Hello! I'm not sure if I still have any readers out there, since I haven't posted anything in over a year, but if you're reading this then, hello! I've been in hiding. I wrote this story about 3 or 4 years ago and stuck it on the shelf with the others. It is finished, but it has a sequel that is not. That's a bit of a complicated situation so there will be more about that later. Anyway, I'm not even sure why I decided to finally post this. I really didn't think I would be back. I wanted to age gracefully and fade out like a true OG Caryl writer but... I guess I've changed my mind and decided to at least put this one out there. Hope you all are doing well and hope you enjoy this one if you plan on sticking around and giving it a shot! =)

Chapter One

Carol filled the sink with cold water and leaned over the porcelain rim, watching her wobbly reflection on the surface. A single crimson drop hit the water, distorting her image further, marring it. Another drop had her grimacing but she couldn't look away. The drops were fading to pink as the water deluded them but they were soon joined by another and then another. She leaned down and plunged her face in, squeezing her eyes shut tightly. The coldness stung but it felt better than the burn of humiliation that she knew was written all over her face.

Today had started out perfectly normal. She had gone to work at the stupid sandwich shop. The shop that made her smell like pickles by the end of the day because God knew that pickle scented women were sexy as hell. She had cashed her meager paycheck and then handed every bit of it to her sleazy landlord. She had made herself a feast of Ramon Noodles in a cup and peanut butter crackers. Ed had come to visit her. They had watched a stupid show and sat their awkwardly for a few hours. Then things got tense.

She was sitting there, minding her own business when he stood up, got down on one knee and, to her complete horror, presented her with a ring. He asked her to marry him. She had sat there, dumb struck, staring at the offending object with a mixture of disgust and mild amusement. He couldn't have been serious.

But he had been.

Eventually she had shaken her head, looked him right in the eye and told him that he needed to leave. She had been planning on calling it quits with him anyway. She just hadn't known how to go about it. How could he think she would marry him when they had only been dating for five months? They had never discussed the future. They had never slept together. They rarely even kissed and when they did she had been left grimacing. When had he gotten it in his head that she would ever, in a million years, say yes to a marriage proposal? She wasn't even nineteen years old yet!

He hadn't taken the rejection well, either...

"What the hell do you mean, I need to leave?" He barked, causing her to flinch.

"I mean, I can't marry you. I barely even know you. I think it'd be best if you just went home."

He stood up, shoving the black box back into his pocket and glared down at her. "You think you can just humiliate me like this and get away with it?" He roared.

"You're doing a perfectly fine job doing that on your own, Ed. I want you to leave."

And that was when it had happened. He had hit her. He had slipped up a few times during their brief emotionless relationship, showing her that there was an ugly temper brewing under that dull facade. It was another reason she hadn't been very interested in pursuing any kind of meaningful relationship with him. That and the fact that he was boring, not very attractive and they didn't have anything in common.

She looked up, finally taking in her reflection in the mirror. It wasn't as bad as it could have been. He could have really done some damage but she had a bloodied nose and that was the extent of her injuries. He had then dared her to call the police. His father was the police chief. It would have done her no good. She wiped her eyes and stood up, drying her face on the dingy hand towel and then holding it up to her face so it would soak up the blood. She sat down on the closed lid of the toilet and waited for the bleeding to stop.

She puzzled over what could have made Ed believe that there was a chance in hell that she would accept his proposal. Maybe it was because he basically knew her story. Her father had ran out on her and her mother when she was only six. Her mother had lost her battle with cancer shortly after Carol's seventeenth Birthday. She had no friends, since most of hers from high school had gone off to college. She had no other surviving family members. She was completely alone in the world. That had been the reason she had kept him around in the first place. He had at least been another living human being to talk to.

And that was why he thought she would accept. Like he was doing her some great favor. Because her life was so devoid of... life... that she would jump at the chance to have a husband despite the fact that she was technically still a teenager. A teenager that had no one. A teenager that had a horrible job in a hole in the wall sandwich shop. She never had any money. She ate canned soup for dinner more often than not. The apartment, if you could call the one room, bug ridden hole an apartment at all, had been furnished when she moved in. The only things she really had were the clothes in the drawers and her camera. The camera being the only thing of value she had ever had.

It had been a gift from her mother four years ago, when her mother was still in decent health. She had saved for months to buy Carol the camera that she had wanted. Carol hadn't asked for it, knowing that some people didn't even spend that kind of money on their first car, but her mother had been determined. Carol had aspirations. She had dreamed of being a photographer. And not one of those photographers that took out of focus photos of wilted lettuce. She wanted to capture images of people. She wanted to immortalize moments that could otherwise be so easily forgotten. She wanted to catch movement. She wanted to capture the way the light could change the color of someones eyes. She wanted so badly to make it. But she was doing nothing. She was going nowhere. And even a big dumb slob like Ed Peletier could tell.

She stood up and ran a hand through her damp hair. She was so angry at herself and she didn't know how to deal with that. She wasn't used to feeling so outraged. Outraged because her life had seemed doomed from the get go and it seemed like she was living out some kind of dark destiny. Like she was meant to fail and to drift and to...

She opened up the shoe box sized closet and jerked her gym bag down from the shelf. Throwing open her drawers she started shoving clothes into the bag, not even paying attention to what she was grabbing. She hurried to the bathroom, throwing her toothbrush, tooth paste and other essentials on top. She wasn't doing this anymore. She wasn't wasting her life for one more minute. She would head out west. She would make it. And if she died getting there then at least she died doing something other than this.

~H~

He hit him again, and again, and again. The man wasn't moving anymore. Maybe he wasn't even breathing anymore. Daryl didn't care. When he finally stood up and stumbled away from the bloody heap on the floor he was barely aware of where he was. Of who he was. The son of a bitch wouldn't touch him again. He would kill him first. Hell, maybe he already had. He didn't care. He turned his head, spitting blood onto the dirty floor, running his tongue over his teeth to make sure the old bastard hadn't knocked any out when he had attacked him. They were all there but more blood filled his mouth. He realized then that his lip was split. It must have happened when the soft tissue had been driven against his bottom teeth by the force of the hit his father had given him as soon as he had walked in the door. He spit again.

The house was trashed. There were beer bottles scattered all over the floor, broken glass, food that had been moldering on the counter. And in the middle of it all was his father. He studied the still form as he tried to catch his breath, his bare chest heaving. He took a few steps towards the man and kicked his leg. A soft groan escaped him, letting Daryl know that he hadn't killed him. He wasn't even sure how he felt about that. If the man was dead then at least he wouldn't ever hit him again. He'd never have to deal with the pain or the blood or the verbal beatings.

He was barely eighteen years old. He was a high school drop out, with no real future in sight. He had no job, no money and no way to escape. Just a piece of shit Chevy van and the drive to get away. He had to get away. Merle was overseas. His mom was dead and buried. And if he stayed in this house he would either kill his father or his father would kill him.

He used his foot to roll the man over, grabbing his wallet out of his back pocket. He opened it up, yanking out the bills and shoving them into the front pocket of his jeans. He knew there was more in the man's sock drawer. He tossed the wallet down and left the room, hurrying down the hallway and ransacking the room. He was getting the fuck out of here and he needed every dollar he could find to get him as far away as he could get. Once he was sure he'd looked in every hiding spot his father had he went to his own room, going through his drawers and throwing his clothes into an old gym bag. There wasn't anything else in the house that he wanted to take. He didn't have any memories here that were worth a damn.

He walked back to the kitchen, his bag slung over his shoulder. His father was pulling himself up off the floor, leaning into the counter for support. He turned cold eyes on Daryl then.

"I'll end you for this you piece of shit," he wheezed.

Daryl shook his head and turned on his heel, kicking bottles and glass out of his way. He wasn't going to waste any more breath on this man. He wasn't going to lose anymore sleep over this man. As far as he was concerned, the son of a bitch was dead already.

He left the door open as he stormed out, not even looking back as he climbed into the old van. He drove until he reached a Stop N Go gas station that had a bathroom accessible from the outside. It was dark so he wasn't too worried about anyone noticing his appearance. He tapped on the door but there was no response from inside. He wasn't about to go in and ask the cashier for the key so he pulled out his license and quickly jimmied the door open.

He went to the mirror, already turning on the cold water and grabbing some paper towels. It looked worse than it probably was. His lip was split but the bleeding had stopped. There was drying blood covering his chin and the front of his shirt. After he cleaned himself up he studied his face. Other than his lip he looked okay. He hadn't let his father beat him like he had in the past. This time he had fought back as soon as the man hit him. Fought back was a bit of an understatement.

He went back out the van and rummaged through his bag until he found another shirt he could slip on. When he went inside the gas station the bored looking guy behind the counter barely glanced up from his magazine. Daryl grabbed a Coke and a few bottles of water for later. On his way to the counter he spotted a rack out of the corner of his eye. He stopped, looking over the pamphlets and road maps that were advertising a lot of the lower forty eight.

He stared at them, his mind spinning with ideas. He had no destination. He had nothing left keeping him here. Suddenly, the possibilities seemed limitless. He grabbed several of the pamphlets depicting states out west and then a road atlas.

He paid for his stuff, plus a fill up for the van and hurried out the door. He was leaving. He wasn't exactly sure where he was going. He didn't know how long his money would last. He didn't even know if the van would make it out of Georgia. But none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was that he was getting the hell away from this place and everything it stood for.