Presley was seated on the roof of the house. She hated being indoors. It confined her to one place, with only a limited ways to escape. Sure, the walls of a house or enclosure offered protection from the outside world, but they also locked you in with the horrors that happened to be on the inside of the walls. Not only that, but the group was housing themselves where the horrors had been done to her body.

That room was like a million lost memories coming at her at full speed the second she’d opened that door.

She’d stumbled upon the room by accident. She’d been exploring, hardly paying attention to her surroundings. Her only search was the growl of an oncoming walker or anything else that could be harmful or dangerous.

Instead, she’d found that room.

The bed, the lack of windows, the vent under the bed… And the broken mirror. The broken mirror had been the start of her rebellion, and the way she’d bounced back to life. Killing one of the men who enclosed her gave her a rush of adrenaline. Nobody understood why she steered clear of the room, or that entire building for that matter. But they noticed. They always noticed.

Zeva let out an excited yip as she bounded, wagging her tail and crouching beside Judith. The toddler found joy throwing random things and watching the dog retrieve them. As far as toys went, Judith didn’t have much. Rick mostly just carved the bark off of sticks and gave her those as we went, only picking the softer ones that wouldn’t hurt her teeth if she decided to get curious. She had a stuffed bear with a missing ear and an eye that was about to pop off.

Judith was a newborn that had caused a lot of problems, but she’d also been one of the few reasons why Rick still even continued on. They were a family, but their family was broken. Rick was still unstable and untrusting to everybody. She didn’t blame him. Nobody blamed him. Carl and Judith were the two reasons that he still even kept trying.

Presley rested her chin on her knee. Sometimes, she didn’t know why she even kept trying. She was tired. Tired of living, but also tired of fearing death.

“Hey.” A soft, kind voice greeted her from behind. She turned, her hand already splayed over the handle of her knife. Stefan. She relaxed, giving him a small smile.

“Stef.” She said simply, watching as he crawled over the shingles and seated himself beside her.

“How’s your leg?” Presley glanced down at the wound. It’d hurt like a bitch getting that damn bullet out of there. It still throbbed on occasion, even though it’d been a good five days since the injury. She walked with a limp, but nobody ever said anything. She dropped her chin onto her knee once again.

“It’s better.” She said finally. It wasn’t really a lie. She closed her eyes. “I don’t want to be here.”

“Neither do I.” He admitted.

“Why did you help me?” She asked suddenly. He hesitated.

“I heard you screaming every night, at the same time… I tried to steer clear of you during that time for the most part. But even when I wasn’t able to really hear you, I heard it in the back of my mind.” He shook his head. “It was wrong. So when I found Daryl looking for you, I knew I had to help you. That this was your one shot at getting out of there.” He sighed. “Nevermind, you had that look in your eye… The look that just screamed ‘survivor’. Even in pain, Presley, that look never quite looked away. It was… Alluring.”

“So you helped a stranger? I could have killed you or something.”

“I expected you to kill me.” He admitted. “When you stabbed that guy with a shard of glass, I was a little freaked out.” He laughed lightly to lighten the mood. “But I’m glad you didn’t.”

“Me too.”

- - -

“Pres?” Daryl poked his head through the door. “Everybody’s been lookin’ for ye.”

Presley glanced around the book to look at him, “Oh. Sorry.”

“How’s the leg?” He sat down on the edge of the bed. It was strange talking to him. He’d avoided her since she’d returned, other than when she was unconscious. She knew that her choice to leave him put a bad hole in their friendship, but it had to be done. She couldn’t live with herself knowing that she didn’t at least try.

“Fine.” She said bluntly, neatly folding the book and putting it off to the side.

“Why haven’t ye been sleepin’ with us?” He asked. She sighed.

“I like privacy.”

“Liar.”

Her jaw tightened and she bit her bottom lip to keep from lashing out. Those particular memories made her irrational, with reason. “I was raped there.” Her words were stiff.

“Oh… I’ll go tell-.”

“Don’t.” She snapped. “I-it’s fine.” She sputtered, lightening her harsh tone. “I shouldn’t be that weak.” She reached for his hand but he pulled it back casually so that she couldn’t feel him. She felt a knife enter her chest at that, but just folded them on her stomach and went quiet.

“Yer not weak.” Daryl said, standing. “If yer were weak, ye’d be dead.”

“I am dead, Daryl.” She laughed. “We’re all dead. We’re the walking dead.”