"You're still here, huh?"
Daryl turned away from his truck and towards Beth. She was walking down the driveway, apron clenched loosely in her fist. The strings of it were dragging on the ground, limp and white. He gave her a small smile, nodding his head in her direction.
"Your old man kept me late so I wouldn't have to come in so damn early again," he explained.
"Not that six a.m. isn't early," Beth added, biting her bottom lip to stop from smiling.
"Ain't that the truth," he agreed.
She came up next to him and leaned against his truck. He noticed the pop of her hip - its gentle curve. The peek of skin above her jeans and shirt, lily white and soft - at least he imagined it was. And here he was, covered in sweat and smelling like horseshit, thinking things a man his age oughta not be thinking about a girl hers.
"Think you'll be coming back then?" Beth asked.
"Yeah, 'course," Daryl said back.
"A lot of people don't realize how much work it actually involves - the farm, that is. Daddy hires a lot of people for one day. Drives him crazy, he hates it, and every time someone quits I have to hear the whole 'your generation' speech, which drives me nuts."
"Well, I ain't your generation," Daryl snapped at her.
"Yeah, you're just about ancient," she huffed, rolling her eyes. "Don't be stupid."
"I ain't stupid, girl," he defended, his anger bubbling just below the surface. Daryl had heard that word lobbied in his direction one too many times in his life..
"You don't have to be stupid to act stupid," Beth said. "I could tell you a story about the time I knocked down a green bean display twice in one day, but I'm still smart as a whip. Just got a bit of a green bean blind-spot that day."
"What're y'even on about?" Daryl asked.
"I don't know," Beth said with a light laugh, not bothered by his attitude. "It was a long shift, and the manager was there, so I couldn't even listen to my music while I was shelving."
"Well, a chicken just about bit my finger off," Daryl grumbled.
"Yeah, they're pretty nasty sometimes," she said. "Especially when they've laid eggs. The only person who gets anywhere near them without injury is Maggie, and I think that's cause she's the same way with her stuff. I swear, I gotta give her renter's insurance when I borrow her clothes because one time a pen exploded in the pocket of her jeans when I was wearing them."
The sun was just setting behind them; the orange glow lit up Beth's hair, turning the gold strands to fire. He thought about the old tales of staring into the flames and seeing your future. Maybe if he looked at Beth long enough he'd see something good... Daryl tried not to think about. She smiled at him. He didn't know what to do with his hands, other than to shove them in his pockets, before they had their own ideas. She waved towards the house and he turned, seeing Hershel standing out on the porch, watching them.
"Guess I better go," Beth said, "the warden waits for no one."
"I'll see you tomorrow then," he said, hating how it came out sounding like a hopeful question.
"There's a very distinct possibility of that," she promised with a teasing smile and took off towards the house.
Daryl sat in his truck, work gloves soiled and flung onto the passenger seat. Something about the youngest Greene wouldn't let him go. He found himself thinking of her when he shouldn't - late at night, in his empty apartment. He would imagine her just sitting next to him, maybe laughing. Nothing dirty. Just simple, sweet, and clean. Daryl had wanted something like that his whole damn life.
Daryl didn't hear his brother the first time over the rushing sound of his heart pounding in his ears. Very suddenly, nothing seemed real. Not the walls, or the floor, or the ceiling. Or Merle's angry voice, getting loud and louder. When a pillow hit Daryl in side of the face, he turned to his brother, almost growling with frustration.
"What the hell do you want?"
"Would ya turn that shit off?" Merle demanded, glaring at Daryl from underneath his arm. "I'm too hungover to listen to some uppity princess bitch singing 'bout her heartbreak."
Daryl only response was to unplug the radio and whip it with all his strength into the wall. His brother didn't react, only rolled over and went back to sleeping on the couch. Daryl stalked out of his apartment in disbelief, stomach in knots. Beth.
The song had been about him - it had to have been about him. The interview before only proved it further. Letters? What the fuck was she talkin' 'bout? She hadn't tried to write him since they broke it off. She hadn't said a damn word to him, written or otherwise. Daryl kicked the tire of his truck. Is it just some bullshit story to go with the song? Artistic license, or whatever the shit they call it? But deep down, he knew Beth wouldn't do that.
Daryl's stomach rocked in his body, lurching and clenching with familiar heartbreak. They both had their reasons for walking away - the fight - it had been both of them. She had been yelling just as much as he was. Maybe he pushed a little harder than she did, but she never... she never said anything!
The lyrics echoed in his head over and over again until his brain hurt. What was she talking about? He checked his god damn mail. Every day. And his phone. Every day. He thought she would come back, maybe that was unfair - he could've opened his big mouth, but his father and brother had been right - Beth didn't belong in their life. But still, it was all he could hear:
Three hundred and sixty-five letters,
I said it all and got no word.
Three hundred and sixty-five letters,
won't bring you back but I wish they would.
Return to sender, oh, why'd you bother,
I remember every word.