Amelia- may's story isn't all that different from anyone else's. The word went to shit, and the dead don't want to die. She has lost people and so has everyone else. Who she was before isn't who she now but here is one difference between Amelia may and every other survivor she as come across. She does't know who she was.. and who she is? Well, she is still trying to figure that out.

During the mayhem of the beginning of the apocalypse, a fateful smack on the head stole her memory. All she has ever known is the world she is living in now but that doesn't means she's adept to surviving it, Eventually she ends up on deaths door until a man on a motorcycle chooses to save her life.

Amelia- may has to decide if who she was is worth fighting for or if she'll fight that comes with what's forgotten and strive for something better with the one man who can see past it all.


15. I wouldn't change anything about you.

If Daryl thought Amelia was incredible before, he certainly thought it now. It was strange, how in her element she seemed and he couldn't help but be a little proud of her. Not a single blackout in sight and she was handling it all like a pro. For the first time he wondered... who was she before? How did she know all the things she knew? Like how to make a trip wire with a grenade. Sure, it was something someone could figure out easily. He could do it himself but watching her using sewing thread to create one hell of a surprise for their pursuer made him smile in spite of the situation at hand. It seemed to him like she'd done these forts of things a million times over. Of course, they had no way of knowing if that was true or not.

They set the trip wires up on both doors, shoving the furniture in front of the windows along the first floor. His leg was giving him a serious amount of pain but he pushed past it limping along without a fuss. No point in complaining about something he couldn't control. All he could do was get his hands dirty. The idea was, what when that someone or maybe multiple someones, heaven forbid- came for them, they'd find only two ways in. The front and back doors.. both rigged to blow. Should they get past that, they'd find a clear path to the stairs that led to the upper floor. Amelia had littered it with broken glass from picture frames and light bulbs. Smart. He wouldn't have thought of that. They'd be able to heat someone crunching up the stairs from any point in the house.

There was a high awning that connected a sort of overhanging open garage to the side of the house. The metal material would be loud, but they could get out on it easily enough from the hall window upstairs. Once they were sure whoever it was , was either down for the count or headed upstairs, they'd go outside, hop down and go to either door, one hiding behind the tractor out back and one at the tall bushes near the fence out front. And then they'd wait.  If the guy came out, he'd be dead. They weren't going to play games pr take prisoners. It was kill or be killed at this point.

Once everything was set, they settled themselves in two chairs he'd found and set up at the back of the hall near the window, sure not to open the curtain. The rain had lessened but the sky was still a dusty grey. They ate some power bars they found in the back of a cabinet, sharing a half empty bottle of water. Afterward, his bad leg was stretched out, the crossbow in his lap aimed towards the stairs. She was holding her handgun, sitting leaning forward with her elbows on her knees. She'd found a brush somewhere and put her hair up in a tight ponytail. He could see the scar above her ear. It was shaped a bit like a V, about the width of a baseball. Her hair typically covered it so no one ever saw it. 

" Does it bother you?" He asked her then, motioning idly at her head. She glanced at him, raising both brows and sitting up a little straighter. Then she raised her hand and touched the scar.


" This?" She asked softly, letting her hand fall. " Not really. I guess I don't think about it much. And it doesn't hurt anymore. I get funny looks sometimes. " She shrugged, relaxing back into the chair and stretching her legs, crossing them at the ankles. " But it is what it is."  She took in a deep breath and let it out slowly. " There are worse things than a few scars." She looked at her forearms, turning one as the tiny cut and burn scars moved as she clenched her fist. " I kind of see them as proof that I've made it. Ya know?" She dropped her hand to her lap and smiled a little. " Though, no idea what I've made it through." 

Daryl smiled lightly at her. " Sometimes I think it'd be better to forget. I'd like to forget some of the scars I have." He said, looking back down the stairs. She knew about the scars on his back, though she'd never really actually seen them. He'd told her about them when they talked about his father, bastard that he was. Her exact words at the time had been, ' Doesn't change how I see you.' He'd never asked her to elaborate. He kind of wished he had.

" I wouldn't change anything about you." She said them and he looked at her. The expression on her face stilled him. There was something in her voice and in her eyes that just melted him. His lips parted slightly in awe. They way she was looking at him... damn. He'd never had a woman look at him like that before. He couldn't even describe it properly. She reached forward then, one hand cupping the side of his face, her thumb smoothing across his skin. His heart began to hammer again, he could swear it was loud enough for her to hear and for a breath or two, they just locked eyes and stayed like that. It seemed like she was going to say something more when the sound of an engine met their ears.

Her hand dropped and she turned in her seat, pulling aside the curtain just enough to peek out. " Can't see anything.. hold on." She said, standing up and moving into one of the rooms of the hallways. All he could do was sit here,tight strung and wary. When she came back, she moved to his side , sitting next to him. " It's a pickup. One man behind the wheel. I couldn't see his face. He's parked out front." She stared down at the stairs and they both became silent. Shit was about to hit the fan, literally and figuratively and he couldn't help but be a little afraid. Not for himself but for Amelia. If things went sideways and she got hurt, he'd never forgive himself.

Without a word, he reached over and grabbed her free hand and held it in his. They sat like that in silence.

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