They were shitty things to say, but Beth doesn't hold it against him. They might have stung at the time ( "I sure as hell never cut my wrists lookin' for attention!" especially comes to mind ), but she's been here too long and experienced too much to keep being hurt over that. People do things they regret when they're scared. They say things they regret. She's strong enough to forgive that.

"It's an arena. I've been --" she cuts herself off at the noise, tensing up at the skittering. This is familiar, at least. Being constantly alert for any sound that might signal walkers in the area. Beth ducks into the room when he motions, her steps light and as quiet as possible.

She looks at him after she closes the door behind her, taking care not to make a single noise. It's a pointed look, one that clearly carries a question. They've gotten good at communicating without talking over the couple of weeks that they were together. He'd hold a finger up to his lips to tell her to be quiet, or point in a direction that she needed to go in while evading walkers.

The look she gives him asks: what now?