An hour later, with our bellies full, we stood trying to decide what to do next. The group was split. Daryl and I wanted to raid, Carol was indifferent – probably still pissed that Daryl had slept downstairs with me – and Maggie and Glenn wanted to go in search of Rick and the others. Someone had mentioned a baby. I hoped to God that it wasn't true. I couldn't imagine trying to survive with baby-in-tow.
"I vote we stay 'nother night? Ain't nothin' we can do that'll put us any closer to the rest of 'em 'tween today and tomorrow," Daryl suggested, shoving his thumb into his mouth to tear off a phantom piece of skin before continuing. "Rest up. That's what I think." Daryl threw a pragmatic glance in Glenn's direction, earning a shrug from his friend.
Even in an apocalypse the male species felt compelled to lead. No fucking way they'd look to us women for any ideas. I had plenty of them, and none of them consisted of this little democracy we had going on here. Plus, I was still more than a little bent about the fact that Daryl hadn't so much as spoken to me since the porch episode.
Okay so, admittedly, I was a lot peeved about it. And it had me acting a little out of character, my emotions not near as in check as I tended to like them. Which was precisely why my vote consisted of me getting out of the house.
"I don't know, Daryl." Glenn seemed reluctant, Maggie probably playing a big part in his feelings towards the situation.
I knew she wanted to rejoin the group – wanted it bad – but there was a benefit to making sure that we were all good and rested, well fed. Plus we needed supplies for the road. There was no telling how long we'd be out there without any viable options. It was always good to prepare.
"Maybe Daryl's right. We can scavenge the neighborhood. Try and find enough valuable items that haven't already been picked over." With my voice seeming to echo amidst the silence, all eyes turned towards me. I didn't like it. Never had appreciated a whole lot of attention. It had me thinking that maybe I should've kept my snarling thoughts to myself. "I mean, I'll go of course."
"She's right. Regardless of our decision to stay or go, we're low on supplies. Five mouths is a lot to feed. I say we let her go," Carol suggested, taking a few steps in Daryl's general direction. I wasn't even certain that she was aware of doing it, gravitating towards him like she did. But she did it often…Along with insulting me.
Meltdowns weren't typically my thing, but I could feel one coming on. With my previous frustrations mixing in with the new, I was beginning to see red. I was tired of her incessant attempts to belittle me and place a wedge in between Daryl and me. Yes, I'd volunteered, but she'd agreed because it sent me out into the wild blue yonder and increased my chances of getting bit. Fuck, jealousy was something that I hadn't had to worry about before. Not my own or anyone else's.
"Carol, she's not going alone," Glenn said, throwing frustrated eyes in Carol's direction.
"Who said she was goin' at all?" Daryl all but growled. His eyes had narrowed into tiny slits, the hard lines on his face practically begging for a fight.
"She volunteered," Carol pointed out, shrugging innocently.
"She ain't goin' and that's final." His mud-caked boot slammed hard against one of the bottom cabinets as he said the words, drawing my eyes there.
Despite being annoyed with Carol's motives, I knew I had to get out of the house, breathe some fresh air, give my brain something else to focus on. Between Daryl's anger regarding my choice to go out on my own and Carol's jealousy…it was downright stifling. "Someone's got to," I found my lips saying. If I thought Daryl's mood was sour before, it was absolutely lethal now. "I'm a better shot than most, and my hand-to-hand isn't so bad either." Damn good, actually. I was smart enough to keep that part to myself.
"She goes, then I do," he ground out, looking at each of our companions, almost begging them to protest.
"They're two of our best shots. We can't afford for both of them to be gone," Carol said, shooting a pleading look back-and-forth between Maggie and Glenn.
My eyes narrowed, shooting deathlike glares at the back of Carol's head. While it may have seemed like an unplanned compliment to the others, I wasn't fooled. It was a strategic play to separate us by any means necessary.
"Then I'll go," Maggie said, falling right into her trap. "We made a good team back at the prison."
She was right. We had. But it still didn't make up for what Carol was trying to do. At this point, I didn't care who went with me. I was just tired of talking about it, of arguing.
"Maggie, you don't need to. You just lost your dad. And Beth…" Glenn trailed off, not finding it in him to say the words. Daryl looked towards the ground, guilt written all over his harsh features.
This shit was getting old. It was time to step up. Anything out there was better than the stuffy bitterness happening in here. I gave a resigned sigh, ignoring the attention that it garnered from Daryl. Turning instead, I grabbed my bow from where it was propped in the corner. My quiver was still on my back from the morning, along with my knapsack.
"Where're ya headed?" Daryl asked.
It sounded much more akin to a warning than a question. My anger flared beneath the surface. If he thought the whole kissing thing gave him some power over me, he was wrong. There were things that needed to be done and I was the right person for the job. Whoever went with me was their decision. I'd handle shit either way.
"While you all pull straws to see who gets the short end of the stick, I'll be outside. If you don't decide in ten minutes, I'm heading out on my own."
I intentionally let the door slam behind me, my anger more out of control than I'd intended to allow it. Maggie and Glenn couldn't make a decision to save their life. Maggie'd just lost her dad though, so I'd give her a pass. And Carol? She just pissed me off period. Then there was Daryl – the man it always came back to. What was it with him? Didn't he trust that I could handle my own? Was he afraid I'd get myself in a bind that I couldn't get out of? I wasn't certain what the dilemma was in his mind about me doing what I'd done up until being conked in the head by his brother, but I couldn't stop living because my vagina did funny things whenever he was near. In fact, that was the exact reason that I needed to keep putting myself out there. So my mind didn't get clouded with the lust.
And God was there a lot of it. As proof, the damned treacherous thing between my legs did some sort of muscle tightening tumble the moment it saw Daryl exiting the house, a cigarette drooping from his lips. He pulled a lighter from his pocket, hunching over to flick it between cupped hands. I'd never, not in a million years, pinned myself as someone who'd think smoking was sexy.
But it was. Fuck, it was a whole lot.
Obviously a glutton for punishment, I watched on as he took a long draw off of it, pinching it attractively between his thumb and his pointer finger. When he pulled it from his lips and released the smoke, he gave an appreciative grunt, something I'm not even certain that he realized he'd done.
I gulped back ample amounts of the lust that I'd been abhorring earlier, wishing like hell I could just convince myself to look away. He shifted a narrowed gaze towards me. Even from this distance, he looked like he had a hell of a lot to say, and none of it would be positive for me. That exact gaze pinned on me as he took heavy steps in my direction seemed to be the thing that did the trick, snapping my mind free of my shameless thoughts. My eyes darted somewhere behind him, noticing a few stray walkers off in the distance.
"Somethin' wrong with ya?" he all but spat when he reached my side, gripping my arm and pushing me behind him. He shoved the cigarette back into his mouth, raising his crossbow and nailing a walker that I hadn't seen approaching right between the eyes.
Fuck. How could I have let myself become so engrossed? By a man smoking a freaking cigarette?
"Not flappin' that smart little mouth of yers now are ya?" He walked over to where the walker lie dead and pulled his bolt from the bleeding head, wiping it off on his jeans, glancing back over at me afterwards. "I swear, I don't know whether I wanna kiss ya again or strangle ya. First this mornin' and now this. Volunteerin' and shit. Ya got a death wish?"
"I can handle myself just fine, Daryl," I said, spouting the only words that came to mind.
He shoved his crossbow into the dirt, using his foot to hold it down as he put the bolt back into place and pulled back to reload.
"That what you was doin'?" he said, drawing the weapon up by his head until it was pointed towards the heavens. He took another draw off of his cigarette. "Handlin' yerself while that walker was gainin' on ya?"
"I was…"
"Ya was what?" he snarled, stepping forward, placing his face right in front of mine. "Lookin' at me with some pissed off eyes like ya had somethin' ta say about it. I ain't got time for this shit. Me haventa act like I don't care 'bout your pretty little ass in front of 'em, then ya gettin' yer feelings hurt 'cause ya don't get yer way. Stormin' out here like yer wantin' ta say 'fuck tha world and everyone in it'."
I was fairly certain it was the most I'd ever heard him say. I was also fairly certain that somewhere, amidst his very heated rant, he'd called my ass both pretty and little and admitted that he cared for me. I wanted to cave beneath the sweetness of it, but I couldn't. Because he was angry with me, not trying to be sweet, and it was over nothing. That angered me – a lot. "So what if I am saying 'fuck the world'?"
"So what?" he said. "So what?!" he repeated, tossing the unfinished cigarette angrily at his feet, his eyes never leaving mine.
"Yeah, so what?" I challenged, stepping towards him.
"I'm in this fuckin' world, that's what," he snapped, shoving a finger into his chest. "You don't get ta fuck tha world and go out on yer own when ya got me." Now his finger was in my chest, pushing down hard, sinking into the skin, driving his point home.
"Oh," I managed, feeling his words heat over my skin, wiggling underneath, settling somewhere down deep.
"That all ya got ta say's 'oh'?"
Good God, he was damned hard to follow. Was he angry with me or trying to explain that he had feelings for me? I was so fucking confused…and pissed off and turned on. Jesus, what was this man doing to me?
The walker that had happened upon us, stilled my response on my lips. Without thought, I readied my bow, pushed Daryl out of the way and sunk a bolt into his head, precisely as he had for me only moments before. He released a strangled sound that fell somewhere in between a grunt and another growl.
After I retrieved my bolt, I caught a glimpse of his face. Still hard and angry, he looked about as pissed off as I felt. He snatched the cigarette from the ground that he'd tossed only moments before. Bringing it to his lips, he worked to fill his lungs with the smoke, puffing heavily numerous times in a display of anger.
"A thank you will do," I said haughtily, stomping off in the opposite direction. I had very little desire to stand and watch him smoke me into another silly lustful state. He was blurring my vision, my attraction towards him and everything else that came with that attraction, throwing me off-center.
I'd taken ten solid strides towards the street, the idea to place as much distance between the two of as possible the only thing on my mind. But something had me pausing, turning back towards him. Words stilled over my tongue, words I should've been keeping to myself, but couldn't force myself to. They'd bubbled to the surface with no chance of being subdued. "And I wasn't staring at you with pissed off eyes. I was staring at you, trying to figure out what it is about you that makes you so damned appealing to me."
His face softened, a hint of something different than anger flashing across it. "Ya figure it out?" he asked, taking another pull off of his cigarette...Almost like he knew what it was doing to me.
"No, not yet. I just…Christ! Would you just put the fucking cigarette out?" I asked, my teeth shifting over themselves, grinding down over my frustration.
He glanced down at the cigarette that he held, eyeing it with trepidation before looking back to me. "I ain't done with it," he said simply. "What's yer hang-up with me havin' a smoke?"
I growled, running a frustrated hand over my tight French braid. "Ugh, God. Nothing," I all but shouted. "Just that watching you do it makes me feel funny. And I shouldn't be feeling anything. Not with walkers roaming around. Not when I should be focused on what needs to be done. And it pisses me off."
"I ain't sure I'm followin'," he admitted, again staring down at the cigarette in his hand.
"Follow this: my head and my vagina aren't on the same page when you're near. Even when you're doing something as simple as smoking a damned cigarette," I ground out, wishing immediately that I hadn't. "I gotta get out of here," I mumbled, turning and doing what I should've two outbursts prior.
Carol was right about one thing. This relationship was liable to get us both killed.
"How'd you pull it off? Get them to agree to the both of us coming out here?" I asked as he neared, doing my best not to get caught ogling, hating myself immediately for even doing it.
And that was the precise problem with this thing we had going on, wasn't it? As angry as I'd been moments before, I couldn't find it in me to stay that way. Not when I couldn't stop myself from noticing miniscule things that turned my insides to mush.
Was this what it felt like to feel for someone? All out of control and shit. Was this what all of the girls back in high school were yapping about all the time? Wearing their stupid skimpy mini-skirts and flaunting their breasts like it was a damned meat market. Fuck. No wonder I'd avoided it like the plague.
"Told 'em it wasn't a choice. It's you and me. Best be gettin' used to it." He shrugged, hooking his thumb beneath the strap of the crossbow that ran down his chest. He'd rid himself of the cigarette before meeting back up with me. I should've been good - should've recovered from my schoolgirl fascination over the mundane - but my eyes seemed intent on noticing the pectorals that framed the strap of his crossbow.
"You and me?" I asked, liking the idea of it a little too much. The three words signified a blending of two individuals from a 'me' to an 'us'. I both appreciated them and feared them.
"Yep," he said softly, nodding as he scanned the area. The action had me doing the same. "You and me," he repeated, the words drawing my attention back to him. He reached out abruptly, his thumb tracing over the swell of my cheek, catching me off guard. My nostrils filled with the smell of nicotine and him. Both smells swirled together, creating an intoxicating mix that pulled at my stomach and all things below.
Just as quickly as the touch had happened, it ended. His hand went back to his side, my eyes drawing there, watching his fingertips rub together. Almost like he was attempting to rub all traces of our intimacy from their surface. My gut wrenched. Did he regret it? Touching me? Even after sleeping next to me the night prior?
"You good?" he asked, pulling me from my thoughts. He'd stepped closer to me, almost hovering, as he asked the question.
I knew immediately he was referencing my outburst from before. I had next to no desire to return to that discussion, nor did I want to delve into the issues that my overactive imagination was creating. "I'm fine. Let's go," I said, more than ready to tackle our responsibilities.
It took us all morning to clear the houses on the block, most of them having been raided by someone before us. We made the decision to begin on the adjoining street, hoping that we'd find more rations for the group there. With five of us, one can of anything would do very little to curb the hunger. We needed a good haul before leaving this place. The next meal wasn't always promised.
We found a house at the end of a cul-de-sac, the windows boarded up like someone had made a strong case for survival. After scouting the outside of the house, listening for noises – anything to indicate life on the inside or signs of multiple walkers – we headed inside.
The home was magnificent, the biggest on the block. I stood in the foyer, motionless and in awe, as Daryl closed the door behind us, locking it just in case. He put his finger to his lips, suggesting silence until we checked all the rooms.
"I'll go this way," I motioned towards the dining room off to the left. Pointing in the opposing direction, I added, "You take that route. We'll meet in the middle."
"You'll follow me."
"I said-" I began, ready to set him straight, stopping short when I saw the look in his eyes. They were downright lethal. He disapproved of my plan to separate. "Okay, so we'll stick together," I mumbled, caving even though I didn't think it was necessary. There was no sense in arguing now. Judging by the darkness that deepened his blue eyes, I had a feeling it wouldn't do me any good.
He jerked his head in the direction over his shoulder. I followed closely behind, trying desperately to ignore the part of me who was decidedly pouting over the fact that I'd been told what to do. I might've been in the process of losing my heart, but my independence was still very much intact. Or at least I hoped it was. I understood the need to stick together against a bunch of walkers, but in this house, there wasn't much I couldn't handle.
We entered the kitchen, both of us quickly searching through the numerous cabinets. There wasn't much that hadn't been picked over. I found a can of cranberry sauce. I frowned, waiving it towards Daryl. I hadn't liked it before so I didn't blame whomever for passing it up. He shrugged indifferently. I put it in my bag anyway.
Rounding the corner, glancing back towards Daryl who was neck deep in another cabinet, I eyed the closed door in front of me. Someone had spray painted the word 'Danger' across it, the large red letters staring back at me. Surely if there were walkers down there, they'd have already heard the ruckus and be chomping at the bit to ascend the stairs. Pressing my ear to the door, I held my breath, waiting. Nothing. Not a sound.
"It's bad enough I haveta worry 'bout ya gettin' killed. Now I gotta worry 'bout ya doin' somethin' stupid too."
My anger flared immediately. That was it. I couldn't take it anymore. All of these foreign emotions and unfamiliar situations were clogging my brain. Not to mention the fact that I was a little more than unsure of how to deal with the smothering feeling that his protectiveness was creating. I wasn't ungrateful. It was just…I needed the freedom to sort through the overwhelming feelings that being near him brought on. I needed to hunt because it forced me to take back control of the heart that I felt slipping away. I needed to kill so I could massage the ego that had turned so fragile.
When I spun around on my heel, armed and ready to set things straight, I came face-to-face with those damned, magnificent blue eyes - the ones that made my womanhood throb with need at just the sight of them. I all but lost my nerve. But I had to say it. I'd spontaneously combust if I didn't lay down some ground rules.
"I need you to understand that I'm not some delicate girl who needs a chaperone. I'm strong. I can handle my own…Much better than most. And I'm not stupid, so you don't have to worry about me doing stupid things," I said, licking my lips, trying to cool my jets. "Listen. It's not that I don't appreciate you looking after me – I do - but when it comes to being out here, handling what needs to be handled, I need for you to have faith...in me. Trust that I can hold my own."
"I know ya ain't stupid, Sage. It ain't 'bout that," he responded, closing his eyes down over a sigh.
The urge to touch him, to comfort him, was immediate. I balled my hands into tight fists to fight off the impulse. "What's it about then? Tell me. Help me understand."
His breathing was labored. His face, as usual, gave very little away. He just looked…angry. Angry that I'd put myself in danger that morning. Angry that I'd volunteered when he felt I shouldn't have. Angry that I'd appeared even the least bit curious about what lie on the other side of a door with a warning spray-painted over the front.
He reopened his eyes, staring intently at me before answering. "I don't wantcha so far that I can't protect ya is all," he said, shrugging his shoulders. His voice sounded more ragged than usual, backed with more emotion. "I'm sorry if that makes ya angry. We lost someone after tha attack on tha prison. I lost someone," he corrected, accepting blame. His face showed signs of heavy guilt. Again I had to refrain from comforting him. My short nails clawed deeper into my sweaty palms. "I don't want it ta happen again. If it does, I don't want it ta be you."
My chest tightened, hating the situation but craving his words. The dueling emotions that sat on complete opposite ends of the spectrum, the extreme highs and the lows of it all, was staggering. I felt dizzy and on the verge of a complete meltdown. I couldn't think. Couldn't breathe. Couldn't process the things that he was saying and the effect his words had on me. I didn't know how to deal with him, with me…with us. I turned from him quickly, heading in the opposite direction.
"Where ya goin'?" he called after me.
"To breathe," I responded, falling into a sprint, taking the stairs ahead of me two at a time. I stumbled into a nearby room, thankful that there weren't any obstacles between myself and the window across the way. Shaky fingers unlocked the clasps, pushing the heavy glass upwards before wiggling my body through the medium-sized opening. I inhaled the fresh air like I'd been trapped without it for ages.
Thirty minutes later he found me on the rooftop, flat on my back, staring up at the sky, feeling guilty over yet another uncharacteristic outburst. He maneuvered his body effortlessly through the window, coming to sit next to me afterwards. He relieved himself of both his crossbow and his bag, digging into the latter to produce a pack of cigarettes. He wedged one in between his lips, the lighter inches away from the tip of it when he peered down at me and spoke. "This okay?" he asked, the cigarette bobbing up and down with the words.
I nodded, trying to focus on anything but his lips and the reminder of the embarrassing things that I'd dumbly admitted during the height of my anger.
He lit the cigarette, lowering himself down onto his back next to me. We stayed that way for some time, both of us embracing the quiet. Eventually, and because I knew it was well overdue, I broke the silence with an apology.
"I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap on you like that, Daryl. I'm not used to people looking after me. Not since my dad anyway…" I trailed off, wishing my mouth hadn't said the words. It forced me to see his face, to remember things that I didn't want to.
I felt the warmth of his hand encircle my own, the contact warming more than just the skin that touched. Apparently, touching me before hadn't been repulsive because he was doing it again. Not only was he doing it, but his rough, calloused fingers were gliding gently over my skin. I shivered.
"This okay?" he asked, his velvety voice sounding distant, unsure.
"Yes, of course." I rearranged our fingers so that they laced together, wishing my brain didn't register how perfectly they fit. "This is better…I think." My words sounded just as unsure as his.
"I'm sorry if I'm smotherin' ya. I've not had anyone to look after before," he said softly, his thumb doing another generous sweep over my hand. My heartrate kicked up as more heat zipped through my veins. "Not really. Merle was always capable of getting' himself inta and outta things."
"I am too, Daryl. I did it before the prison. Nothing about that has changed. I can still do the same things now that kept me alive then."
He sighed heavily, waiting a few moments before he continued. "I know ya can."
"Do you?" I asked, my voice more accusing than I'd intended. I didn't miss the way that his fingers tensed beneath my accusation.
"Yes," he responded, his voice tight but sincere.
"What do you do with the others? Don't you trust them to take care of themselves? Rick and Maggie and Glenn?" I asked, ticking through the short list of names of the people that I knew in the group. And then, at the last moment, I added hesitantly. "Carol?"
"Yes, of course. They're just…different." With the flick of his fingers, he sent the cigarette sailing over the edge of the roof.
"All of them? They're all...different?" I closed my eyes down harshly after I said the words. I hated that my pride needed to know.
The subtle sound of flesh and fabric scraping over shingles had me reopening my eyes. He had shifted himself onto his side, facing me, our fingers coming undone with the action. I could feel his eyes on me, see the intense way that he was studying me out of my peripheral. "That somethin' yer worried about? 'bout Carol? After I kissed ya and told ya what I did on tha couch?"
"Yes. No," I spat out in quick succession. "Fuck, maybe," I corrected, blowing a frustrated breath of hot air upwards, cooling some of the sweaty strands that stuck to my forehead. "Look, I don't know what I'm saying…or why I got so angry with you earlier. You just…make me feel things…more intensely," I tried to explain.
"What kinda things?" he asked gruffly.
"I don't exactly know," I admitted. God, what did I mean? I paused, trying to piece together my thoughts and insecurity, to gather some courage. Mimicking his actions from before, I shifted onto my side to face him. "Like before, my anger was heightened. Logic told me that I shouldn't have been so angry because you were just looking out for me, but I was. You have to understand that most of that is just me being angry with me. You can't help that these feelings are fucking with my head."
"I'm sorry if me bein' near is fuckin' with yer head. It ain't my intention."
I shook my head. "It's not-It's just…It's more. It's deeper than that," I fought to explain.
"Tell me then."
"It's my attraction towards you. It's distracting and confusing. I'm drawn to you…like I've never been drawn to anyone, to anything," I corrected. "It's like there's this invisible, unstoppable force that won't be denied…and I can't…I can't stop it." I looked away, feeling vulnerable in a way that I couldn't recall ever feeling.
His finger slid beneath my chin, forcing my face back up to his. "Ya wantin' ta stop it?" he asked, his voice doing an angry shake over the words.
"I don't know. In a way, yes…because…Shit, I'm no good at this, Daryl." I inhaled deeply, ashamed to admit what I knew I was about to. "I've never done this before. Felt this way. Whatever this is," I said, motioning between the two of us. "It's almost blinding. I feel like I'm spiraling out of control. And this need to touch you, to have you close…The way I feel when your hands are on me…" I trailed off, the moment becoming too big for my newly delicate heart. "Fuck. I don't even know what I'm saying."
I looked over to him, trying to gauge his thoughts. His silence left me feeling even more nervous than before. I hated the vulnerability that this relationship had put me in. It made me feel raw and exposed. I'd walk away if I felt I could. But I was in way too deep. Sex with him wouldn't be the point of no retreat like I'd originally thought. I was already there…Just by knowing him.
"All I know is if I don't fight and kill and do all of the things that I did before you, I'll drown beneath this situation, beneath these feelings and emotions." I swallowed hard, not believing the things spewing from my lips, unable to stop myself from saying more. "Drown in my lust for you. This longing that consumes me and my mind…" And my body. I hated the way it all sounded - desperate and needy and so unlike me. "God, listen to me. I sound like a fucking girl. I don't think I can do this," I admitted, chancing a glance in his direction.
"Don't," he said again, his voice low, clipped.
"Don't what?" I asked, exasperated, exhausted by the weight of my own emotions.
I sat upright with every intention of placing more distance between us. His hand shot out to my wrist, thick fingers encircling it, forcing me to give him my attention. I craned my neck around to look at him over my shoulder.
"Don't stop feelin' those things fer me. Don't get upset because I'm overprotective of ya. I don't mean ta be. I'm no good at this either. I don't know how ta not be afraid of losin' ya. I don't know why I can't stop from feelin' this way about ya either."
For not being good at this, he sure knew exactly what to say to make my heart race.
"Sage, I don't' want ya ta stop," he said softly, loosening his grip over my wrist.
"I won't," I whispered, twisting my torso so that I could look at him fully. "I won't because I can't. Not even if I wanted to."
He nodded, not looking at all comforted by my words. I didn't know what else I could offer him though. Truth be told, I didn't want to feel like I did. I wanted to be the old me – fearless and free, confident and focused on survival. But he'd added another layer to this crazy existence of mine, one that couldn't be removed. I couldn't stop this train. Not even if it slowed. Because the urge to explore this with him – whatever it was - trumped the urge to remain the same person I had been before him.
"I thought I wouldn't see yer face," he finally spoke, pulling me from my thoughts. "Wouldn't be able to touch yer skin again…when we got separated. I kept thinin' about ya, bein' in my arms and all. About ya touchin' me and runnin' towards me in tha cell. I didn't think…Ahh, shit. I'm just glad I found ya," he said, shaking his head over the words, shrugging afterwards. "I know this scares ya…because it scares me too. But I ain't got no way to stop it. I don't want ta."
"At least it sounds like we're on the same page," I said softly. "We care but are afraid to. We want without necessarily knowing what it is that we want."
"I ain't so sure," he huffed out, biting harshly down over the nail of his middle finger.
"What do you mean?"
"That what we're wantin's tha same," he responded. I was confused. My face must've showed it. He leaned forward, reaching towards me to pull me back down beside him. Just as quickly as I'd settled comfortably onto my back, he was on top of me, his body flush with mine. His arousal was thick and hard as it settled between my thighs. "I got some thoughts 'bout ya that won't go away. Thoughts that I ain't so sure ya want me havin'."
"Daryl, I-" I began, so caught off guard and flustered I could hardly think straight.
"Ya what?" he asked hotly, peering down at me, sounding angry. "Don't want me thinkin' those things 'bout ya?"
"No, it's not that. I…" Didn't he know how I felt considering the night before?
His face was hardened, angry and undecipherable. I didn't exactly know what he was trying to say or what had spurned this type of reaction from him. His words had begged me not to give up, but his actions told a different story – almost like he wanted to scare me away. But they weren't scaring me away. My body was telling me so. I was just too caught off guard and inexperienced to know how to react in the moment.
"I've been wantin' ta touch ya in a way that ain't proper for a while now. I wanna see what I almost did in that cell when ya was washin' yerself. I'm not a gentleman, and it's got me downright scared knowin' it. I'm afraid I can't control myself when I'm with ya. I'm afraid of doin' somethin' wrong that'll turn ya from me. I ain't never wanted somethin' in that way that I knew I would want again after." He looked somewhere beyond us, his gaze intentionally not connecting with mine.
"Daryl, I-I don't know what to say."
With my words, his eyes shot back down to mine, a sour look playing havoc on his face. "Then don't say nothin'. I was thinkin' maybe I already said too much anyhow," he mumbled, rolling off of me suddenly. He fumbled through his bag again, finding the pack of cigarettes from inside, completely missing my body's disappointed reaction over the loss of contact – the frown that crept over my face, the flex that my fingers did in an effort to stop themselves from not reaching out to him. He jerked the cigarette up to his mouth, lighting it before taking a hard drag off of it. In a huff of frustration, he blew the residual smoke into the air, the small cloud puffing out, folding over itself before disappearing. He smoked half of the cigarette before speaking again. "Just know I don't mean nothin' by tryin' to protect ya. Nothin' other'n the fact I care about ya and don't want nothin' to happen that'd take ya away from me."
"I'm not going anywhere. And I'll be careful. I promise," I said, finally reaching out to him, touching his arm because I both wanted and needed the contact. Because he looked so distant, so unsure…so angry over something that I couldn't pinpoint. "Because I want you touching my skin...Doing all of those improper things," I found myself saying.
His eyes narrowed, the blue orbs emitting even more anger than before. "I gotta feelin' you ain't so sure what yer askin' of me…What I'm wantin' to give ya. What I'm meanin' ta do ta ya," he corrected, taking another hit off of his cigarette. "And I ain't certain I'm the right man fer the job. I already said I ain't no gentleman and-"
"And I'm aiming to prove you wrong," I interjected. "I'm going to prove you wrong," I amended.
"How so?"
"You are a gentleman. I already know it. But maybe…afterwards…you'll believe it too."
He tensed beneath my words. I knew immediately that he didn't agree with me, but I didn't know how else to go about saying it. I figured now was about as good a time as any to return to my scavenging duties. Gathering my things, I ignored my heart's attempt to pick apart every gesture, every breath that he took.
"Where ya headed?" he asked, his voice hoarse, thick with something that sounded an awful lot like emotion. I wasn't sure if it was a result of all the cigarettes he'd smoked or the heaviness of the conversation. Maybe it was a little of both.
"To finish the sweep of the house. We need to be headed back soon. We don't have much daylight left."
He nodded, stamping out his cigarette over the shingles. "I'll be behind ya shortly."
I made it to the opening of the window before turning back to him. The things he'd said were playing heavily on my mind, on my conscience. It'd lead me to believe that he had a low opinion of himself. I got the feeling that he hadn't been lifted up by very many people in his life. And he deserved it – to be lifted up. He deserved to know the truth. That he was so much more than what he had or hadn't been told. He deserved to hear what others had neglected to say.
"Daryl Dixon, you are one of the most amazing people I've ever met. You're good and honest and strong. I'd take a lifetime around someone like you over a single minute with someone else. Yes, I'm scared of this…of us…and that makes me want to turn and run the other way. But those fears are on me, not you. You have to know that you wanting me in that way isn't what scares me. It's not off-putting. It's the exact opposite."
"If it ain't me, what's scarin' ya then? I seen it on yer face, Sage. When I was on ya. Ya looked like ya thought I'd hurt ya."
God, he had it so wrong. So, so wrong. "All I wanted before you, was to be alone. Now, I can't think of a single thing that terrifies me more than walking through this shitty world without you. The fact that I've met someone who means that much to me…That's what scares me."
He looked away from me, the sun glinting down over the back of his head. Maybe I shouldn't have been so blatantly honest. I didn't stick around long enough to find out, thinking that maybe now the tables had turned and I'd been the one saying too much.