They find a bathhouse about a mile down the beach just on the other side of the pier. Daryl takes note of the area, making sure their safe haven has remained untouched before he allows either of them to venture inside. The water is pumped from a well that pulls from the ocean, so even the miniscule amount of filtration isn't enough to take away the taste of salt in her mouth as Beth drowns her face under the stream. It doesn't matter. She'd bathe in a bucket of pure sodium chloride if it meant cleansing the dirt from her skin. She's almost gotten used to feeling filthy by this point, but the shower feels too good to pass up.

She brought a change of clothes with her, so she eagerly strips from what she's wearing and tosses everything into a pile on the wet floor. Daryl is doing the same, but she hasn't bothered to look over her shoulder and check. They both give an unspoken agreement to provide one another with a bit of privacy. Not that she would care. Beth no longer has any shame about her body. Too many men have had their hands on her. What difference would Daryl's eyes make now?

Beth uses her fingernails to scrub the dirt from her pores. It's layered on, thick and grimy, but it comes off easily after the third rinse. She dips her head and let's her hair soak. Daryl found tiny travel sized bottles of shampoo in one of the suitcases, so she squeezes out a single drop into her palm. She lathers it, trying to conserve as much of the suds as possible before lowering her head back under the water and washing it clean.

She's turned around in order to get the hair at top of her neck, but when she opens her eyes, she doesn't expect to see Daryl looking back at her. He's not making eye contact, but he's definitely looking at her. It takes her a minute to register the exact part of her body that he's so mesmerized by, but then it hits her. He's not looking at her… he's looking at her scars.

That part of the story was purposefully left out, because she didn't think it was necessary. Daryl can understand that, can't he? He has scars of his own - ones he's never talked about, but Beth has always known are there. She's never made him tell her how he got them, because it isn't her place to wonder. Those scars represent a part of Daryl's past. They walked away from it - left it behind at the moonshine shack in a pile of smoldering rubble. This is different, though. Beth hasn't had the opportunity to burn her past to the ground. And even though she's already begged him to move past it, she knows that this won't be easy for Daryl to let go of.

His eyes hover over the mark across her chest. It starts at her left collarbone, covering the swell of her breast and disappearing under her arm. The skin is raised and warped and her nipple has been discolored, all because of the burn. Daryl looks haunted. The ghost of her wound has run away with his imagination, and she can see him mentally playing out all the scenarios in which she could have received it. She watches as the names race across his mind. Was it Negan? Dwight? Someone else?

Beth's first instinct is to fold her arms across her chest and cover the burn, but she thinks better of it. Instead, she straightens her posture, rolls her shoulders back and lifts her head. Daryl swallows an awkward lump in his throat, and when their eyes finally lock, he quickly averts his gaze. She steps toward him, and he flattens himself against the wall of the showers. He's nervous and uncomfortable, but it's not just because they're naked. Daryl has never been the best at confronting emotional situations. He's clearly upset by what he sees, but he can't say it out loud. Not unless she makes him.

Beth stands directly in front of him. She can see the beginnings of an erection forming between them, but that isn't important. Neither of them are concerned with whatever hidden desire might be lingering in the back of their minds. Sure, she's thought about it. In the great amount of time they've spent alone together, the idea of something more has definitely crossed her mind. She wouldn't be opposed if he's had similar thoughts, but right now there are things to discuss - matters of a higher priority - and Daryl is so distinctly aware of this that he doesn't even try to hide his arousal.

She takes his hand, and before he's able to properly protest against it, she places it over her marred breast. She spreads his fingers over the surface, letting them feel the raised and damaged parts of her skin. That's all it is now. Just skin.

Daryl bites his bottom lip. He fumbles, attempting to say something that might make a difference, but then he stops, because he know it won't. No matter what he says, it won't change anything. It won't mend what's been broken. It won't smooth what's already been scarred.

"It's okay," she tells him. "It doesn't even hurt anymore."

He moves his index finger across her flesh, and even though it's harder to feel, it sends a shiver down her spine. He breathes her name, and it draws out in a desperate air. Then his forehead falls against hers. They stand there for a long time, waiting for something to happen, but as she closes her eyes and relaxes, she realizes it's already happening. They don't need words. They don't need actions. They just need to be.

The water is getting cold, and Beth can feel the beginnings of gooseflesh along her arms. Daryl's shivering, but she thinks it might be for different reasons.

"We should go," he says.

They separate and dry off. They get dressed, but this time there's no need for privacy. On the way back to the house, Daryl places a hand at the small of her back. She takes comfort in it, knowing that even the smallest of touches mean everything coming from him. They've made progress. And that's more than enough.

...⧫…

Negan discovers the knife is missing only an hour after she leaves, but he waits until the middle of the night to confront her about it.

He comes to her room while she's asleep, and Beth is startled awake by the sudden inability to breathe. He's got his hand over her mouth. She desperately sucks in air through her nose, but her panic is making it hard to really get a good amount of it into her lungs. It's dark. She can't see anything. She tries to force her eyes to focus, but they've started to water because she seriously can't breathe. It's him. There's no doubt about it. No one else would have the balls to come into her room like this.

"I knew you'd show yourself," he whispers. His voice is slick with pride. Laced with unspoken threats. He shushes her. "It's okay. Calm down. Calm down. You knew this was coming."

The ridiculous amount of calm that's issuing from him makes it that much harder for her to muster any of that for herself. He's right. She did know this was coming. Part of her knew he'd snap on her eventually. But still, how far is he going to go?

Negan whistles, as if to call someone, and someone actually responds. Another man comes into the room, illuminated by the light outside of her door, and she can just make out that he's carrying something fairly large. He hands it off to Negan who grabs the handle of it with the fingers of his free hand and lets the object hover next to Beth's face. She can feel heat coming off of it, whatever it is, and now she's scared. A vision of Dwight's face jumps into her head, and she bites down on one of Negan's fingers. He yanks it back but reflexively slaps her. The sting on her cheek stuns her enough that he's able to pin her down. She's stuck. He's got at least a hundred pounds on her, so there's no chance to wriggle free. The other man is still standing there. He's casually waiting for the job to be done with his hands on his hips. Beth takes a guess and fears the weapon in Negan's hand is probably an iron. She cringes and braces for the hot metal to make contact with her face, but that's not what he's aiming for.

"It would be a waste to scar that pretty face of yours, so I'm gonna do you a favor by not using this the way I typically would. I can't let you go without punishment. You know that, right? This has to be done."

She stops squirming and tries desperately to calm her shaking muscles. Then, he rips open her shirt. Understanding what he means to do, she braces herself, but nothing can prepare her for the incredible pain she feels as the scalding surface of the iron sears her flesh. He presses it down firmly on her left breast, and she screams into his hand. It's unbearable. It's torture. He makes sure to leave a permanent mark, and after an entire minute goes by, she thinks she can feel her own skin melting. It has to be melting. She can smell it. When he finally lifts the iron away from her chest, she nearly vomits at the sensation of tearing flesh. The other man then conjures a jug of cold water and pours it over the burn. There's a single second of relief, but then the pain rushes back.

Negan stands up and hands off the iron to his assistant. They both leave without another word. Beth absorbs the pain as much as she can. She lies very still with her hands at her sides. She can't move, or she fears it will hurt even worse. Before she's able to fully process what's happened, the door opens again. This time, it's Honey.

She sits on the bed and turns on the lamp. Beth squeezes her eyes shut, forcing out the light and the tears. Honey takes Beth's hand.

"You have to come with me," she instructs her. "We need to soak that in cold water before I can clean it."

Beth shakes her head, but even as she does, Honey is pulling the covers away from her legs. She helps her sit up, and another rush of pain hits her hard and fast. Beth whimpers, and Honey takes her hand again. She leads her down the hall to the wash room. Beth has never been in here before, because Negan usually allows her to take showers in his private bathroom, but something tells her he won't allow her that luxury after tonight. Honey turns the faucet under one of the showers and makes sure it's cold before helping Beth under the stream. She lowers her to the floor, and Beth sighs. The temperature is shocking at first, but after a few seconds, the cold is enough to numb the burn. The rest of her body begins to shiver, so Honey places a towel over Beth's legs. They wait ten or fifteen minutes, and then Honey decides it's been long enough. She turns off the water, but Beth remains where she is.

There's a first aid kit sitting by the sink ready and waiting. Honey must have known this was coming. Negan told her what he was going to do. She was part of the plan. The aftermath, anyway. After the dirty work is complete, it's her job to clean up the mess. Beth wonders how many other girls she's had to do this for. Beth wonders if she's had to do this for herself.

"I was stupid," Beth mutters, her soft words reverberating against the shower walls.

"No," Honey disagrees. "Whatever you did, it was worth the risk. You have to take chances, right?"

Beth can hear the echo of 'I told you so' in her attempt at comfort, but it's not surprising. "Is this it?" she asks. "You said there's always more. Is this what you meant?"

Honey nods once and carefully pats Beth's chest with a moist towel. She squeezes out a thick ointment onto her fingers and begins methodically rubbing it into the burn.

Beth hisses and attempts to distract herself from the pain. "Did he do it to you?"

The girl presses her lips together in a tight line. "No. But he has other means of punishment."

What else could he do? The possibilities are endless, she knows it's true, but Beth tries not to count the ways in which Negan could make her life a living hell. She needs to escape. This, above everything else, proves that she can't stay here forever. She has to find a way to get out… even if it kills her.

...⧫…

The house is dark when they return from the beach. Daryl lights a candle on the kitchen table to give off some light, and Beth drops her old clothes into the sink. She'll scrub them and hang them out to dry later. One night won't make a difference, and she's tired.

Daryl hovers behind her, and his presence gives her solace. She knows he's lingering as close as he is just to give her peace of mind. He's making sure she knows he isn't afraid. He's seen everything now, and he isn't running away. He's not going to hide or retreat into himself like before. He's present, and he's here.

"You want me to, uh… fix us somethin' to eat?" he offers.

"I'm not hungry," she declines. "I think I'm just gonna go lie down for a while."

He drops his head. Stuffs his hands into his pockets. "Alright."

She doesn't intend to do it, but she finds herself resting a hand on his cheek. He nudges into it, and she smiles. "Thank you."

"For what?"

He lifts his eyes, and she brushes her thumb across the stubble on his chin. "For not making me talk about it," she says. "I promise I will. Just not right now."

They're both breathing heavily. Something is preventing her from removing her hand from his face, and even after he places his hand over hers, she doesn't feel like she could let go if she tried. He's looking at her with yearning. His lips part, and his body shifts closer to hers. He wants to kiss her. And she wants to let him.

"Go ahead," she whispers. "Do it."

"No," he refuses. "You're in control."

It's not because he's unsure. It's not even because he's nervous or afraid of what she'll do. He's letting her make all the moves, because he knows it's what she needs. It's the only way she'll ever be able to move past the terrible things that were done to her. If she kisses him now, it'll be her decision. Her choice.

So she does.

She presses her lips tenderly against his, and she keeps them there. She lets the soft caress of his mouth hold her in place before allowing herself to breathe. Then she does. She breathes him in, and he falls into her. Deep and powerful like the waves. His lips fold around hers. It warms her, and at the same time, it burns like salt in an open wound. But she knows it's what's necessary to heal. She knows the pain is only temporary. Soon, she'll be numb, and everything that hurts will be nothing but scars. Leftover wounds with hardened flesh that'll be ten times harder to puncture than before. His kiss will become her callus.

The power goes to her head. She forces him against the counter and pries apart the buttons of his shirt. He lets her do it, standing limp and willing like she's undressing a doll, but when his chest is bare, he moves to kiss her again. She clenches his jaw between her fingers and forces his mouth to her neck. He sucks greedily on the skin at the base of her throat and she gasps. He's doing everything she wants, and she wants him to be rough. It's messed up, and it's probably the absolute wrong thing to do, but she desperately wants it. She needs it, and she doesn't know why.

"Daryl, I need you to fuck me."

She feels him stiffen. He stops what he's doing and grips her waist, then he lets go.

"Please," she begs. "I'm telling you to."

Daryl lets out a deep groan in the back of his throat, then he lifts her off her feet. He carries her bridal style into the living room and drops her cautiously on the floor. He's careful not to restrain her as he hovers over her body, removing her shorts and panties. As he tosses them onto the couch, she removes her shirt. They're both stripped down in seconds, and she instinctively tugs at his hair to bring him down to her level. There's a second of hesitance as he scans over the burn on her chest, but then he moves. He shoves himself inside her, and she cries out loud.

"Yes. Yes."

He pants into her ear. "Godammit. Shit, Beth."

"Harder," she pleads. "Harder. Faster."

He does as he's told, slamming into her again and again while bracing himself on the palms of his hands. It feels good. It feels better than she thought it would, but that scares her. He fucks her, and it hurts in the best possible way. It's what she wants. She's in control. Not like before. Daryl's not like the other men with their pitiful erections and grimy fingers all over her skin. He's thick and firm, and every thrust hits in all the right places. The muscles in his arms are solid as they flex on either side of her head. He's taking her, but secretly it's Beth that holds all the power. She could stop this if she wanted. She could say no, and he would stop. He wouldn't hesitate. But she needs him to do this. Needs it desperately because if she can't feel this, she's afraid she won't be able to feel anything anymore. She'll be numb forever.

"Harder," she cries. "Daryl, please."

She doesn't realize she's crying until Daryl slows his thrusts. He's doing the opposite of what she's begging for, but it's okay. He's wiping the tears from her eyes as he continues to move inside her, unhurried and steady. She's still begging for him to do more, but she knows he's not going to. He's holding her. Kissing her. Whispering in her ear as she continues to cry.

"It's me," he tells her. "It's me. I'm here. Beth, it's me."

She hides her face in his neck and sobs. Her entire body shakes with rage and heartache. And all he can do is hold her. All he can do is continue to move. Not fucking her, but making love. Because he loves her. She knows he does. And it stings. Like salt in a wound, his love will be what heals her, so she lets it burn.