TRIGGER WARNING FOR SUICIDAL THOUGHTS
Tap, tap, tap... He clenched his hand around the knife as he raised it up and stabbed at the concrete beneath him again and again. It was Carol's knife, and if it wasn't in her hands, or hanging from her belt, then she was… He knew it, but he couldn't say it. Daryl sat there for what could have been 5 minutes, could have been an hour as the metallic sound reverberated through the dark, musty halls.
His mind was numb to his surroundings. The sounds weren't heard, rotting corpses no longer smelled, and his vision was blurred from the liquid, pooling and burning before falling from his eyes. It was hard for him to swallow with the lump in his throat as he thought of the things he should have said.
She invested so much time in helping him realize he belonged to their family, he belonged with her. He finally felt he was appreciated. Since the farm, it had been Rick and his family, and Hershel with his girls, and now Glenn too. That left T-Dog, Carol, and Daryl to form their own little misfit family, of which he was the only one left.
He had never felt so alone in his life, not even when he was lost in the woods as a young boy. The only people that were left in this world that he cared about, his brother, and the only woman he ever gave a damn about, were gone. He wasn't able to save them. Merle never was a warm hearted person, but he was the only brother that Daryl had. He did care about him, in his own way. Didn't matter, he was gone now.
Never in his life had he stumbled upon a person so accepting and accommodating of him. They understood one another in ways that the other members of their group, of their family, only pretended to. She was unselfish to a fault. Even when she lost Sophia, she still tended to her responsibilities around the camp, making sure everyone had food and clean clothes.
Carol had so much faith in him, that he would find her little girl, that he would keep her safe. He was resentful of the fact that he couldn't bring Sophia back to her mother. It was another failure of his. The poor girl never had much happiness with her bastard father alive. Daryl could have told her about his childhood, about how he made it through. Maybe he would have taught her how to track, and how to hunt. How to survive. Didn't matter, the girl was gone now.
He could feel her presence around him, as though she were sitting right next him while on watch. Daryl could smell her shampoo, the one he had brought back just for her that smelled like peaches. He could hear her laughter, the special giggle she let out when she was flirting with him. None of it was real, though. It was just his mind giving him something to hold on to with her gone. His fingers tightened around the knife again. Tap… tap… tap...
The was a myriad of questions that were seldom met with an answer. Maybe he didn't want to know the answers. Was T-Dog able to help her before he died? How could she have ended up unarmed and alone? How could she be gone? Why didn't he tell her how he felt? Didn't matter, she was gone now. He leaned back, resting his head on the wall behind him, closed his eyes, and pictured her face.
A few months back, he almost lost her when the farm fell. It was a miracle that he had heard her panicked screams for help and pulled up to her side on the bike before the walkers got to her. Until then, physical contact didn't really have a place in their relationship. A pat on the shoulder as one walked by the other, a brush of their fingers as a plate of food was passed between them, and the small, but meaningful kiss she had placed on his forehead. There she was, arms wrapped around his waist, her fingers gripping his vest for an additional sense of security either from falling off of the bike, or from her surroundings. She had her face pressed against the wings on his back.
Their first night at the prison, he made her a spot next to his sleeping bag so he could help protect her in their new, unexplored home. That was the first time he heard her say he was her guardian angel. She confessed to him that she realized that when she was behind him on his motorcycle and for the first time, saw the significance of the angel wings and that Sophia had guided him to her side.
Now, she really was gone and all that he had left of her was a headscarf that still smelled of her, and the knife that didn't protect her. He had nothing left to live for. He didn't stay with the group for the feeling of family. He stayed for her, to be near her, to take care of her, to be with her. There was no reason left for him to continue this miserable way of life with her there to make it worth living. Daryl placed his arms on his knees, and rested his head on his clasped hands. He could feel the will to live leaving his body as the tears fell from his eyes.
He pulled the gun out of the waist of his pants and checked how many bullets he had. Two. He could find her walker and put it down, putting her at rest, and still have a bullet left for himself. It would be quick, he thought as he pulled the red rag out of his pocket to wipe at his tears. His pain would be over soon and he would be with her.
So this was it. He survived the dead rising from their graves just like a horror movie to fall in love with a woman, who died not knowing how he felt, and now he was going to end it all. He let out a humorless laugh as he thought about what Merle would say about that, about him opting out as Jenner had put it.
It would only be a matter of time before he was beside her forever. No longer running in fear of being bitten. No worries of separation from the group. No more worrying that she would be hungry or hurt... that she was alone. Hopefully, someone would think to put them at rest next to each other. Glenn and Hershel. They would know. They always knew.
Finally, a sound broke through the invisible barrier he had thrown up, protecting himself from the barrage of emotions he wasn't sure how to handle. Something was pushing against the cell door on the opposite side of the hall from where he sat. The remains of a walker wouldn't let the door open more than an inch before clanging against the metal frame as it closed again.
Daryl stabbed at the blood stained cement a few more times, the rage building every time the blade of her knife connected with its intended surface. He sprung up! Feeling the anger coursing through his veins, he kicked the noisy door, probably riling up whatever was inside. He began pacing up and down the hall as he worked up the nerve to open the door. He planned to take out his frustrations on whatever was on the other side of the metal door. His mind was racing a million miles a minute. What if it was her? What if she was a walker? If she was bitten, could he do what… what he needed to do?
Daryl held onto the knife with his teeth, grabbed the decayed body that was blocking the door and dragged it out of the way. He stood at the door, forcing himself to be ready for whatever was on the other side of the door. With a few deep breaths, he pulled the door open, arm raised ready to strike, but he paused.
The silver hair shined in what little light there was. It was her. Carol was sitting before him, her back against the wall, face turned away from the doorway. He faltered, lowering the knife some, unprepared for the scene before him. She turned her face towards him, but there wasn't enough light to tell if it was her, or just her shell.
He crouched down to get a better look, tentatively reached out his hand to her chin, tilting her head so he could look at her eyes. They were the same blue eyes he longed to see. They weren't shining as brightly as they normally would, but they were hers, and they gave him a reason to keep living.