The End of Something—Chapter 2
Notes: I mean no disrespect by writing or posting this, and in no way do I take the themes and topics discussed in this series lightly. So if you’re triggered by any of this, I suggest not reading it.
This is an AU of THE WALKING DEAD. So the apocalypse never happened, and everyone’s alive and well. If for any reason I’m getting characters wrong, please let me know and I’ll fix it to the best of my abilities. Also, there will be moments where I’ll come back to do some editing where it’s needed.
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Pairing: Rick Grimes x Reader (she/her pronouns)
Chapter Description: Seeing Lottie’s home for the first time. Emotions and tensions rise, leaving the sisters struggling to reconnect and understand each other.
Warnings: Anxiety; jealousy; brief fighting; low self-esteem; language probably; possible mentions of past toxic relationship; strained relationship between siblings; non-descriptive mentions of abuse; spelling/grammatical errors; bad writing; whatever else I missed
Additional Info: Y/N = your name | Y/N/N = your nickname | Y/L/N = your last name | Y/E/C = your eye color | Y/H/C = your hair color
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Reader POV
The drive continued in a semi-comfortable silence. You still struggled with the feelings of uncertainty—feelings that seemingly increased the closer you got to Lottie’s home. Questions swirled in your head. Why did Lottie take you in so quickly? Would Max and Moose really like you? What if they didn’t? What if you made a mistake? What if he was right, that you couldn’t survive without him?
Doubt began filling you, and you started chewing on the inside of your cheek. Maybe it wasn’t too late to go back home. Maybe he’d take you back, and wouldn’t be as brutal if you begged…
You shook the thought out of your head. You couldn’t go back. Not after the fit he had. You’d been scared of him for years at that point, but that moment had you frozen in absolute dread. Your flight or fight had kicked in, and instead of running for your own safety, you chose to stand impossibly still while he raged around you. You could vaguely hear the sound of shattering glass, the feeling of glass shards landing on your head. Everything around you seemed to move in slow motion. He was yelling, but it sounded distant and distorted.
To make matters worse, you were the one who initiated the break up. Not him. He was the one breaking it off constantly, going after other girls before he got bored and drew you back in. Each break up left you devastated. You’d go home, crying and blabbering about him to your parents. They hated him from day one, and the turmoil he kept putting you through only solidified that. Except that’s all they really knew about him—his emotional toying with you. They never saw the bruises; he always hit you in places no one would notice. Places that could be covered. You didn’t want them to know. But the straw that broke the camel’s back was…
You felt your blood run cold. A chill ran up your spine as you clenched your hands into fists. Your nails dug into your palms, stinging the soft skin, but pulling you out of those horrendous memories. Grounding you in your surroundings.
You’re fine, you thought, digging your nails further into your palms. You’ll be fine. You’re safe now. He’s not worth it, don’t think about him.
“We’re here,” Lottie exclaimed.
Blinking a few times, you looked around for a moment before realizing the car had stopped. In front of you was a home, at least two stories. It looked like the picture-perfect family home. A moderately sized front yard with green grass and vibrant shrubbery. A beautifully modest home in the middle of a Georgian suburban neighborhood. A white picket-fence, apple pie kind of place.
And your sister and her husband were living there.
A twinge of something ached in your chest. She could afford a place like that. With him, you weren’t allowed to work. By that point, your friendships had fizzled out because of him. If you had a job, you’d be financially independent. You could have work relationships. You wouldn’t be under his control. You’d be able to leave him.
But this home, this neighborhood, your sister’s fucking suburban mom car—something about it pissed you off. Why was she allowed to have all that? Why’d she end up with Max and you settled for the first guy who showed you attention? Why, after years of little to no contact, did Lottie decide to help you? For as long as you remembered, Lottie showed very little interest in you. She was absent for most of your childhood and adolescence. As an adult, you could count the times she reached out to you on one hand. Why was she acting like she cared?
“You coming?” Lottie turned to look at you. She was partially out of her car, looking at you questioningly. On top of the damned worry still lingering in her eyes.
You opted to nod in response. Your emotions were becoming too much, too overwhelming. You didn’t know if you wanted to scream or cry, but you knew you didn’t trust your voice.
Opening the car door, you hop out before slamming it shut. You were trying—and probably failing—to hide the scowl that was beginning to form on your face. Neighboring houses were just as modest and nice as Lottie’s. Their yards similar in size, albeit decorated differently. You saw cars parked in driveways, heard the occasional bark of a dog or chirp of a bird overhead. The neighborhood seemed idyllic. It seemed like something out of a magazine.
“How do you afford a place like this?” you grumbled, going to the back to grab your luggage. Your sister had already opened the back of the car, pulling out your duffel bag.
“Max and I get pretty good pay at our jobs,” Lottie responded. “On top of not having kids, I think we’ve been able to save a lot.” Your scowl deepened. You heard a heavy sigh before Lottie responded, “what is going on with you? You’ve been acting…”
“What?” you exclaimed, throwing your hands up in exasperation. “I’ve been acting what? Weird?Like a bitch?”
“That’s not what I—”
“You didn’t have to! I don’t need your pity and I don’t need you pretending to care after a lifetime of you ignoring me.” You ran a hand through your hair, scoffing. “I mean seriously, why did I even call you? You never cared about me, and now you want to help you bitchy, screwed up little sister?”
There was a long pause. You were breathing heavily. You were flushed, both embarrassed and still angry.
“I get I haven’t been the best sister,” Lottie started, her voice low and her eyes watery, pointing at you with a trembling hand, “but I’m trying to make things right. I don’t pity you, okay? And you’re not screwed up or a bitch. You are the strongest person I know, do you understand me?” She quickly wiped her eyes. “I’m helping you because you called me,” she finished. “You came to me for help. I agreed because I’m your sister and it’s the right thing to do. I want you safe, and it wasn’t back home with mom and dad.”
You let out a huff, turning away from your sister. You could almost hear his voice, reminding you how emotional were. That condescending, almost sarcastic lilt in his voice. You were too irrational, and he was the only one who could make intelligent and logical points on anything. Brushing off your concerns and opinions, basically claiming your emotions and period invalidated everything you said. He was always good at invalidating you.
A little voice in the back of your mind seemed to agree with him. Your whirlwind of anger and jealousy was making you irrational. You didn’t feel happy that he was thousands of miles away. You were upset that Lottie had a nice life. You weren’t upset that he couldn’t hurt you anymore. You were jealous of Lottie’s seemingly perfect life. Why weren’t you happy? Why weren’t you relieved?
“Let’s just get inside,” Lottie said, her voice plain. You flinched at that. Great, now she was upset with you. Walking to the front door, your sister unlocked it and pushed it open. The inside was well decorated, just as modest and comfortable as the house’s outside. You grabbed your duffel bag and headed inside.
* * *
It was a long couple of minutes. A silent, tense few minutes. Your luggage had been brought in, taken to a guest room where you’d be staying for the time being. Once everything was inside, Lottie left without a word and you let her. What could you say? Part of you was still upset and jealous, but another part was exhausted.
Sitting at the foot of the bed, you take in the room. It’s cream colored, with a decently sized closet and a wooden dresser. The bed was comfortable, and the sheets and blankets seemed soft. A smaller wooden table was beside the bed, with a lamp and a clock on top. There was a window, slightly ajar and letting the cool air pool in.
With a slight frown, you laid back on the bed, your legs hanging off. Closing your eyes, you took a deep breath before letting it out. You’re alone, left with your thoughts and emotions. You could spend that moment to think over the drive, your outburst, Lottie’s words even in the driveway, but you didn’t want to. Not yet. You wanted to just exist, without being sucked back into what happened.
Your thoughts drifted into unpacking and getting that mess over with. You hadn’t brought a whole lot with you, just whatever you could grab from his apartment during his fit. Once you finally broke out of your trance. You pushed yourself into a sitting position, looking at your duffel bag with mild disinterest. Might as well get it over with.
Pushing yourself off the bed, you shuffled toward your duffel bag and unzipped it. You’d managed to stuff in as many clothes as you could grab, plus your phone charger and your wallet. You didn’t have time to think of anything else. Pulling out the clothes, you started organizing and putting them away.
* * *
After unpacking, your forced yourself out of the room. You wanted to get accustomed to the house’s layout. You’d given a brief glance here and there, but didn’t take the time to really look. You were on the second story, and you took your time as you observed. There were framed pictures of Lottie and Max, Lottie and friends, and a few scattered pictures of family along the hallway. The carpeted floor felt scruffy on your feet.
There were a few other rooms on the second floor, too. A couple more guest rooms, a bathroom and Lottie’s and Max’s room at the very end. The staircase was in the middle of the second floor, the steps and railing made of wood. Going down the steps, you shivered a little at the wood’s cold feel. The closer you got to the first floor, however, the more you started to hear and smell something. There was music and humming, mingling with something being cooked.
You found yourself wandering into the kitchen. Lottie was standing by the stove, her hair pulled back as she stirred something on a pan.
“You cook?” you asked.
Lottie turned and looked at you, her expression cautious and uncertain as she paused her music. “Yeah,” she responded. “I taught myself. Figured you’d be hungry from the long trip.”
At that comment, your stomach started rumbling. It was almost as comedic as it was embarrassing. You blushed furiously.
Lottie gave a soft chuckle. “I’m making spaghetti,” she said, glancing back at the food in front of her. “The first meal I ever made. Took a long time for me to get it right, but I’d say I’m a pasta master now.”
“Shouldn’t you wait until Max gets home?” You chewed on the inside of your cheek. “In case he wants any?”
Lottie shrugged, not taking her eyes off the food. “He doesn’t mind,” she said. “Besides, if we don’t eat it now he’ll eat it all when he gets home. His stomach is like a black hole.”
You chuckled. “I’m sure,” you murmured. “Where’s Moose?” You looked around; you hadn’t seen head nor tail of the dog.
“He’s in the backyard,” Lottie hummed. “If Max and I aren’t home, we keep him outside, just so he can have someplace to go potty and get his exercise in.”
“Aren’t you afraid he’ll run away?”
“Not really.” Lottie turned to look at you. “He’s never tried running away before, so I trust he’ll still be here when we get back.”
“I always wanted a dog,” you stated, after a brief pause, fingers unconsciously fidgeting with the hem of your shirt. “Mom and dad never let me have one.”
“Yeah, they didn’t want the extra responsibility.” Your sister nodded.
“He never let me have one either.” Your voice was soft, uncertain in its mention of your ex. You could see Lottie’s face harden. “He didn’t want me to care for or love anyone that wasn’t him.”
“Well he’s an asshole,” your sister glowered. “Probably for the best he never got a dog. He’d probably do something to it.”
Deep down you agreed with Lottie. Given how your ex treated you, any animal in the apartment would’ve received similar treatment, if not worse.
“I’m sorry I wasn’t there for you,” Lottie said. She sounded guilty, remorseful even. “If I’d tried harder…if I’d been a better sister, then…”
“It’s not your fault,” you interrupted. “It’s mine. I didn’t notice anything until it was too late. My friends tried telling me. Mom and dad tried telling me. I didn’t listen. I didn’t want to listen. Just like I didn’t want to notice what he was doing in the beginning.” You gave a half hearted shrug. “It’s my fault.”
Lottie turned the stove off, pushing the food away from the hot surface before coming forward, putting her hands on your shoulders. You tensed.
“It’s not your fault,” she insisted. “What he did is entirely his fault, not yours. Okay?” You nodded, though not entirely convinced. “I’m serious, Y/N. Everything he did to you, was wrong. And that’s on him. Not you, him.”
Gently shrugging Lottie’s hands from your shoulders, you took a step back. It had been drilled into your head that everything that happened to you was your fault. The beatings, the isolation, the manipulations and gaslighting—it was because of you. You said the wrong thing, you didn’t do what you were told. You were being a bad girlfriend. He never took responsibility. He never accepted his own faults. Everything wrong in the relationship was because of you and you had to accept it to keep the peace.
Now that you’re out, you’re being bombarded with all kinds of emotions. None of them good. You feel like shit for leaving. You feel guilty for how things ended, but it also scared the shit out of you. You’re anxious and fearful, waiting for Lottie—and Max, eventually—to realize just how bad you are. You’re the root of everyone’s problems, and they’ll come to see it. And they’ll throw you out, toss you aside like garbage. God only knows how tired your parents are if picking up the pieces of you, only for your ex to come back and destroy their progress. Now your sister and her husband will have to deal with you and your baggage. Lottie’s talking big now, but she’ll see how useless it all is.
“Hey.” You look at your sister. She’s watching you, brows furrowed and a concerned frown on her face. “What’s going on? You spaced out for a second.”
“Nothing,” you mumbled, avoiding her gaze.
“Y/N, can I ask you something?” That question itself had your heart jump. Your body tensed and your head went blank. “Can we not have any secrets between us?” she asked.
Confused, you looked at her.
“I know there are things you won’t be comfortable sharing just yet,” Lottie said, her voice soft, “but I’d like to know how I can help you. So…I was hoping maybe as we get more comfortable, we can open up more and…y’know…see where it goes.”
You thought it over before nodding. It was a hesitant nod, but that seemed to be good enough for Lottie, who smiled and nodded in return.
“I’ll finish cooking,” she said. “Why don’t you set the table? Then after we eat I can give you an official tour.”
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