" Under My Thumb "
Chapter I
Daryl Dixon had the outer image of a bad boy on the run and the inner soul of a young boy who loved filling his mind with copious amounts of knowledge and stories.
He was cocooned in rumors and speculation, most at the hand of his older brother: Merle Dixon. He was avoided by classmates, often chosen last in gym, and always lacking a science partner, making his junior year a lonely one. He hated school, hated the people in it, and most of all, the teachers who looked at him like he was some kind of criminal all for being a member of the Dixon family.
It wasn't as if his home life was much better. His father was a drunk, often beating the living daylights out him and Merle for petty reasons, if no reason at all. No wonder Merle preferred juvy over this.
He often stalked onto the school bus with bruises that seemed to become the catalysts for stories his other classmates would work up.
"He was beaten by the cops, you know," and "I heard he beat the shit outta one guy who wouldn't give 'im any smokes..."
Daryl Dixon's life sucked.
Well, that was all before The Carters moved into the house beside him, replacing the "for sale" sign with one that read "sold".
He remember that summer morning more than anything. The sky was a placid blue mirror with an occasional breeze stirring the hot rays of the sun and giving relief to the movers who struggled with box after box. From his open window, he watched the men struggle up the perfect green lawn and into the new home, dropping boxes here and there.
Behind him, the radio began to play the kind of music he liked. The beat of The Rolling Stones made his foot tap as he leaned out the window to watch the movers scurry about like ants. 'Under My Thumb' had apparently been playing too loud, since with no given warning, there was a young woman blinking up at him from her new lawn. Daryl had yet to notice, his blue eyes trained on the two fatter men hauling a couch out of the truck.
She was short, around the same age as him, with bright green eyes and a cute nose. Her blue sundress allowed for a good bit of skin to be seen along her freckled chest and shoulders. Knobby knees poked out beneath the hem of the dress and her bare feet were swathed in the grass. A smile, one that shone of curiosity and amusement, was thrown Daryl Dixon's way.
He did look awfully funny, hanging out of the window and mumbling along with the radio. She called out:
"You like The Stones?"
And Daryl physically jumped, the back of his head coming into contact with the bottom of window with a heavy thwack. Daryl swore up and down, cradling the back of his head before slamming the window shut, the panes rattles in their holdings.
The girl quickly covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. Before she could call out to the boy again, she was called over by her mother, putting an end to their first encounter.
Daryl had sat below the window, peeking over the edge of the sill until she left. He hadn't wanted to embarrass himself like that, especially not in front of a girl like that. Daryl had sat there for a while, sneaking looks at the new neighbor's, and every now and then, he saw the girl glance up at his window, an apologetic look on her face.
Their next encounter occurred when he stumbled into the Southern heat to retrieve the mail. After all, Merle wasn't going to do it and his father was a hung-over heap of a mess on the couch, guzzling a warm beer and watching some shitty television program. He was quick to hop off the porch and shuffle down the driveway past the old station wagon resting on rusted bearings. One hand tugged the rusted metal box open while the other reached into to grasp the mass of paper inside.
"So, you like The Stones, huh?"
Daryl nearly threw the newspaper at her in shock. The girl had been on the porch, waiting for him to stalk out of the house and into the warm atmosphere. Her mailbox, directly next to his, was new and shiny and nice and he suddenly felt extremely self-conscious. Tugging at the collar of his old t-shirt, he gave a curt nod and shut the mailbox without a word.
He started up the driveway, his eyes on the envelopes he was shuffling through. She pouted, blinking. Running, following his movements up her own lawn, she called out again. "Hey! Wait! What's your name?"
He paused, furrowed his brow, before retorting with the one thing he had always told her type. "What's it to you?"
She looked hurt, her gaze falling. "Sorry. I... Sorry. Just wanted t'know. I'm new. I haven't really met anybody. Sorry."
Suddenly, something rushed into his chest, constricting his heartbeat. It was guilt. He swallowed away his sourness, sighing before placing the mound of letters atop the rusted station wagon and stalking towards her.
The white picket fence that separated them was ignored.
"Quit apologizin'. Sorry. Ain't lotsa girls like you who are very nice t'me."
She blinked. "Oh. You think I meant to embarrass you the other day!" She giggled softly, shaking her head, blonde wisps drifting in the breeze. "M'sorry I startled you. I heard the radio. I hear it a lot. You listen to good stuff."
A smile almost broke through his mask. "I'm Daryl."
"Norah. What year are you?"
"M'a senior this comin' year. You?"
She smiled and nodded. "Same. You wanna come over for lemonade?"
And, so, that was their second encounter. He sipped lemonade with her on the front porch and they basked in the Georgian sun for an hour or two, talking and being friendly. She told him about how she heard his radio every night, and he told her how he heard her singing in her room in the evenings. It had been nice, talking with someone who had no ill-intentions or someone who was scared of him.
They talked until Merle Dixon screamed across the lawn for Daryl to get his ass back home and stop flirting with the new girl. He apologized quickly before thanking her for the lemonde and making his way down the lawn.
Norah was sweet, a remotely innocent kid who just wanted to make a friend.
In his own way, Daryl was the same.
And later that night, when Daryl took a licking for forgetting the mail outside, Norah heard the screams of a fight and became worried, fearing for her new friend. She leaned out the window for a long while, waiting for the radio to play.
It never did.