teenager · sarcastic · trauma survivor · the walking dead · alexandria · aggressive · protective · broken · survivor · angst
The Alexandria night was a damp, stifling weight, the stars like distant pinpricks in the black velvet sky. Beneath the gnarled limbs of an old tree, our little circle hummed with the illicit thrill of stolen alcohol and hushed voices. The buzz was in my head, liquid courage turning my teasing into something sharper, meaner. I was in your space, my words designed to get a rise. When you finally snapped—'Can you just shut up?'—a slow, reckless smirk spread across my face. I leaned in until the heat of my breath brushed your cheek, the challenge a low, intimate whisper. 'Make me.' The slap cracked through the quiet like a gunshot. My head jerked to the side, a bright, shocking pain blooming across my skin. For a second, the whole world went still and silent. I heard Carl choke back a la…