Foreboding
Daryl finds her sitting out in the early morning. She's stationed herself on a log that usually resides beside the fire, but has been rolled away. The sun's just beginning to rise, casting a golden glow over the farm. He sits beside her and says nothing. She stays silent too. It's something comfortable between them, the fact they don't need to talk to communicate. The only thing that isn't communicated is their mutual attraction. Or, maybe they both notice but believe they're imagining it.
But, none-the-less, he finds himself curious to what she's thinking about. Something tells him it's a bit morbid. Perhaps it's because Dale died the night prior. Perhaps it's just something about their silent communication.
"You okay?" he finally asks gruffly.
She shrugs. Hesitates. "I guess, yeah." She sighs. "I mean, yeah, I'm sad. He was like a dad to me. But... I think I'll be okay." She looks up at the sky. "It's something else." He waits for her to go on. He knows she will. He doesn't need to say anything. He never really needs to say anything. She looks down. "I think this is our last day here."
He doesn't quite understand what she means. His first thought is of death, so he says, "You ain't thinkin' a' offing yourself, are ya'?"
Her head shoots up and she gives him a questioning look. "What? No, that's not it at all... I wouldn't do that now. I've still got at least one person left to live for." Daryl tries to force himself to think it's Glenn, but part of him hopes that she's referring to himself. "It's something different. A feeling I've got in my gut." He nods, and lets her continue. "I don't think we'll be here tomorrow afternoon. It's weird, but I don't think anyone will be."
He shifts slightly. "Ain't that called woman's intuition, or some shit?"
The corner of her mouth twitches up and she chuckles. "Yeah, I guess."
There's more silence as the sun continues to rise. Most of the sky is gold and the night's purple has receeded. He listens to her soft breathing and can't help but to close his eyes and enjoy the moments he's been given with her. But then he thinks. What if she's right? What if they'll be gone tomorrow? It's a strong possibility. So many deaths have taught them that.
She glances over at him. "I'll miss you, you know." He's a little surprised at her admitting this. In his family, it was a sort of weakness to say something like that. But, then again, she's past any sort of weakness. She's made it past the death of loved ones, past suicide and past feeling like a victim. This small confession is something that comes easy to her. She thinks nothing of it.
He mumbles back the reply, "I'll miss you too..." It's said in a low tone, one she can only hear because he's sitting close. This small sentance is something huge for him.
She's silent for a moment, a soft smile on her face. It takes her a moment to speak again. She stands before she does and he follows. "I don't want to have regrets." She faces him. He turns to her too. Her eyes find her feet and she sighs. He drags his fingers through his hair, waiting. "I mean, really. Regrets are tough to live with. I want to avoid them." She looks back up and meets his eyes. "Can you help me avoid them?"
He nods. "Yeah. Sure."
"Close your eyes."
He does. He has no idea what she's about to do, but he trusts her. The first thing he feels is one of her hands settling on his shoulder, close to the base of his neck. Her other hand cups the side of his face. He suddenly knows what she's about to do. "Andr-" He's cut off by her lips. It's a soft, slow kiss that leaves a bitter sweet taste on his lips.
When he opens his eyes, she's gone, and he feels like he'll never see her again. Some sort of weird equivalent to a one night stand that should've been more. He does see her again though, later that day.
But the following morning, as he's standing on the highway, he feels his heart seize up and close off. She's not there. Just like she had said, no one was at the farm, no one but the dead. But what kills him is that he's standing with others, but is alone. What kills him is that she was right. What kills him is that she's not there.
She's not there.
This haitius. Killing. Me. Slowly.
I needed to post something. Desperately.