Vero Amore
A/N: Hello my dears. I'm an awful person, I know. The other story, well, it may come back, but it may not. My muse for it isn't working. But this, I hope I can like this one. And I hope you all like it too. Here is the description:
A lonely wife, and a troubled repair man. Their worlds collide when the vexatious Ed Peletier goes too far in his rants, ultimately destroying the better part of the wall and it's windows. Daryl Dixon, go to expert in home repair, is summoned by the quiet Carol Peletier to fix their small, one bedroom house. She's lonely, desperate for love. He's troubled, wishing for acceptance and someone to live for. One home visit changes their lives, but how can they find a way to each other without causing a world of chaos? Will they succeed, or are they doomed to a life of despair...
I really hope you guys enjoy it!
McBrideReedusLover.~
Chapter 1
Carol Ann Jackson, now known as Peletier, had thought her world would be changed for the better when she met her husband. Charming, loving, kind. Everything she needed in life. Everything she craved. When they wed, things seemed to be going great for her, and for her love life. They were happy, they were well off. They were successful.
That is, until heroin found its way into their household.
Now, at twenty five, Carol is scared, lonely, and worried about her future. Her once loving Ed had become a monster, the withdrawls from his usage turning him into the worst kind of man. Angry, hateful, aggressive towards her. The things he did to get his next fix, she knew weren't right. How someone like her had become mixed up in this she didn't know. She was afraid that he would finally cross that fine line, and strike her or worse, kill her in his state of rage.
Everything said in his vows had been broken, promising to love her, cherish her, hold her every night. Promising that no matter what, they'd get through it together.
Now, as she sat in the kitchen, staring down at her cup of coffee, she knew he was out there, screwing whatever young girl had enough heroin to go around. She'd caught him cheating, many times since he got on the bandwagon. She was hoping rehab would help him, that maybe he would be better. That the women were nothing to him, and that this would all end. But she'd come to realize this wasn't the case, and that in actuality, he'd never attended the rehab centers. He'd gone off instead to stay with his current on the side girl, who likely was screwing him right now. Carol had seen her before, the way her face was slowly becoming hollow, how the drugs had affected her. And now her husband was headed down the same path.
Regret was all she had. She regretted marrying Edward Peletier. She didn't even know if she loved him anymore. She was neglected. It was rare that he would touch her. And when he did, it wasn't exactly kind like it used to be. He was either drunk, or high off his ass on H. She'd try to enjoy it, try to love him, but it was no use. The few and far between sex was lacking, and uncomfortable. She missed the good times.
It was startling when the door swung open. She could smell the smoke, the alcohol, and the overbearing scent of womens perfume. He'd definitely been with her. And when she looked in his eyes, she could see the fire of pure hatred. And it was all directed at her.
"This house looks like shit, Carol. Why the fuck haven't you been cleaning up around here, you fucking lazy bitch." The words stung, shoving a dagger through her already fragile heart.
"But Ed... I-I can't get it any cleaner." She stood, cautiously making her way to him. "I was worried about you... Where have-" Her words were cut off by his sudden shouting.
"It ain't any of your business to worry about me! I'll do what I want whenever I want and a twiggy bitch like you can't tell me otherwise!" If voices were able, she was sure the volume would've shook the house. She stepped back then, to give him space, not wanting to be used as a punching bag. Thankfully enough, she wasn't the target of his pounding fists. However, the living room wall at the far right was the victim. A few punches wall his bones could take before they'd break, so he reverted to throwing what he could at the wall.
The lamp was ripped from outlet as he smacked it away. The glass shattered, and she could only watch helplessly. She knew better than to get in the way of his tirade.
"I'm getting out of here. Don't even dare try to come after me, or I'll kill you!" He went to their bedroom, coming out a few moments later with a small bag, which held his clothes. And from what she could see, their only box of condoms. She knew who's arms he'd be in tonight.
When the door slammed, the dam broke. She just stood in that kitchen, staring at the damage through blurred, tear filled eyes. What had she gotten herself into six years ago?
~Vero Amore~
One look in the mirror was enough to make him cringe. The severity of his situation, of his life, was enough to make anybody hate themselves. He was nearing the second quarter of his life now, and he had nothing to show for it. Sure, in his field of work he was rell respected. But as a person, he was as low as they come. A backstory such as his, and the name that he had? It wasn't exactly unknown in these parts. Everyone knew his ruthless father, and his drug addict of a mother. How she died, how the rest of his childhood and the better part of his teen years was spent at the wrong end of a belt, or whatever weapon of choice Will Dixon decided to use.
Daryl Dixon loathed himself. His childhood, and his upbringing had fucked him up worse than any drug could. He longed for love, for that nurturing he should've gotten, the life he deserved. He'd tried so hard to please, to be the good kid, but it never got him anywhere. At least, not on the spectrum he'd have liked.
He was bad for social skills, bad with people. The only thing he was good for was building. Building and repairing. He could build a house all by himself, but he couldn't look a person in the eyes. He was just... Fucked, for lack of a better word. He'd never been loved or cherished, not by his parents, not by a woman, not by anyone. The only contact he'd had was a few quick fucks in a back alley for a release. Nothing to brag about at all. He had no relationships, friends or otherwise.
You would get one look at Daryl Dixon, and wouldn't wish his life on your worst enemy. He was desperate to find that love, that acceptance, that reason to keep going. He needed someone to live for.
His thoughts were disrupted by the ringing of his work phone. Taking the cell from his pocket, he answered, listening to a woman on the other line, pleading that he come and fix her broken window, and the busted wall. He wouldn't turn down the distraction of repairs. Working kept him busy, kept his thoughts away, distracted him. He needed that, especially in moments like this.
Grabbing his things, he shoved his working tools in the back of his truck, and began heading for the address he was given. What he didn't know, and what she didn't know, was that this visit was going to fuck with their lives, and their emotions, and turn everything they knew upside down.