Well we might be a coupla jerks
Who took leave of our senses
Set fire to our defenses
And laid our hearts on the tracks
Please don't call my name if you can't bear the weight
It's been a long road to feelin' all right
But I get there one step at a time
-Cary Ann Hearst
"Goddammit!" Trish pounded a fist on the dead air conditioning unit that was rusting away in the window of the dusty storefront. With a sigh, she twisted her blonde hair up into a messy bun, and fanned herself slightly with the front of her linen sundress. One thing she hadn't missed about Georgia was the summertime heat and humidity. As she went to turn up the old fan that was sitting in the corner, barely stirring the stifling air, there he was. Surprised yet completely unsurprised to find him there, she smiled and said, "Hey Daryl, long time no see."
Daryl was slouched in the doorway, clearly sweltering in jeans, workboots, and a wife beater, covered with grease from the auto repair shop where he worked. "Ya need some help fixin' that thing?"
"Sure, be my guest. I've tried banging on it, but that didn't work, so I'm outta ideas." She stepped back and let Daryl get to work, using it as an opportunity to admire how much he'd grown up. Last time she'd seen him, he was a rangy eighteen year old, scrappy and bruised from both the fights he got into and the beatings he took at home. Now he'd filled out: broad shoulders, calloused hands, and these incredibly sculpted arms that were on nicely displayed as he skillfully took apart the a/c unit. As Trish studied him, she noticed that at twenty-eight, he was finally able to grow a scruffy beard.
"Fuckin' thing is dead as a post," Daryl finally declared, smacking the top of the old machine in frustration. "Sorry."
"I appreciate you trying," Trish replied. "Thanks."
Now it was Daryl's turn to give her a once-over. He took in her face and figure, but didn't comment. "Ya sound like a real city girl now, doncha?"
That wasn't exactly a compliment, and Trish winced inwardly. Given that the last time they'd seen each other, there'd been a lot of screaming and a lot of tears, she'd figured this wouldn't necessarily be an easy reunion. She was aware that Daryl had never left their hometown, but she hadn't made any effort to look him up when she'd returned a week ago. She hadn't expected him to track her down, given he was the one she left behind when she went off to college and eventually to Chicago. Of course, "tracked her down" was probably a bit of an exaggeration in a town this size. When her grandfather had died, he'd left her the junk shop, and since things in the city hadn't exactly been going well for her, she figured she'd come back home, at least for a little while. In response to his comment, Trish shrugged. "Funny 'cause the past ten years, I've been hearing I've got a southern accent."
Trish assumed Daryl would now be on his way, but he looked around the store. "Ol' Man Hayes left ya a mess. You actually goin' to open the shop back up?"
"Yeah, I guess, although it's probably hardly worth it. Can't imagine the income would cover the utilities on the place," she told him. "I'm gonna need to find a real job." At least the building was hers: storefront and apartment upstairs. Even if she didn't have anything else, she'd have a place to live.
"Thought you'd be comin' home all rich and successful from the city," Daryl snorted.
Trish glared at him for a second. "So are you just gonna jab at me, or are we going to clear the air for real?"
There was a long pause, and then Daryl finally mumbled, "Ain't nothin' to say. 'T was a long time ago an' we were just a coupla dumb kids."
"Yeah, but it was an ugly end to something pretty important. Might be good to talk it over," Trish replied, softening.
Daryl chuckled dryly, a sound Trish realized she had missed in the intervening years. "You tryin' to do your head-shrinkin' on me?"
"I'm not a shrink, just a social worker," Trish clarified. "But I know better 'n to try that. Besides, I think I'm still pretty good at figuring out what's going on in that head of yours without any tricks."
Once upon a time, Trish and Daryl had been inseparable. Since freshman year, they were the couple that was a fixture in their high school. They had known each other tangentially all their lives, but it took Daryl's borrowing a pen from her in English class for her to suddenly see something more. It was mere days before she fell for the battered boy who seemed so surly on the outside, but in reality was sweet and thoughtful and kind. Trish's parents, always slightly skeptical of their relationship, ended up taking Daryl in on the multiple occasions his father threw him out. They and Trish begged Daryl to let them call the cops when he showed up at their house bloodied and bruised, but he adamantly refused. If he got put into foster care, he'd said, there was no telling where he'd end up. Every important event of Trish and Daryl's teenage lives happened together, every thought was shared in late night conversations in the back of her car. Other things were shared in the backseat of that car as well. No one would've expected the two of them would get together, but once they were, it was unthinkable that they'd ever been apart.
But high school had to end, and there was the inevitable separation. Trish knew all along she was going to college, and it wasn't going to be the local community college. Just as certain was the fact that Daryl wasn't going anywhere. He was a smart kid, but barely made it out of high school all the same. If it wasn't for Trish, he probably would have dropped out, but she pushed him to stick with it. Trish tried to convince Daryl that he could come to Athens with her; they could get a place together and he could work while she went to school. He just laughed bitterly at that idea. "I ain't going anywhere, an' you know it," was his bitter response.
It all ended one afternoon, in the middle of Main Street no less, with Daryl screaming that she was abandoning him, and her screaming back that he was just too chicken-shit to leave. He yelled that he didn't love her, she yelled "Fuck you," and they both went their separate ways, the people on the street silently staring, having witnessed the end of an era.
And yet here they were again, but despite her claims, Trish was having a hard time knowing quite what Daryl was thinking at that moment. They stood there in silence until she finally said, "You want somethin' to drink?" She was fully expecting him to turn her down, but to her surprise, he nodded and followed her upstairs.
The air conditioning hit them like a tidal wave, and both let out an involuntary sigh. Trish's apartment was two rooms, still cluttered with her grandpa's stuff. She went to the fridge to grab them a couple of beers while Daryl fiddled with a toaster which had its guts spilled out on the counter, something it appeared her grandpa was trying to fix shortly before he died. Trish set the beer down next to Daryl's hand, leaned into him imperceptibly and inhaled. He smelled familiar - sweat and cigarette smoke - but there was also something unrecognizable. As she started to step away, she felt his calloused hand clasp her wrist. "What do you want?" he rasped.
"I-I don't know," she stuttered, suddenly nervous. But then his eyes met hers and they were those clear blue eyes that could see right through her and she felt eighteen again: her heart doing gymnastics in her chest, short of breath, and an unmistakable twitch deep in her stomach. So she kissed him.
It was such a strange sensation, after knowing everything about him for four years but then nothing for ten. Kissing him was completely electric and like slipping into a favorite sweatshirt. He quickly responded to her, opening his mouth against hers, and she sighed at how delicious he was, tasting of cigarettes and beer. His hands circled her waist and hers slid under the back of his shirt, finding the scars that she had memorized with such sadness as a teenager. He moved down her neck, remembering that the hollow of her collarbone made her weak in the knees, slid the straps of her dress off her shoulder, running roughened thumbs over and around her nipples. She tilted her head back and groaned. When his mouth found its way to her breast, teeth nipping at the sensitive skin, she almost cried. His tongue flicked and circled one hard pink nipple, hand stroking and pinching the other, and she was drowning in memories and pleasure. The need had climbed to an unstoppable momentum when she grabbed his head, pulling him up so she could kiss him some more, all the while pushing him towards the squeaky old bed in the small adjoining bedroom.
Yanking at his belt buckle, she freed him from his jeans while he slid a hand down between her legs, skillfully finding her clit, swirling his finger around and around until she left an imprint of her teeth on his shoulder. Still she couldn't rest, shimmied out of her panties, hiked up her dress, and was about to slip him inside her when he said, "Wait."
She had to fight to keep the desperation from her voice when she said, "What? What is it?"
"Lemme get a condom." Daryl reached for his wallet, but she shook her head. "C'mon, we're not young an' stupid any more," he chided her.
"I'm on the pill," Trish muttered. She wasn't sure she could explain to him how she needed to feel him inside her, no latex wall between them.
He slid her off of him, propping himself up on his shoulder so he could look at her. "Yeah, but you don't know what I been up to while ya been away. Coulda been bangin' my way through all the girls in town."
Trish smiled in spite of her frustration, trying to imagine Daryl as a smooth ladies man. He was gorgeous enough that pretty much all the girls around had wanted to climb him like a tree, but he was so quiet and so reserved, it wasn't too easy getting over that wall. "So did you?"
Daryl shook his head sheepishly. "There were a few, but Merle's started callin' me Sister Daryl."
"Jesus, Merle." She'd forgotten about Merle. They'd had a love-hate relationship when Trish and Daryl were together. On occasion he and Daryl had come to blows over some disgusting comment Merle had made about her, but other times Trish and Merle had bonded over their shared love for Merle's little brother. "Can't say I've been too busy myself." She'd avoided guys all through college, still smarting from the breakup with Daryl, and dated one guy in Chicago for a few years before he broke it off when she couldn't make a commitment.
After a pause, Daryl pulled her to him, kissing her softly at first and then more insistently. Slipping her dress over her head, he paused to admire the view. "Damn, woman," he said quietly, biting her hip gently. Then he parted her legs and slid inside her, holding completely still, his eyes tightly closed, flooded with memories. Trish gasped, both at the incredible sensation and at the intense pang of how much she'd missed him. She pulled his head towards hers, trying to convey the depth of her emotion through her kiss. Then he began to move his hips, slowly at first but soon picking up speed as her moans increased, until he was pounding into her, trying to reach her very core. She dug her fingers into his ass, needing him to go deeper, deeper. He grabbed her ankles, resting them on his shoulders, thrusting in further and further until finally they both came with a cry.
An hour later, they were still laying in bed, naked and only moving when they needed another beer. The room was silent, except for the whirr of the air conditioner. Trish was so, so happy, but she didn't want ruin it by having a conversation about her plans, so she said nothing. Because the thing was, she had no idea what she was doing here or how long she was staying. After getting laid off, coming back home seemed like a good way to clear her head and sort out her next steps, and that was all the farther she'd thought ahead. Things hadn't been going very well for her in the city: even before she lost her job, she could barely pay her rent with her miserable salary, and she'd racked up ridiculous debt on her credit cards to try to make ends meet. However, while she was striking out in the romance department, she'd made some friends and really thrived on the pulse of the city. She loved being somewhere where everyone didn't know her business before she did. So she dreaded Daryl asking her what was on her mind because she couldn't lie to him. She didn't know what he was thinking about the amazing thing that had just transpired between the two of them, but she knew she would hate herself if she broke his heart again.
"Quit analyzin' it." Daryl interrupting her train of thought, seeming to read her mind. Her head was resting on his shoulder, and he leaned over and kissed her forehead. "You got any food here?"
"Ummmm, I think there's some week-old takeout in the fridge," Trish offered.
He sat up and reached for his jeans. When Trish started to protest, he reminded her, "You ain't in the big city, remember? Ain't nobody who delivers 'round here. I'm gonna run over t' Jimmy's to grab us a coupla burgers." Lacing up his boots, he said, "Lemme see, no tomato, no mayo, extra pickles, and onion rings, right?" Trish nodded, grinning, ridiculously pleased that he remembered. As he leaned down to kiss her, he said, "You ain't gonna disappear while I'm out, are ya?" While his tone was light, his eyes were serious.
In that instant, Trish knew that this was where she needed to be, that Daryl was what she had been missing all this time. She met his eyes with her own serious expression. "Nope, I'm not going anywhere."