The dumb fucker got him locked up. And not just for a night. For a fucking couple years. This is what the youngest Dixon got for following his asshole of a brother around. A six by eight room, just for him. And another fucking fucker. Just one more job. One more job is what Merle always said. Whether it was a drug deal, or a hit, it was one more then done. But they were never done. Merle couldn't stop, and Daryl was dumb enough to follow him blindly. They were blood after all.
Except now, if Daryl ever saw his dumb ass brother again, he would probably kill him. Then wind right back in the cell he hated so much. He had days upon days to sit in self-imposed silence. He had no one. Merle wasn't even in jail. The coward let Daryl take the fall and all the blame, and turned tail and left without a second thought. Yeah, blood alright. Blood when convenient, Daryl thought.
Monday's were the loneliest days. Monday's were mail day, and while everyone tore into mail from home, Daryl remained alone. It wasn't like he had family or friends to write to him. Before this, he had only had his brother. But now, now Merle was nothing to him.
Shawn, Daryl's weird but quiet cell mate, always got a shit ton of mail. From his parent's. His two sisters. His aunt and uncle. His friends from back home. Daryl was glad that Shawn had such a wide range of support and love, but that didn't stop him from also resenting him. The dumb fuck didn't even appreciate it. Always moaned and groaned when his mother's letters had ink that bleed out from her tears. "I can't read this for shit," he would grumble. At least you have a mother. A mother that cares about you enough to cry, at that. Would blush in embarrassment when his sisters would worry about him, and send him pictures of their lives. "Thanks, sis, for reminding me of how much better your life is then mine," was Shawn's sarcastic replies. They want to involve you in their lives still, and that says a whole fucking lot. He would get anger and throw tantrums when his father's letter were full of criticism and heat, but always ended with a declaration of unending love. "Yeah, right, you love me. You're letting me rot in here like a fucking killer. God, I hate him," Shawn would rant. You don't know what hate is, kid. This man loves you more than I can even comprehend.
Daryl hated Monday's. Until the day he got his very first letter, addressed to him in that girly, bubbly handwriting that could only be associated with someone young and sweet. When he opened it, he didn't know if he should feel…well, he didn't know what to feel. Angry, that Shawn would tell someone his cell mate didn't get mail. Ashamed, confused, defensive? But all he felt at the end of reading the sweet, bubbly handwriting, was a small smile creep upon his face.
Sincerely yours,
Beth Greene.