Michonne eyed him, a sigh leaving her lips as she looked him over. The man before her was bruised to the bone, he was broken in too many places, and yet he was still insisting on moving around. Rick needed rest, and that’s what he was going to get. There was no way in hell that she was about to lose yet another family member— not after the prison, and most certainly not after Andre. “Look at yourself, Rick. You’re obviously not careful.”
Although he appeared to be bruised and broken, shattered on the surface, he wasn’t as delicate as he was mentally. He was haunted, he had been ever since they’d escaped the prison, ever since he’d watched Hershel’s blood splatter against the grass and found the empty baby carrier that had red soaking through the fabric. They were his ghosts, they were the reason he could barely function anymore. “It had to be done. I had to take him out.”
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