The clock went off at 4:30 am.
It was quickly silenced but Daryl still grumbled.
"Fucking clock," he mumbled under his breath, rolling over to ease the aching in his back which he was too damn young for anyway. "Fucking clock needs a fucking bullet in its face."
Next to him, Carol slipped out of bed, quiet as a mouse, and slid his old t-shirt over her head. It was too damn hot to sleep with clothes on this time of year. Hell, he thought it was too damn hot to even wear them around the house but she insisted.
Hearing her quiet footsteps, he turned to watch her as he did every morning. In the dim blue light he could just make out the soft swell of her breasts and the gentle curves of her hips through the white cotton, worn thin by time.
His shirt was pulling tight over her belly these days, something he knew she was self-conscious about for reasons he couldn't understand. He thought she was still pretty as a picture. He didn't give a damn about the size of her waist.
As she rounded the bed, letting her fingers trail up his leg, he squeezed his eyes shut and pretended to sleep.
She stopped beside him, ruffling his hair with her fingers as she pressed a kiss on his forehead, "Morning, sleepyhead."
He just grunted in reply but caught her hand in his as she turned away, letting the touch linger until her fingertips slipped out of his reach.
He laid there for a while, drifting in and out of sleep and listening to her puttering around the kitchen. Finally the smell of bacon sizzling got to be too much for him and he found himself in the kitchen, wrapping his arms around her waist and leaning his head on her shoulder to press his own good morning kiss on her neck.
She reached back to rest her hand on his cheek and he nuzzled into her touch like a cat as she stirred the scrambled eggs around the pan.
"We're running a little low on food," she told him apologetically. "I only had two eggs this morning. I'll have to run to the store as soon as you get paid."
He nodded but his jaw clenched as he watched her put most of the food on his plate, keeping only a small portion for herself. This month they'd had to choose between buying groceries and buying a part to fix his damned truck so they could go to the store to buy the damned groceries. He was still pissed off about it.
He picked up his fork and knife and carefully divided his food in half, pushing one portion aside. She sat down across from him, nibbling on a piece of toast. He could feel her watching him quizzically but she didn't ask any questions and just smiled when he met her eyes.
"It'll be better next month," she promised softly, reaching across the table to squeeze his hand.
He nodded, his jaw still tight as he shoved a forkful of food into his mouth. He didn't see how next month would be any different than this one. It would only be something else by then. Hell, his whole truck would probably fall apart before then. It seemed like they just couldn't get ahead and now…he looked across the table at her and sighed, watching her watching him like he hung the fucking moon.
Irritated as he was, and he was irritated, the look in her eyes eased the tension in his shoulders. He finished off his orange juice and stood up, pushing his still half-full plate across the table to her.
She looked surprised, "Daryl! You barely ate anything! Sit back down."
"I ate plenty," he told her, stopping by her chair to button his shirt. "You finish it."
"No, you need to eat! You've got to work all day. Really, I'm fine," she insisted, trying to push the plate back towards him.
He grabbed her wrist to stop her and shook his head, "Stop. Eat. You need it more'n I do."
She opened her mouth but he bent over and pressed a kiss against her open lips before she had time to continue her protest.
But her voice still followed him out the door and as he stepped into the pale early morning light, he had a smile on his face.
It had only been a year since he'd watched his past fade away in the rearview but it felt like a lifetime. They'd drifted around a little after that, bouncing from place to place. They'd been lucky to land here, in a small town just a few hours down the road from their old hometown. Carol had been the one to spot the hand-painted sign on the roadside, "Peach Pickers Wanted".
It was meant to be a temporary job, just for the season. But even after all the other pickers had moved on, the owner had kept him around and made him the "caretaker" for all that dumbass title was worth. Mr. Winters was getting on in years; he wasn't able to maintain the place anymore so it fell on Daryl to take care of things.
Mr. Winter had told him he kept him on because he "had an honest face" but Daryl knew that was bullshit. The only reason they were still there was because of Carol. Mrs. Winter had really taken a shine to her and had wanted them to stick around.
The pay wasn't much but they had a good place to stay, in a shabby singlewide trailer nestled back behind the main house in the pines at the edge of the property line. Everything in the trailer was worn but Carol had made it look real nice. It was home now. Mrs. Winter was always giving her hand-me-down furniture and "secondhand" clothes with the tags still on them.
She gave Carol some cash too, for helping out around the house, especially when they were entertaining guests.
All in all, it wasn't a bad deal. It was just enough to help them get their footing but Daryl wasn't content to just get by. He wanted more for Carol.
She deserved more.
Carol finished Daryl's breakfast in the silent kitchen and felt guilty. If only he wasn't so damn stubborn. She imagined him out there working all day with his stomach growling and resolved to scrounge up something good and filling for supper even though the cabinets were looking a little bare.
Money was stretched pretty thin lately, especially now that…
She sighed, dropping the dishes into the sink and running hot water over them until the soap bubbled up. Outside the window, she could see the sun beginning to peek over the trees. It turned the sky gold and made the dewdrops on the green pine needles shine like a million diamonds.
Even if she had known she would have to go hungry, and Daryl made sure she never did, she'd have still chosen this life in a heartbeat. It wouldn't sound like much of a choice to anyone who hadn't walked in her shoes, choosing between an abuser like her ex-husband and a wonderful man like Daryl, but she knew firsthand how hard it could be to leave the numb comfort of a daily routine, even if it was for a better life.
But she didn't even like to think about her past. It was a dark cloud on her blue horizon, a big, black ink stain on her pristine white page. Sometimes it seemed like someone else's life, snapshots from someone else's slideshow. And sometimes, sometimes it was still too real, like a fresh bruise.
She headed to the bathroom for a shower but was loath to take off Daryl's t-shirt. It smelled like him – that sharp, sweet, soapy scent that was forever etched into her brain from the first time she touched him. She only had to smell it to see the blue of his eyes and feel his trembling fingers.
It was strange, she thought to herself. She would have thought the fire would have died down after a year but it was still going strong, flickering through her veins every time they touched.
She still got butterflies every time he walked through the door.