height, connecting to my fist to her ribs while she was slightly distracted from the blow to her knees. I step behind her, gripping her wrist with the knife, pulling the blade to her neck, while my free hand tangle itself into her curly hair, dragging her head back.
"Second mistake," I whisper in her ear.
I twist her wrist, forcing her to drop the knife, setting that hand free. The knife clatters to the ground, the ting is the only sound that can be heard. I drag my knee to the front of Margo, shoving her head against my knee cap, letting go of my grip, she takes a few stumbling steps back, panting, blood beginning to drip from her nose.
I stalk towards her, grinning at my prey, "is this all you got?"
She attempts to step out of the way, I move my foot, making her trip. In her moment of distraction, I sweep her legs out from under her. I kick her in the ribs the second her body connects to the ground. I pick up the knife that was closest to her, returning to her form, straddling her, forcing the knife against the flesh of her neck.
I bring my lips to her ear, "I could've killed you. I still can. Take this as a warning. Don't talk to Lydia or my daughter like that ever, again, or I will kill you. Am I clear?" When she doesn't answer, I back hand her across the face. I feel my hand tightening around the blade; it becomes dangerously close to cutting into her flesh.
"That is enough," Aaron bellows in warning.
"I'm done," for now.
I straighten up, observing the wide-eyed stare from Margo when Alfred's form begins to stir. Without saying much else, I return to the table, gathering my weapons before meeting Lydia and my daughter as I take my leave for the training session.
I went easy on Margo when I truly wanted to feel her blood against my skin. She should take that graciously. She's one of the bigger bullies Lydia have had to contend with since deciding to reside in Alexandria. I'm so tired of overhearing her cry at night; I don't want to see her return to her abusive mother all because adults don't know how to act like actual fucking adults, instead resorting to playground bullying.
Lydia made the right call. I hope she truly sees that.
Though, in the midst of this "fight," I finally have my answer - I became ruthless when I started losing too much of my family to the assholes of the apocalypse, so I became a monster, so I wouldn't have to bury anyone else. I will happily be the villain of Alexandria, as long as everyone I love continues to draw air between their lungs.