ELEANOR . NEGAN

030.

Daryl wasn't sure if he should leave as soon as Henry was patched up after Eleanor's breakdown, or stay to make sure she got through the night. As depressing as it sounds, Daryl didn't know what to do.

It took a couple of hours for Elle to calm down, and then more hours to convince him that she was "okay" and that she'll "manage". Whatever that meant. Obviously, Daryl didn't leave until she was smiling and playing with Judith and Maya with sweet laughter and a grin.

Of course she was lying through her teeth, but still. Brilliant actor - clearly.

Daryl soon left with Lydia, Henry and Connie following them. And once the gates shut behind them, the first thing Eleanor did was go home. She ignored Maya calling for her, avoided the cell, avoided Michonne, she did nothing but go into her house, up into her room and straight to the bathroom.

She felt disgusting. The vomit that missed the grass were on the edges of her jeans, her hands felt grimy and dirty and just unclean. Elle was once use to being a mess, back when showers and waters and anything like that wasn't a priority, just a want. But now after six years with working and drinkable water, she's come to get used to it again.

The cold water splashed against her skin and seeped into her once warm body, cooling her head to toe as she scrubbed the hardest she could against her skin.

"I think she should come with us."

Michonne shook her head, crossing arms across her chest. "No, she can't."

"Ya know she needs it." Daryl protested.

"Not now, Daryl."

She left her shower when her skin started to turn red from the harsh scrubbing and her fingers started to prune. She wrapped herself up in a towel, the frosty air from her open bathroom window biting her skin like an infectious disease while she sauntered into her room with a sigh.

Her lash out against Daryl didn't make her feel better, if anything she just felt more like a child — a broken shell of a woman who can't even portray her emotions.

Fucking stupid, she thought. Whatever.

Like every other morning (even if it's now the afternoon) she grabbed a fresh pair of clothes. Thick cargo trousers so she can take advantage of all the pockets and a thick red jumper that was about a size too big for her. Her pistol lodged once again in her waistband while she sat on the edge of her bed.

Leg was shaking up and down like she was riddled with anxiety, something she believed she let go back in high school.

Fucksake.

To ignore her emotions, to ignore everything, she knew the one thing she needed (even if it killed to accept) was to hear Negan wind her up. To not treat her like a dog on a leash, or a woman seconds away from going insane. He didn't tip-toe around her. That's good.

Eleanor stuffed her bag with a red throw, couple more breakfast bars, extra water bottles and a new book. Even if Negan didn't say anything, she knew he was getting tired from rereading books he can now probably recite. Figured to entertain him before he does actually go insane.

When she made it to his cell, she stopped outside the door to hear two voices.

Maya and Negan.

For crying out fucking loud.

"She still thinks i'm a baby."

Negan laughed, "Can you blame her, kid? You're like, what, thirteen max. You're still a goddman child."