Not a word was said between the two of them after that. Not one. Carol had been terrified into silence. Daryl no longer made the effort to stay within the room, relegating himself to the corridor. Carol spent the hours that trudged by staring miserably at the walls, hunched over her bent knees just wishing she could cry. She needed to know there was some emotion still inside her, terrified further to consider that to have been in such company for these few days that she was becoming like them. She didn't want to be cold. What she really wanted was to stop shaking so violently and to sob her wasted heart out. But she hadn't dared because the last thing she wanted was to be heard, ridiculed by anyone. Especially not him. Because now... he did scare her a little.
She'd seen the white-hot venom in his eyes and alone now, couldn't help but wonder what it was she had been probing so viciously in his life that he might throw her against the wall, truly hating her, perhaps needing to threaten her. Oh, and he'd definitely done that, the flesh of her neck still tender and sore as the angry bruise undoubtedly formed. She could almost feel his hand tightening around her throat as the pain coursed. And yet she felt nothing towards him. Nothing more hateful and nothing less.
She'd simply stayed hunched on the bed, watching the clock, waiting for nothing and no one.
It had been about half past eleven when she leapt a foot off the bed in fright, forced to register the activity around her once again as the door crashed open. She recoiled immediately, the need to protect herself instinctive. Because the man that stood in the doorway was not one she knew, and she could feel inside that he also was not one she wanted to know. There was something about him that was all wrong. And the fear itself was sickening.
He'd given her a cold, toothy smile that made her feel like she wanted to retch. He swaggered over and dropped two very expensive looking bottles of wine on the bed before pulling a corkscrew out of his deep pocket and swinging it menacingly. She flinched and that toothy sneer mocked her. God knows how much ale was stale on his breath as he leaned in towards her and leered; "Something Mr Blake wants you to have, gorgeous." His eyes never moving higher than her breasts, he added; "Wouldn't mind a bit myself."
The look on Carol's face was all he needed to recognise how repulsed she was, but that seemed to make his grin wider. Thankfully, her flesh was allowed to crawl a little less as he drawed back. She had expected so much worse. Well, maybe not from...
She felt her stomach jolt. "Wh-Where's Daryl?"
"Dixon?" the intruder puffed. "Out on some business? And that isn't any of yours." he added warningly. Carol dropped her gaze obediently, careful not to raise it should bile come up in her throat at the sight of him. "It's just you and me tonight babe."
"No thanks." She shivered with a scowl. "I don't fancy the company."
"That's a shame, the company definitely fancies you."
His grubby finger trailed down her chest and as it skimmed across her breasts, she shoved it roughly away. "I'd rather you killed me first."
"Oooh." he winced playfully. "Saying it like you mean it? Don't tease me, babe, don't tease me."
And he backed out of the room, blowing her a kiss. She turned her head away in disgust, waiting for the door to click shut before she found herself betraying her every instinct and principal - she agreed with Philip Blake. It might well have been time to get blind drunk. The lack of glasses did not pass her by as she set roughly to work with the corkscrew and neither did the possibility that the liquid was laced with something. But she drank it down steadily from the bottle anyway, hardly caring. Maybe she was bored of loneliness, of this nothingness.
The two bottles saw her through to the first minutes of the new day, and Carol's head was happily clouded with drunkenness as she slumped back on the bed, cradling the bottle like a child. She laughed to herself about nothing at all, relieved to feel something that so willingly masqueraded as happiness inside her. She was normal again.
She heard the door handle creak, but couldn't even be bothered to entertain the idea of turning her head to take in the presence of the intruder.
"Oh... you're still awake."
The voice registering, She jumped a little, snapping her head round. She bit down into her lip, needing desperately to keep down the relief she felt.
"Hello Dixon, Where's Shrek?"
"Shane ya mean? Off to get his beauty sleep. Kinda needs it, don't you think? An' it's Daryl."
Carol nodded. "I'd offer you a drink, but there-" Giggling she glanced pointedly between the two drained bottles. "-there isn't any!"
Smirking, Daryl glanced at the floor, shaking his head. "Not big on wine, don't worry."
"Oh I wasn't worried." she assured him brightly, shrugging. "Why?" Suspicion, Daryl saw, flashed in her eyes. "Should I have been?"
"Who are ya, my Mama?"
"Would she have been worried about what you've been doing? Really? What was it tonight? Robbery? ABH? Manslaughter?"
Daryl tilted his head back and laughed dismissively, obviously humoured by her attitude. "Yeah. Of course. Me an' a couple of the boys went downtown, and pinched a few old ladies' handbags. Then we sold a crack haul to a load of teenage zombies on the stairs. Then when they couldn't pay, we roughed 'em up for a bit of light relief, y'know? Not sure how many of 'em still have pulses, but... shit... you're jus' never gonna have any idea are you?"
"Where have you been?" She demanded.
"What's it to ya?!" he snapped back. "Stop with the fuckin' questions? I can't stand talkin' to drunks, they do my head in."
"Well excuse me for needing a little pick-me-up, not exactly having the time of my life here!"
But Daryl rolled his eyes. "Do you wanna know how much worse it gets? 'Cause y'know what, I'd tell you if I thought you could take it. But Philip would go spare if you threw up on these carpets. An' I reckon you would. Get it?"
Scowling, not quite able to look him in the eye, Carol nodded and winced as a flame of pain shot up her neck, her hand flying up instinctively to rub it gingerly.
Daryl frowned in confusion. She smiled weakly and looked away again. She continued to rub at her neck in wider circles, the movement of her hand displacing the curtain of her curls and revealing the large, angry bruise.
"Fuck..." Daryl's mouth went dry. "Did I...?"
Biting hard into her lip to keep any accompanying words back, she nodded, wishing she hadn't and wincing as the pain came again.
"I shouldn't have..." he mumbled distractedly after a few minutes, rolling the other empty wine bottle between his hands.
"But you did." she stated simply, shrugging.
"S'way over the line."
"Oh shut up." Carol scoffed. "You don't know where the line is. That's why you live like you live!"
"Don't blame the lifestyle. Fuck, even Blake knows there's some things you jus' don't do to a woman. An' me? I've done one of 'em right there." His guilty eyes traced out the mark. "I didn't mean-"
"Yes you did. You have to. Everyone gets what's coming don't they?"
"Yeah, I guess."
As Daryl smiled uneasily, Carol was staggered to find the same expression had stolen her own lips as they looked at each other. For a second, it was almost as if they understood one another but it disappeared quickly enough however and unease swamped her.
"What does he want, Daryl? From me?"
"I don't know." he answered honestly, not quite comprehending how the need to be such had overwhelmed him. It never had before - Daryl's skill at deceit was what set him apart in this world. And yet to her, he couldn't lie. Maybe it was the fright in her eyes. He'd seen it in too many other faces not to understand it on some level, however cold he was. "I don't think he'll hurt you none."
But she couldn't be placated, hugging her knees anxiously. "But you don't know do you? No one can know Philip Blake. Because that's what Glenn said, and where's he right now? Where did you send him?"
"I told you.. he'll be alright."
"That's not the point!" she cried out desperately. "It's not just Glenn... or...me - it's my Dad, it's my brother and I'm scared! Scared I'll never... oh I don't know!"
"Carol..." he began uneasily, tugging the bottle from her hand. "...you're drunk."
"Oh so what? You're gonna kill me anyway right?"
"I said... I ain't here to hurt you."
"Well I don't believe you."
"Jesus Christ..." he muttered hotly, pulling himself up from the bed, an empty wine bottle swinging from each hand. "You think if I was meant to, I'd have waited this long? You do my head in! But you never lay your hands on a woman. You jus' don't. An' it don't matter whether you believe this or not, but I'm sorry. I really shouldn't have lost my temper like that."
"You've had the frighteners put on you." Carol said thoughtfully, scooting forward towards the end of the bed.
But Daryl just laughed weakly. "Listen to yourself will ya? The frighteners? Do y'know what they mean to men like Blake? Yearly stints in Intensive Care usually cover it. An' in case you hadn't noticed, I still have the use of both my legs. Lucky old me eh? Still, clock's tickin' right? I shouldn't have touched you."
Carol's expression was unchanged and he sighed gently, understanding as he turned towards the door.
"Daryl?"
"Hmmm?"
"You'll be alright, won't you?"
He tilted his head, the smirk in the corner of his mouth definitely one of disbelief. It almost sounded as if she was scared of the possibility enough to care, but he'd been alive long enough to know it was never going to be true, especially in the case of the first woman whose throat had so obviously suffered by his own hands. He felt sickened at himself, not least because he knew the ways in which he would be made to suffer and yet somehow, what he felt towards her hardly allowed him to feel that way at all.
He pushed down the door handle and pushed open the door with his elbow, giving her a tight smile as he hunched his shoulders.
"Don't matter none, does it? Neither of us care."
