A few nights later, I stood dragging the broom across the scuffed up floor. The checked tiles had long lost their shine, and the lights barely reflected on the surface. What was I doing in a place like this? I was smart, that much I knew. I had big dreams of becoming a writer. Why I never followed them past college, I couldn't fathom. Why I had chose to stay in the hell hole I grew up in ...

'Hey!'

I knew she was calling, and so I chose to ignore her. The only time she ever came down from the upstairs was when she needed a drink.

'JOLENE.'

'Yes, mama?'

My mother. I knew she was the reason I had stayed. After my daddy left; after he found someone else, he left her the bar. The Ol' Boot. They named it accordingly; apparently the bar was your friend, wasn't going to judge you. Just like an old pair of cowboy boots. I always hated the name.

I wasn't bitter towards the old man; I hardly knew him. I wasn't born when he left, and, I mean, sure he cheated. But I'd known my mom running around with the Johnson twins next door; sleeping with them - he'd had obvious grounds for finding someone else. He tried coming around a few times over, but my ma would always chase him away with a new string of insults. Hell, the only reason I knew he was my daddy was that the resemblance was always there, first in pictures, than in person the few times I did see him.

I know I shouldn't have felt so obliged to take care of her, but I was all she had. And, after all, she was my mother. When she wasn't drinking, she was kind. That's the side I chose to stick around to see.

'You needa clean yer ears, girl?' She slurred.

'No, mama.'

'Well, I reckon ya do, 'cause I jus' told ya somethin'.'

No, I didn't really have too deep of the southern slur. It rang on words heavy, but I didn't turn every word I spoke into a jerking sound. I pronounced things - I probably was one of the few in our small town who could.

'What's that, mama?'

'I said, why don't ya get on up that stage and sing yer pretty little heart out.'

The only compliment I ever received when mama was drinking, was that on my singing voice. She always wanted me to sing.

I propped the broom against the wall, and walked up on the stage, grabbing the stray, scratched up, faded guitar. It was in tune, and I began to strum her favorite - my namesake.

'Jolene,

Jolene,

Jolene,

Jolene;

I'm begging of ya please don't take my man...'

I played the song several times, until she finally tired of it, and I helped her up to bed.

'You know why that one's my fav'rit?'

I always said 'no', even though I knew this story.

'It always was. Then, when yer daddy left - was all I could think o'. The day you was born, it was playing on the radio on the way to the hospital. I knew right then and there, that was gon' be my baby girl's name.'

I waited for the speech that followed, and the usual push away from her. She was quiet for longer than usual. She finally pulled away and pointed her finger at me.

'That damn whore, only thing on my mind on the day my daughter's born. Ha! When I saw ya, it only proved I oughta name you after that damn woman. You looked only like yer daddy, and where I was reminded o' him, I was reminded o' her - an' there you was.'

She spit heavy on the floor, and flopped down on her bed. My mother wasn't big, she was the complete opposite, and the bed hardly cried out in protest.

She was petite, but years of heavy drinking on and off; the stress of owning The Ol' Boot - she had grown to look older than what she was. She had once been beautiful, and still could be, had she not reeked so strong of hard liquor and cigarettes, or wore so much makeup.

I listened to her snore, then walked out, shutting the door softly.

I looked at her picture on my way down the stairs, the same way I always did. She was about my age, maybe a few years older. Her bright blonde hair fell in voluminous ringlets down her shoulders. She didn't smile wide, but I could see the smile in her eyes especially; it was one of the last pictures my father took of her, before she had became pregnant with me, and before he had found out she had cheated. Her blue eyes shined, and her cheeks glowed bright pink. She was beautiful, and even more so when she was in love, that much was certain.

Upon reaching downstairs, I began to sweep again, when I heard someone bang on the window of the door. We were closed, and everyone in town knew it. We didn't get drunks coming and banging on the doors either, so I couldn't understand who it could have been.

I kept a pocket knife in the pocket of my apron, just in case. It was a trick my mama had come up with, and she had me doing it at all times. Of course, I had never used it on anyone, and I don't think I could unless I really had to, but it was there more as a threatening measure.

I was hoping I wouldn't have to use it for the first time tonight.

I opened the small window's curtain, to see a familiar face.

I rolled my eyes and unbolted the door; stepped back to let him in.

'Daryl? What are you doing here?'

'I came to apologize.'

'For?'

'Fer that dumbass brother o' mine. He's older, and here I am, his babysitter.'

'Why babysit him then?'

'Don't need him hurtin' more people than he already has, Jolene. He don't need to be gettin' hauled off again anytime soon.'

I knew Daryl loved Merle, but he was too much of a tough guy to say it.

'Well, apology accepted, Daryl. I appreciate it.'

Although Merle hitting on me was something I'd grown accustomed to, Daryl coming to apologize was not.

I reached out to shake his hand, but he just looked at me.

I had known him since we were kids. I was ten years younger than him, but talk got around in a small town; I wasn't the only one who had a rough childhood, and if anything, Daryl and Merle - especially Daryl - had it ten times worse. It had made him hard, and caused him to shut himself out to everyone. We spoke, and we got along well whenever we saw one another in town, or whenever he came to The Ol' Boot.

He stood up, and began to walk out. On his walk past me, his shoulder hit mine awkwardly, and caused me to stumble forward. He caught me by my arm, and helped me up.

'Sorry.' He muttered.

'It's alright. Thanks.'

We stood in an awkward silence for a few minutes, and needless to say I was surprised by what had followed.

Daryl leaned forward and pushed his lips to my cheek. Rough and quick, but I could feel there was some sort of emotion behind them.

I wasn't sure how I felt about him, I knew him, but not as well as I could have.

I guess tortured souls find each other, because, there was no other reason for me kissing Daryl Dixon on the lips.

'What're ya doin'?' He pulled back confused.

'Hey, you kissed me first!'

'On the cheek! Ya ever hear of an apology, Jolene?'

'Sure, but I ain't never heard of it being a kiss.'

'On the cheek.' He added.

I rolled my eyes.

'What? Did ya think you were gon' kiss me, and we'd ride of into the bedroom together? Hell, yer hot, but I didn't come here for that.'

What did I think would happen anyway? And sure, Daryl was good looking, but was he really my type? Bad, country boy, driving around on a motorcycle in a leather jacket?

'I don't know. My turn to owe you an apology, Daryl.'

He shrugged and scoffed. 'It's alright, Jolene. Don't think anythin' about it.'

'Alright.'

He nodded and walked out, and I locked the door behind him.

I guess I must have been feeling sorry for myself, because I don't think I ever would have kissed Daryl Dixon otherwise.

Tortured souls.