"Get your lazy ass to work, Woman! What else are you good for, anyways? Certainly not gettin' my rocks off." Ed chuckled harshly as he took a long drag from the menthol cigarette that was poised held in between his grimy, fat, pain-inflicting fingers.

How many times had those same fingers slapped Carol in the face or curled around her upper arm, dragging her around and slamming her frail body into walls, tables, chairs, or even the cold, unforgiving floor of their dark two-story house? How many times had those meaty hands touched her, threatening to snap her bones in half like a nimble twig, or twist a limb around to the point where the tendons were torn and the pain was so unbearable she slipped into a coma, oblivious to any further damage he may have done until she woke up hours - sometimes days - later, dragging her limp, bruised, and mangled body to the hospital, only to make up some complete bullshit story of what had happened? I tripped down the stairs, I fell off of my horse, Bessie - our skittish dairy cow - had trampled me once again. The local hospital had heard any and every plausible excuse roll off of her tongue easily as she lied for the millionth time, just for her own sake. They probably thought she was incredibly accident-prone, and believed she needed an escort everywhere.

Only if they had known that her 'escort' was the one inflicting these intense beatings in the first place.

She flinched then nodded. Carol always hated when he talked like that to her, especially in front of her daughter Sophia. She shouldn't have experienced the beatings her mother had taken, the fowl words thrown at her, and the involuntary nights in bed that occurred way too often. The extremely grimy man - if he even qualified as one anymore, after the way he treated women - would force himself on his wife, grunting like a pig with a nasal condition, all the while not caring if his own daughter heard. Luckily, he would only last a few minutes before he would fall asleep, leaving a violated-Carol staring at the ceiling, salty tears streaming down her face silently as she tried to will herself into a dreamless, uncomfortably-light sleep, just to start all over again the next day. She had always taken beatings for the only person that had ever loved her, and even tried to hide the ugly, disfigured truth from her daughter's eyes - but she knew she couldn't stop the occasional whine or yelp that escaped her throat, and those small sounds seemed to spur Ed's actions on even more. Sophia knew, even though she tried with all her strength and will-power to make sure her little one was oblivious to these cruel actions.

And to think, this was before corpses starting walking the earth.

Now she sat at the quarry with a few women she had come to admire and adore: Jaqcui, Lori, Amy, and Andrea. Even though she was fond of these women, it didn't stop the slow-burn of jealousy that slithered it's way in the pit of her stomach whenever she looked at them. All of these women had everything she used to have, in a life before Ed - confidence, longer hair, beauty, smooth and unscarred skin, and no bruises in between their legs, along their backs and shoulders, decorating their arms and breasts.

But one thing she envied especially, with a surprisingly fierce hatred, was that they were all desired by someone - or at least had the ability to be desired. Ed had made sure to take that attribute away from her immediately. With her cropped gray hair, her pale and unappealing skin that was littered with scars, to her unshapely body, she wasn't capturing the much-wanted attention of a man.

"What is that supposed to mean?" Jaqcui retorted. Whoops, didn't realize I said that last part out loud. She thought.

"Yeah, that's so not true Carol! You're beautiful!" Amy exclaimed loudly, maybe a little too loudly.

"Any man would be lucky to have a woman like you - Ed doesn't realize what he's got." Andrea stated, then looked over her shoulder towards the trees where the Dixon's tent was set up. "Guess someone else has noticed too." She muttered, flicking her chin towards the tree line.

She turned around to see Daryl's retreating figure, his back tense from embarrassment of being caught in his actions. Her heart swelled and her stomach twisted into a million knots, while her head spun. Was Daryl Dixon staring at me? She thought about it, then shook the idea off with a laugh. Why would Daryl ever stare at little old Carol Peletier?

*Beauty Can Be Deadly*

Daryl had been embarrassed that Andrea had caught him staring at Carol. He did his best to make it discreet, but he was still caught. Ugh, just fucking great, he thought. Jus' hope Merle don't find out. He'd never let me live that one down.

As he rounded the bend to his tent he heard the sickening sound of skin on skin, then yelling mixed with crying. Her crying.

"Oh, shit," he muttered as he spun around immediately, bolting down to the quarry, his crossbow firmly pressed against his back with one hand clasping the strap hung over his shoulder. His feet seemed to have a mind of their own, carrying him silently down to the water.

But as he saw what was happening there - Carol holding the side of her face, Andrea and Jaqcui yelling at Ed, while Amy and Lori held Carol close to them, wiping her tears. A single bead of blood fell from in between her fingers, falling onto the ground.

That fucker. He's dead. He thought darkly as he lunged for Ed pulling him back by the collar of his stupid shirt, only semi-aware of the gurgling sounds that protruded from his fat lips. Then he spun the son of a bitch around to face the younger Dixon, punching him square in the nose, a sound of breaking bones sounding through the air. That didn't deter the rough redneck who was now seeing red, and only made him hit the mam harder. His eyes, mouth, brow bones, cheek bones, temples…all of these places along the man's face were being pummeled over and over, his flesh slowly taking on the appearance of ground beef. Blood covered Daryl's knuckles - Ed's accompanied with his own, his skin splitting against the contact of bone on bone. Out of his peripherals he saw Shane and Rick run down into the quarry, but Daryl didn't let up for anything or anyone. He had built-up tension and anger he needed to get rid of, and he really hated how that big fucker touched his woman.

He vaguely heard Rick and Shane telling him to stop, that he was unconscious, but still he didn't stop. Not until he felt a soft hand firmly grasp his bloodied fist, making him flinch. Looking up, he found the beautiful gray-blue eyes of Carol Peletier, holding his fist. "He's had enough." She said softly, then smirked, muttering so only he could hear, "plus, I still want my turn to pummel his ass."

After he heard this, he felt the left corner of his mouth turn up for a half-second before he stood, letting Carol lead him to clean his hand.

*Beauty Can Be Deadly*

She had no idea what had come over her as she told Daryl that. Frankly, she couldn't remember a time she had used such vulgar language to anyone - especially about someone. The soft-spoken hunter also surprised her when he let her lead him to his camp in an attempt to thank him by cleaning his knuckles.

He didn't say one word towards her, and his expression barely changed when the alcohol hit his exposed tissue - an action that would have made her cringe. Even when she had to use a swab to clean the cuts of dirt and use small tweezers to dig out small pebbles from under his skin, he barely acknowledged what she was even doing. The only indication he knew what was happening was that his eyes were glued to her small hands, moving swiftly to clean hid wounds effectively.

Carol noted that the veins in his arms popped and his muscles were tense and straining, almost like he was going to bolt. Somehow she knew it wasn't from the pain in his knuckles.

Just as she went to get the bandages their eyes met, and the amount of guarded pain with a mix of something she couldn't place made her gasp, her throat and lips drying. Those pale-cyan eyes seemed to bore into hers, causing a familiar yet seemingly foreign heat between her legs. Even though she wanted to look away, almost certain her obvious desire was showing in her expression, she found she couldn't look away.

No, it wasn't until he finally dropped his own gaze that her head snapped down, almost like she was being released from a trance. Her hands numbly found the bandages, wrapping his knuckles slowly. She told herself she was taking her time so his wounds wouldn't get infected, but she knew it was a lie. A filthy, dirty lie.

Carol departed then, nodding to him - his way of a thank you - and he grunted in response. It wasn't until her back was turned did she feel his eyes on her back with a fierce intensity, watching her go.

Neither was the wiser, both completely unaware that the elder Dixon brother, Merle, had witnessed the whole exchange between his baby brother and the mousy woman.