I was clean.
On the outside... but definitely not inside of me. Inside of my head.
Last night, I helped Shane murder a man. I created a widow. That widow was sitting inside that house that we had been graciously given refuge in.
I couldn't stay in there any longer. Not with Patricia.
I couldn't stand to think about what I had done. So I stayed out of the woman's way. Out of her sight.
I remember Otis' nails scraping my skin, and the evidence of that was still with me. Clearly displayed on my inconveniently pale forearms. I remember everything that happened despite my head being mid-concussion during the unfold of events. I remember his screams becoming muffled as the walkers tore his skin apart. I remember me screaming in his face as Shane and I turned on him and kicked him to the ground. I remember his hands gripping me so tight, that it reminded of a grip I knew all too well. A grip no one should experience.
Hershel, after looking at my injuries, only ordered me to take it easy. My ribs were bruised, I had a concussion, and multiple bruises and grazes. The only real essential thing I would have to do was hold a pillow to my chest when I coughed.
So, as the sun ascended into the sky, I watched from the porch chair as people gathered rocks for Otis' funeral. The funeral that I would have to attend, whilst trying not to break down in front of everyone.
I mean... Otis didn't really mean anything to me. It was the fact that he died by my hand that made me feel somewhat unstable, or susceptible to getting hurt. That something was around every corner waiting to pounce on me. Like Otis' ghost was hanging over me.
I once heard that if you are a killer, the people you have taken from this world haunts you forever. That they are always at the back of your mind, even when you are at your happiest, they are still there, like a bug clinging to your skin, crawling on it and setting you on the edge of doing something even more dangerous than killing an innocent person.
Going by how I felt, that was true.
I was scared of turning into the person I used to be. What the guilt of my parent's death did to me, was happening at that moment.
The cold morning air didn't help either.
I had to reuse my clothes from yesterday because no one's clothes would fit me. So I was sitting in my blood covered Winchester-shirt, dark ripped jeans, and torn apart sneakers.
I washed yesterday, and yet, I was sitting in filth.
I was grabbed from my own thoughts as a low rumble reached my ears. A noise I knew to be Merel's motorcycle.
I stood from my seat, holding my side to make it easier.
The people collected rocks also held their gaze on the slow emerging vehicles. First you saw the roof of the RV, then the green honda. In front, there was Daryl, his short brown hair flying in the wind.
He would not be happy to hear what I had been up to. If he even believed me. But think I had a pretty convincing case, due to me having pretty unavoidable cuts across one-half of my face. They stung and started to scab over. I also had a small black eye forming, and it made the bags on my eyes even bigger... just on one side.
The other's stopped their gazing and continued piling up rocks, as a means to be a decent grave.
I descended the stairs, going down as slowly as I could. My injuries would soon annoy me as I would be told I couldn't go out and look for the lost little girl, Sophia.
T-Dog walked past me to tell Rick and Lori they were here, whilst they parked their vehicles in front of the house.
My eyes stayed set on Daryl as he climbed off his Motorcycle, keeping his head down, so he hadn't seen me yet. Kicking the stand upwards, he finally looked up, instantly looking to the house, then to me.
His eyes held a confused and shocked look. He put his hand up to shade his eyes, wanting to get a better look. He went to step towards me, before spotting something behind me and turning to his bike.
I looked to my right and found Rick, Lori, T-Dog, Hershel, and Patricia emerging from the house. I kept my gaze away from Patricia, as to not make my skin crawl anymore.
Rick still looking slightly pale. I learned he had three blood transfusions last night, which is both a brave and stupid thing to do.
Everyone was silent as we started forming a small congregation in front of the Greene household. I wanted someone to say something so that I wouldn't have to deal with any more awkward silences anymore.
Dale was the first to speak. "How is he?" the old man asked, referring to Carl.
"He'll pull through," Lori answered, nodding happily. "Thanks to Hershel and his people."
"Marley and Shane too," her husband finished, looking at me for a split second.
I looked towards my partner in crime as he looked to me. His newly shaved head shining under the sun, and Otis' clothes hanging on his shoulders. We both held a secret together. His gaze was more of warning and mine held more fear of being uncovered. I looked back to the group, tucking my hair behind my ear, blinking away the burning feeling behind my eyes that was left over from hitting my head.
"We'd have lost Carl if not for them."
I felt about a dozen eyes fall on me, as they did to Shane. Dale, Andrea, Carol... and Daryl.
Dale stepped towards Rick to embrace him. Carol to Lori. Andrea to T-Dog.
I looked towards Daryl to see if he would, but he didn't. He kept his gaze strong on my eyes.
"How'd it happen?" Dale asked.
"Hunting accident," Rick stated, in a raspy tired voice. "That's all-- just a stupid accident."
'No, I'm the stupid accident,' I thought.
Hershel kindly asked all of us to attend the funeral in modesty, but he gave us a moment to catch up. I took this opportunity.
The hunter was kneeling over his bike... I never knew what he was doing with his bike or crossbow. Complicated stuff. Complicated man stuff. Daryl-man stuff.
Where was I going with this?
I carefully stepped towards him, and he saw me at the corner of his eye and straightened his back. He observed my face for a moment as he looked down to me and I looked up to him.
"Sit," he ordered softly, gesturing to the seat of his motorcycle.
"Why?-"
"Just," he said in a more stern manner, again tilting his head to the leather seat.
He stood patiently as I sat down and had to strain my neck even further to look at him.
In an unexpected twist, he took my chin between his thumb and index finger, tilting my head upwards even more and to the left. He was looking at my wounds.
My breath hitched at the sudden contact, that I really wasn't used to anymore. If somebody held my face this way, it was usually to threaten me, to put fear in my head. I had never been held this way. At least, I didn't remember if I had.
His face got closer to mine, and I turned my eyes away from his. I saw Dale spot what Daryl was doing, then reverting his eyes like he wanted to give us some privacy.
"What happened?" Daryl broke the silence turning my head to the right for a moment to see the other side, then back to the left.
"We... uh," he was making me nervous. He hadn't been this close to me, ever. This was something I would categorize as something Daryl would do. The hunter was acting quite strange at the moment. I stuttered to get my words out with his hand touching my face. "We were at a high school... to get stuff to op-operate on Carl. We had to, um, get out a window cause we were trapped inside and I fell. Hit my head. Got bruised ribs too and I had a concussion."
I looked up from the ground to his eyes. He looked like he didn't believe me. I was released of my nervousness as he let go of me.
"Hershel's checked me over," I stated, standing up from the seat. He didn't give me much room as he stood glued to his spot, and the bike behind me cause me to be pressed up to his chest.
Thankfully, he stepped back and allowed me to go around him.
"Anything on Sophia?" I asked lastly. He simply shook his head in response, still keeping his eyes on me, folding his arms over his chest. Turning and walking away, other people followed me.
I could feel his eyes burning into the back of my head as I approached the empty grave.
+
I watched nervously as Beth approached the grave to place a rock on the pile.
"Blessed be God," Hershel voiced. "Father of our Lord Jesus Christ."
Jimmy was the next to approach. I was hoping that I wouldn't have to do anything but stand away from Otis' grave, or I would break down. I stood to the left and slightly behind Daryl. It seemed he wanted to be extra close to me today. His stance was relaxed, but I still got a guarded vibe from him.
"Praise be to him, for the gift of our brother Otis."
I looked over to Patricia, who had tears streaming down her face. I was quite near to that myself. I held my hands together, cracking them multiple times. I couldn't look at her for more than five seconds before the images from the night before came flashing before my eyes.
All Otis wanted to do was help, but my instinct was to do what was necessary.
Blood... screams, and growls echoing through the air. I was hoping Shane was experiencing the same thing as I was so that I wasn't being abnormal. So the way I was feeling it was right.
I remembered that just before we found out how many bullets we had left, Shane offered to stay there and for us to take his bags. Otis refused to leave him there. I refused to leave Shane there.
"For his span of years, for his abundance of character. Otis, who gave his life to save a child's, now more than ever, our most precious asset."
I looked around the rest of the group, mostly to Shane. His eyes were trained on the ground like he was reminiscing the past events... just like I was doing.
"We thank you, God, for the peace he enjoys in your embrace. He died as he lived, in grace," Hershel finished.
My arms burned as I had a flash of memory. Otis was clawing at my skin again.
"Shane," Hershel suddenly pulled me out of my thoughts. "Will you speak for Otis?"
I hoped to hell that Shane would say something so that I wouldn't have to.
"I'm not good at it." Shane rasped. I was internally screaming for him to do it instead of me. "I'm sorry."
'Yeah, you're sorry,' I said to myself.
"You were one of the last ones with him. You shared his final moments." Patricia sobbed, looking to the man. "Please," she begged. "I need to hear. I need to know his death had meaning."
Shane looked taken back, and unwilling to do it, but he muttered a small, "Okay."
He was going to have to make up a story right there. With detail... a lot better than I would do.
"We were about done," he started. "Almost out of ammo we were down to pistols by then."
'True.'
"I was limping. It was bad. Ankle all swollen up."
'True.'
"Marley hit her head. She was worse than me. Both of us could hardly keep up."
'True.'
"'We've got to save the boy.'" he imitated Otis, it made me think back to how guilty that man felt throughout the night. "See, that's what he said."
Another flash of images spread through my mind, and I had to put my hands to my eyes.
'It was a mess of limbs and screams of pain as Otis declared he was going to kill them both'
It was like the walkers reaching out to me were still trying to claw out my eyes. I pulled them away from my face after a second and sniffed away as many overspilling emotions as I could.
"He gave me his backpack."
'False.'
"He shoved us ahead."
'False.'
"'Run,' he said. He said, 'I'll take the rear. I'll cover both of you.'"
'False.'
"And when we looked back..."
'All the pain that the two of them had endured that night didn't amount to how much Otis was experiencing in that moment'
I remembered looking back and seeing the floor painted red. The sight, the smell of iron and rotted skin mixed with the sounds of someone being devoured alive. That imaged was painted across my eyes.
I felt someone's gaze on me and looked right to see Daryl peeking over his shoulder.
I had a thought that he knew Shane was lying. After all, I did come back with a dead man's gun. Rick's python. It was safely tucked back intro Rick's gun holster after I gave it back to him this morning.
Shane limped forwards, slowly, approaching the wheelbarrow of rocks. "If not for Otis... I'd have never made it out alive." He picked up a rock, going to place it on the grave.
"Neither would have Marley. And that goes for Carl too. It was Otis."
'True.'
"He saved us." Shane turned his head to me. We both held a crazed stare into each other's eyes for a few seconds. Both our eyes wide, trying to conceal what was really happening inside of us. We were reliving the worst.
He then looked straight to Patricia and said to her face. "If any death ever had meaning, it was his."
She nodded in thanks. What she didn't know, was that the meaning for her husbands death was for us to get out and save Carl. But in a way she should never know.
Shane gently placed the rock on the pile. Something I wasn't going to do. If I wanted to pay any respect to him, I would have let him live.
+
I watched from afar as Maggie laid a map on the hood of a yellow car.
I had two bags on my shoulders, mine and Daryl's. I also had a tent in my arms, which was putting stress on my ribs as it was quite heavy, but I didn't put it down.
I felt like I deserved the pain.
Glenn was laying out some tentpoles in front of me.
I was glad he had forgiven me. I missed our long talks about comic books and tv shows. Something only me and him really had an interest in. We hadn't had a long conversation in so long, and I really hated that.
"Hey Glenn," I tried. Glenn glanced at me for a moment before continuing what he was doing.
"Hey Marlster," he greeted back. This rose a smile to my face. The nickname he said he would use before, but it never did stick. "How's your head?"
"Better, after I had some sleep."
"Good. Can't have that good mind of yours scrambled."
I chuckled, my ribs hurting, at his attempt to comfort me. He wasn't in fault, it was me. All I could think was, 'Oh, Glenn, if only you knew how scrambled my mind was.'
It looked like he was trying to stay focused on the tentpoles, though.
I put my gaze back on the group of people by the car and saw Daryl walk around them and started heading my way. He brushed t, not seeming to notice me. I started following him, when he did finally notice, he stopped in his tracks.
"I have your stuff, where d'you want it?"
He didn't answer, just took the tent from my aching arms. "Follow me," he said quietly leading me to the right of the building, and far away from everyone else.
"Why so far away Daryl?" I huffed, getting exhausted carrying both mine and his stuff.
"Why not?"
"You're doing it again," I rolled my eyes, exasperated. He was answering my question, with a question. Again.
We reached a tree, and he took a look around. Up into the sky and to where everyone else was. "Here," he announced setting down the bag.
I put down the bags I was carrying myself. I wanted to tell him that we lost my tent back when we were getting rid of his truck, but I was too scared to.
"Was that all true, what Shane said?" he said suddenly, looking at me pointedly.
"Y-Yes," I stuttered, feeling like I was on a game show where the wrong answer would result in death.
He didn't look convinced.
"I know a liar when I see one... Marley." He stepped closer to me and I stepped back in a result. He still kept coming closer. "When I get back, you better not lie to my face again."
"I'm not, Daryl I-"
"You don' have to keep other people's secrets, Marl." He said louder, causing me to cower away from him.
He was obviously annoyed at me, and I hated when he was annoyed at me. I did want him to be mad, or angry, or annoyed at me. Ever. He has a lot to be against me about and he could easily spread shit that was true about me around the camp.
He knew the truth about what I had done, and he wasn't going to take a lie as an answer.
"Well, I can't find my tent," I asserted firmly, tilting my head to the side. "So you're gonna have to deal with the fact that I have to lie, for my own sanity," I whispered the last part, hoping there was no one else within earshot.
"Aw, hell no!"
"You're just gonna have to deal with it... like the good ole days." We were now getting closer to each other's faces. I could tell that he still wasn't used to me speaking more freely with him, and with more bravery than before.
"No! Share with chinaman, you two seem cuddled up together enough as it is," he accused loudly.
"Oh, just stop with blaming Glenn all the freaking time, and get your ass out there and bring back Sophia," I shouted, my face turning hot as I boiled over with anger. "Will you, please?"
He brushed past me, knocking my shoulder with his like a child. I almost fell over because his arm muscles were quite big.
I tried calming down my breathing. It was hard to catch my breath, but I did it eventually.
I didn't want to tell him the truth, and yet I did want to at the same time. Having a two-minute conversation with the man could send my head spinning in circles. I didn't know whether I liked that.
+
After setting up mine and Daryl's camp, I wanted to see Carl. I hadn't yet seen him since he was soaked in his own blood. I did help save him after all, and he was my best friend.
I walked through the halls, hoping to avoid Patricia. Luckily I did as I approached the door to the bedroom.
The door was slightly ajar, and I could hear hushed talking. I presumed one of them was Lori's.
Opening the door, two pairs of eyes hit me. One pair brown, the other blue, like his father's. Carl and Lori.
"Marley!" the little boy squealed excitedly, looking like he wanted to sprint out of bed and squeeze me tightly. I wished he could too.
"Hey there, my young sir." I approached his bed, my cheeks hurting as I couldn't help the painful grin that spread across my face. I leant down and gently put my arms around his head as a means to hug him. He grabbed one of my arms and tightly squeezed it in his tiny ones. I leant back to get a better look at his pale, sweaty face.
"He's been waiting to thank you," Lori remarked proudly, looking between me and her son.
"Thank you," he declared happily.
'If only he knew what I had to do,' I thought, suddenly feeling a little more glum. But I kept my best happy face mask on.
"What happened to your face?" Carl asked curiously. I laughed as his childlike bluntness as he touched my right eye gently. The black eye was getting darker by the hour.
"I hit my head... well, the whole right side of my face" I said simply, smiling that he was okay but screaming inside at the memories to get away from my eyes.
"I'm just gonna make a list for the pharmacy," Lori announced, getting up from her chair. I gave a small wave to Carl, leaving him in the room as I followed Lori out of it.
"They're going to a pharmacy?" I inquired, walking beside the mothers. She nodded in response and an idea sprung to mind. "Can I ask you to write something on there for me?"
"Yeah sure." She got to a table in the middle of the living room where there was a pen and a notebook. She ripped out some paper and hovered the pen over it. "Go."
"Paroxetine, slash, Paxil," I uttered quietly
She scribbled the letters down, nodding as she went.
She didn't ask what they were for, and I was grateful that she respected my privacy. I wouldn't have to tell any more lies, just withhold the truth. I hoped they had some left at the pharmacy.
It seemed everyone these days... that saw the world as it was, like me, would need what I asked for.
+
OOOH, there's some tension between the DARLEY couple.
LIKE PLS DARYL JUST KISS HER WORRIES AWAY YOU IDIOT!
YOU GRABBED HER FACE YOU COULD HAVE KISSED IT TOO!!
In case you didn't know, I'm slowly going through some of the early chapters and editing them. The first chapter is slightly different and better so you should go back and read it.
Daryl's first words to her will become quite, significant one day so remember what he says.
Anyway, I think this made up for there being no Daryl these past two chapters.
^ actually the perfect gif for this chapter, I'm so happy. ^
And also I brought back the Winchester-shirt since you guys like it so much ;).
Tell me what you think.
And I want to know, what your favourite episode in season 2 is?
Mine is tied between "Chupacabra" and "Better Angels."
(Also wtf with me writing really long chapters,
this is only like 10 minutes of the episode I'm not even joking)
Stay fabulous my Darlings.
-Sylar