The First Time
Stella Darcy
She woke from a fevered dream with a gasp, her heart pounding in her chest. It was an old familiar dream but one she hadn't suffered from since the world ended. There were other, newer things to be terrorized about now. Not one to shy away from her fears, at least not anymore, Carol turns on her mat, almost daring the dream to return. Lying there awake, flashes of the dream skitter across the dark places of her mind.
Hands pulling at her clothes, his voice, "worthless, you're worthless, I don't even know why I bother." But he does bother, ripping at the shapeless clothes she tries to hide in, a backhanded slap when she stands there mute. Disgust rather than fear fills her. Yes, disgust for this man, her husband, but more so for herself. When did her life come to this?
Even the echoes of the dream are enough to twist her stomach. She sits up abruptly. They had found a boarded up senior center two days ago with a small cache of food and soft beds. After the loss of both Beth and Tyreese, they needed a place to just to breathe for a while. Breathe in the illusion of safety. As the remnants of the dream leave her, the feeling of disgust lingers, a bad taste in her mouth. She's changed. She knows she's changed. All the softness was burned away. Most of the time she doesn't mind. After all, weakness was burned away too. Sometimes she barely feels like a woman, much less like a real person. She feels like a strip of rawhide, knotted and toughened by the elements. It's what she needs to be, or so she tries to convince herself.
They get through the days and the nights as best they can. Survival is both the journey and the destination. An image of Sophia shines briefly, glitteringly bright in her mind and she shuts that thought down. Thoughts of her baby she saves for the moments she needs to lull herself to sleep. Right now, she's no longer tired. There is only a restless, rangy need to defeat this dream. Become more than rawhide, more than survival. Become, not exactly soft but fluid. Upon reflection, Carol doesn't remember consensual sex. Doesn't remember laughing, exploring with tenderness someone she loves. Suddenly survival is not enough. She wants to be more, not less, than her former self. She doesn't want to be haunted by old dreams. Resolved, she sits up and scans the room, looking for him. She glances at Rick, on watch by the boarded up window. Always vigilant, he sees her movement and they exchange a nod. She looks around again but doesn't see him. Catching her eye again, Rick tilts his head toward the adjacent room. He's in there. She stands, takes a deep breath and goes to him.
Daryl stands in the storeroom looking at but not seeing the small pile of food. He's dragged his mat and gear in here, just wanting to be alone. He would not think of Beth, nor the feeling of her broken head resting on his arm as he carried her out of Grady. He would not. He would stand here and not think. A small sound had him whirling. Carol. She stood in the doorway, looking in at him. Suddenly he feels conflicted by a simultaneous urge to both hide from her just as he desperately wants to put his head on her shoulder, burrow down at the glistening, delicate collarbone he finds himself staring at sometimes. He turns away abruptly, confused. He is too aware of her sometimes. He knows this. He tries not to be. When she's at his back, he's not surprised. She can always read him. Resigned, he faces her once more and is more than a little shocked when she grabs his hands and gently pushes his palms back with what feels like a caress of her thumbs. Unused to anything resembling a soft touch, he takes a step back uncertain. They don't do this. They don't touch. Excepting the time he saw her after escaping Terminus, when that sudden, fierce joy flooded him and grabbing her and holding her was all he could think to do. They don't do this. Soft touches in the dark. He takes another step back, hitting the wall. Trapped. With an unfamiliar look in her gray eyes, she takes another step closer, still grasping his palms. She leans in and kisses him, right on the column of his neck under his ear. Daryl's breath stutters to a stop. He wants to push her away, he wants to cry, he wants to haul her against him. He does nothing. He just stares at her. A lifetime of hurt, anger and disappointment in others shaped him into the man he was. The end of the world forged him anew, giving him purpose, pride, and yes, grief. In this new world, he has people he cares about, people he loses. He still feels alone, apart. Except with her. His past experiences with women were drink fueled, sometimes paid for. He doesn't ever remember feeling truly wanted. He doesn't ever remember making a woman smile.
She leans back and looks at him. In her clear voice, the one he sometimes thinks he dreams about, she says, "I don't want to be afraid." Then more firmly, almost to herself, "I'm not afraid." And then she kisses him again, this time higher up, right under his jaw. And he is lost. It feels so good and it's her and he just wants something for his own. So even though he's not really sure she wants this, not truly, not him, he grabs her by her arms and flips her so it's her back against the wall. He kisses her but it comes out wrong, like a word you didn't mean to say. It's too hard, too bruising, too angry. He doesn't know or remember softness but he knows this isn't exactly right either. Her sudden twisting away and murmur has him backing up, ready to fling hurtful words in the face of his own blazing hurt. Of course she doesn't want this, want him, not really. But before he can get a more than a foot away, she brings him back, gripping his elbows. A third time, she kisses him, soft and open on his disbelieving mouth. Awkwardly, he tries to follow suit, imitating her pace and pressure. He is gratified and amazed when she cups the sides of his face and gently licks his bottom lip, gentling him further. Suddenly he is drowning in the feel of her and her arms now wrapped around him. He's instinctive now and hungry for more. When he deepens the kiss and hugs her lithe body close to him, he's rewarded by her gasp and feels lightheaded. He could kiss her all night, all week or all year but he suddenly he has to know and he pulls back, looking at her questioningly. Her gray eyes shining at him, Carol smiles and it's all he needs. He sinks back to her mouth. For all the roughness and punishment in their old lives, and all the roughness and punishment in their new world, finally, finally, for the first time, a road to tenderness has been paved.