Okay, I have had this drumming in my head for the past couple of month. I am still working on Dixon's Saving Grace, but I had to write this. I wanted to do something that before Walking Dead. I hope y'all enjoy.
Disclaimer: I do not own anything or anyone recognizable of the Walking Dead. Any original characters are mine. Songs will be recognized at the end of the chapters. :)
Daryl was surprised when Charlie told him about the bonfire him and his old lady were having tonight. It wasn't like they were friends in his opinion. He had only known the guy for three weeks, coworkers, acquaintances maybe, but not friends.
"'Ey Dixon!" Charlie called, jogging to catch up with him in the lumber mill's employee parking lot. Daryl slowed his pace to a stop and waited for him. "Me and my girl are having a bonfire out at her place tonight. It's BYOB."
Daryl chewed on the left corner of his bottom lip in thought as they continued to walk to their trucks. "I don't know man," Daryl started but Charlie cut him off.
"Oh come on! It ain't like you got nothing better to do. Yah don't know nobody here anyways. All the guys from the shift are coming and Karen is inviting all of her friends, plenty of 'em to go around." He smirked and waggled his eyebrows at the last comment.
Charlie was right. He didn't know anybody around here. Daryl had moved here a little over three weeks ago. He had found a job at the lumber mill and a small loft apartment above the only diner in town. Other than work and his apartment, he hadn't really explored the town.
"A'ight, what time?" He finally asked Charlie when they reached their trucks.
Charlie grinned, "Nine, ten, let it get good and dark. Karen picked up some kick-ass fireworks in South Carolina." Daryl nodded, hopped in his truck, and headed home.
He got to the small country diner around seven-thirty, right at the dinner rush. The place was packed, like the other Fridays when he came home. Other than Anna's, the choices were mighty slim, a few fast food joints, Chinese, and a Mexican joint.
Daryl found a spot at the counter top. Kelly, Anna's granddaughter, owner, and his landlord, saw him the moment he came in the diner and had a glass of sweet tea in front of him as he sat down. "Need a menu, or is it gonna be one of the specials?"
Daryl looked up to the chalkboard on the wall behind the cash register where the specials were written in pretty, girly handwriting: Country-Fried Steak, Fried Perch, 18oz Ribeye.
"Country-Fried Steak, creamed potatoes, and collards," he grinned shyly at Kelly. She was a nice woman, always attempting to stuff food down his throat, saying he was way too skinny in her opinion.
"Vinegar and onions on your collards, darling?" She asked as she wrote down his order.
"Yes'um," He nodded and drained his tea.
"Eating here or upstairs?" She called over her shoulder, as she gave the order to the cook.
"Upstairs," he replied as he gave Allie, Kelly's daughter, his money for his food.
"Go on then. Matt will bring it up to you when it is ready." Matt was Kelly's son and one of the three wait staff she had. He nodded his head and left a tip near his empty tea glass and headed upstairs to take a shower.
He left the door unlocked for Matt, know the boy would bring the food up and leave it on the kitchen counter if Daryl didn't answer the door. Toeing off his work boots at the door, he walked to the small bathroom.
Peeling off the sawdust covered, sweat soaked uniform, Daryl thought about how much his life had changed in the last three months. Merle was doing fifteen for blow, aggravated assault, and assault on a police officer. For the first time in his life, Daryl was on his own.
He had lived with his dad until the day he turned eighteen, and then moved ten miles away to the trailer Merle rented. Living with him won't much better. It went from being under the thumb of one mean sum bitch to another. Merle just didn't do the shit to Daryl that their Dad did, but he could be just a cruel.
Moving places wasn't much different neither, a pig kept a sty better than either Merle or their dad kept house. Smell of mold, dirty laundry, spilt booze, rotting food, weed, stale smoke, and sex always lingered at either place. Beer bottles, condom wrappers, used needles, dirty dishes, cigarette butts, full ashtrays, Playboy and Hustler littered every available surface at his old man's and Merle's places.
Here, at his apartment, there was none of that. His boots came off at the door to prevent tracking the grime from the mill throughout the place. Only dishes in the sink were a coffee cup and a butter knife from this morning. A few hunting and motorcycle magazines were on the coffee table. In the loft, his bed was haphazardly made and his dirty clothes in the hamper.
Daryl never imagined that being on his own would feel like this. He never thought it would feel like a weight was lifted off his chest.
Turning off the water, Daryl reached around the curtain and grabbed the towel off the rack. Rubbing he towel over his mop of hair and down his body, before wrapping it around his waist and stepping out of the shower. When he stepped out of the bathroom he could smell his dinner.
His stomach growled loudly, painfully reminding him that he had skipped lunch. Without worrying about getting dressed, he walked to the kitchen where his dinner was waiting. He grabbed a beer from the fridge, a paper towel, and sat down at the island and tucked into the food. He moaned at the first taste of the steak, scooping up some potatoes and gravy with each bite. The plate of food was clean in a matter of minutes.
He checked the clock and realized it was eight-thirty. He threw away the Styrofoam take out container and plastic cutlery and quickly washed and dried the two items in his sink before heading up in the loft to get ready for tonight.
Pulling out a clean pair of jeans, socks, and a surprisingly a light blue button up with sleeves, he quickly got dressed. His nice Georgia boots and black leather belt came next before he made his way downstairs. He knew his leather vest with the angel wings stitched on the back was in the passenger seat of his truck.
He was out and in his truck by nine. With a quick stop at the gas station for a twelve pack, he was on his way to the bonfire.