Working through the morning, Beth was happy to finally be getting to a good point getting all of the paperwork together for taxes on top of her already growing work pile. As long as she kept a steady pace going, stopping to answer phones as needed and help customers face to face here or there, it looked like there was an end in sight. Pleased with herself for being able to prioritize so well, she hoped Dale would be equally happy with the rate at which she had gotten things done so far.
She still thought it was absolutely ridiculous he had her typing out every single document but what was she supposed to do? Dale was the boss, it was all up to him. Even if it made things take twice as long, at least she'd always know where everything was, neat and in it's place.
Glancing at the clock, she wondered where Daryl was. Even Merle had gotten to work on time, having just left for a tow not too long ago. He was over an hour late, which was a little unusual for him.
Trying to keep her thoughts on the work in front of her, she goes back to typing, falling into the rhythm of her hands tracing the keys, her eyes floating above the words as she whispers them to herself.
The front door slams and in comes Daryl, looking more angry than Beth has ever seen him in all the time she's worked at the shop.
"Just got off the phone with Dale," he growled at her, eyes livid, a dark stormy blue, "ya fucked up, Greene. Cause you can't keep yer head outta the clouds, we all get fucked over."
"What are you talking about?"
He slides the paper towards her with one finger. "You charged a client $5,100 instead of $1,500. Needless to say, he wasn't happy."
A rush of panic filling her body, her hands shake violently, picking up the paper to review the typo. Sure enough, she had switched around the numbers. Covering her hand with her mouth, she looks from the paper to Daryl, his fists clenched so tightly, the white of his knuckles clearly visible.
"I'm iso/i sorry. I can't believe, I-I'm so stupid."
"Yeah, yer pretty fucking stupid after all, aren't you?" He snatches the paper out of her hand before she can even finish apologizing, cutting her off bluntly. "Come see me at the end of the day and we'll figure it out."
Leaving her standing, there, shuddering, tears ready to fall from her eyes, he stops in the break room to pour a cup of coffee.
"Lucky fer you the client is a friend of Dale's but we'll see what he wants to do with ya."
Sure enough, in only five short months, she had done something so stupid, something that could have been so easily avoided that it had already cost her this job. Here was another way to prove to her father, to Maggie, that she actually wasn't capable of anything. Of holding down a legitimate job and living her life like a functioning adult. She'd have to go home with her tail between her legs and show everyone that she was the same timid, scatter brained farmer's daughter she'd always been.
Sitting down in her chair hard, the reality of the situation hits her. Just when things were beginning to level out, everything went to shit. Daryl was right. She was stupid. Spending so much time singing to herself, daydreaming about completely ridiculous situations, some of which involved her boss himself, had cost her job. Digging her fingers into her palms, she looks up through her tears, she feels Daryl's eyes on her. Looking at her like the child she knows she is. Stupid and naive, she mentally kicks herself for thinking he could ever look at her as anything but.
"You just gonna sulk about it, huh? Gonna sit there and cry? I haven't fired yer ass yet." He shakes his head, a scruffy laugh erupting from his upturned lips. In that moment she's not sure how she ever thought there was a tender bone in his body, seeing him be so cruel, so heartless.
Doubting all the work she had done for the past week, Beth looked through everything scrupulously, hunting for any typo and imperfections, coming up empty handed. Everything Dale had said to her about human error was true. She was the human error.
So lost in thought, she hadn't even heard Merle come in the door, heading towards the breakroom. "Why didn't ya get any normal creamer, blonde? Ya really think I wanna drink this shit? Smells like a candle."
"I'm sorry, Merle. I forgot, okay? I'll go out on my lunch break and get french vanilla."
"Yer slippin', kid. Guess you can't always get by on your looks, huh?"
"What are you talking about?"
"Batting yer eyes, comin' in here all dolled up every day like yer headed to sunday brunch with the queen of fuckin' England. You do it, all women do it."
"I don't do anything, Merle, I do my job." She slams the file cabinet closed, blood pumping in her head, her cheeks feeling hot, her chest tight with a bundle of untangleable knots.
After trying to clear her head on her lunch break, making sure to pick up Merle's stupid coffee creamer, she wondered what Daryl would say to her that afternoon. Chances were he'd dock her pay or put her on some sort of suspension, if not fire her completely. Maybe Merle had been right, maybe she had been too obvious when it came to her crush on him. The way he looked at her lit a fire deep in her belly with those quick glances, those little smirks, boiling, bubbling over until she thinks she's ready to burn up from the inside out. All of that had to be in her mind, one sided, completely unrequited. There was no way in hell he'd ever think of her as anything other than what she knew she was this whole time. A dumb little girl.
All of the attempts to try to keep herself together for all these months seemed worthless, unimportant. Looking down the road, at the donut shop and the dry cleaner, the post office across the street, everything became very surreal, as if time were standing still. The few people who were out and about walked by slowly, the air seeming to swish by them quickly, leaving Beth standing there clutching the grocery bag for dear life, worried she'd fall over.
This was how it had begun so many times before. The walls began closing in on her, inching her towards that place, those demons dragging her back to the comforting, never ending cycle of panic and relief, gnawing at her every cell, every nerve. Knowing her legs were guiding her back to the shop, but not feeling them move, her brain was on autopilot now, leading her to the only thing that could set her mind, take her back to reality.
Putting the creamer in the fridge, she looks around carefully to see what the rest of the shop is up to. Peeking her head out the window, she sees T-Dog and Morales huddled over the hood of a truck, arguing over something while Merle is snoozing in an old, beat up seat in the corner, hat covered his eyes. Sure that she has time to take care of things before anyone notices, she retrieves the small kit she'd hidden at the bottom of her purse in case of emergency. How ironic something most people would consider to be an emergency, a first aid kit would contain band aids, antiseptic, neosporin, all of those things. And sure, Beth's kit had that, but it also had a small pair of cuticle scissors, shiny, sharp and inviting. Along with that was an exacto knife and several blades, brand new in the box, calling her name with every fumble of the zipper.
Propping herself up on the side of the counter, searching for a spot on her leg, she choses one on her right thigh, admiring the pale skin there, several scars reminding her of days past. Gripping the exacto knife tightly between her fingers, she makes three experimental slices, savoring every line more than the last. Pressing down harder now, she goes for a fourth, a hum coming from her throat, imagining the relief flowing from her body like blood.
Closing her eyes, she feels the knots in her chest slowly start to loosen, letting her breath a little more easily for the first time since leaving the hospital. The second her lids flutter open, she sees Daryl standing there, empty coffee cup in hand, looking surprised and confused.
"Beth?"
Gasping, she drops everything, the sounds of metal hitting the tile floor. Using her hands to push herself up and propel herself forward, she makes a beeline for the door, practically running outside.
Unsure how long she had been outside, Beth musters the strength to open the front door, seeing nothing but the empty lobby, no one waiting for her. Taking off her cardigan and tying around her waist, she grimaces at the blood stains on her skirt, knowing good and well it was done for. If she hadn't done something stupid to cost her her job before, now she knew it was over.
There on the desk, in front of her typewriter sat the small zippered pouch. Daryl had picked everything up and put it back inside and then sat it on her desk. He knew everything. Absolutely, mortified, she tries to hold back her tears unsuccessfully, shaking her head and letting them all free off her chest. Dr. Edwards had told Beth time and time again that she was like a yo-yo, going back and forth, all over the place. Stopping, falling, looping around and making herself dizzy, only stopping for a second, but always catching herself. This was one of those times.
Trying to keep her mind off of the events of the day prior, she trudges on with her work, no sign of Daryl since the break room incident. Saying a silent prayer, she hopes he'll just call and tell her he's letting her go and that will be the end of that. There's no way in hell she'd even be able to begin to explain to him what he had seen. She was pretty sure there was no way he'd ever understand it either. Even if he didn't fire her, how could he ever look her in the eye again?
Waiting for everyone else to leave, she knew it was time to talk to Daryl
Knocking softly on the door, which she's surprised he has closed now, he mumbles for her to open it. Sitting in his chair, hands locked in front of him, settled on his lap, his expression is different now, nothing like this morning or after the break room. She can't place the expression but it makes her nervous.
"I'm so sorry, Daryl. I-"
He cuts her off, as if he was waiting to, his words like glass. "I don't know what makes ya think you can do shit like that here, Beth. I know I was an asshole but what if someone else had walked up? Dale? Or a fucking customer?"
Standing in front of his desk, she feels about a foot tall, wishing he'd squash her like a bug, turning his heavy work boots and working her into the ground until nothing else was left. If she could do it herself she would have. Wanting to close her eyes and imagine the feel of the gritty cement pressing into her cheek, she keeps looking forward at him.
"I know."
"Do you realize the shit you do doesn't just reflect you, huh? You represent this shop. Dale, Merle, me. When you fuck up like you did today, you make us all look bad." He gets up from his chair, his height making her feel like she's sinking, looking up at his angry eyes and sharp features.
"I wasn't thinking. It was stupid." She barely whispers, knowing if he weren't so close he'd never hear her otherwise.
"You're damn right it was stupid. You think you get to do that? I treat you shitty because iyou/i fucked up, so you turn around and take it out on yourself? I don't think so."
He's behind her now, looming, watching, calculating every move and every word that comes out of his angry, spiteful mouth, words like poison dripping off his tongue.
"Is that what you want, huh? Wanna be punished?"
"I don't know." Clenching her eyes shut, she can't believe what he's saying, surprised by every syllable, sure she'll wake up from this dream any second.
"You don't think that makes more sense? Why should you get to feel better when I'm still pissed the fuck off?"
"I don't feel better."
"Put your hands forward. On the desk." Letting out a shaky breath, the does what he says, placing her hands shoulder width apart. His breath is hot on the back of her neck, leaving her feeling claustrophobic, the darkness inside her ready to swallow them both in one swift motion.
If he hadn't told her to put her hands on the desk first, she knows she'd have fallen to her knees the second he touched her, shuddering, stifling a cry from the back of her throat. His hands are hard, rough and warm, even through the fabric of her skirt. Rubbing the palm of his hand against her ass, he gets a firm grip, squeezing almost painfully hard. The other hand trailing up her neck, into her hair, pulling it tightly, golden tendrils tangled in his fingers.
"You think you can make a fool of me, huh?" He growls in her ear, his way of asking for permission to go on. Nodding her head and licking her lips, she can't look towards him, afraid that he'll tell her to stand up and leave at any second. Taking a second to savor the handful, she hears him hiss before he pulls his palm back, coming down just as hard. Taking a second, third and fourth strike, his breath becomes deeper. Steadying himself next to her, hand moving from her hair to her wait to keep her grounded, she feels the tension in his body, rippling through his muscles.
Not used to the sensations flooding her mind, Beth begins to feel overwhelmed with emotion, every swat leaving her wanting more, eager for the next blow, hoping it will be harder than the last. Pressing his hand against her waist, he pushes her down further, spreading her legs out further.
Giving her other ass cheek the same treatment, she revels in the pain, the sweet, aching pain surging from her bottom, between her legs, a heat building there, scorching her from the inside out. Moving from her palms to her forearms, she gives him better access, hoping for something, anything harder and rougher than what he's giving her.
"I knew you'd like that, huh?" He chuckles to himself, fingers toying with the zipper of her skirt. "Ain't much with this on though."
Pulling it down, he slips his fingers into the elastic of her panties, sliding them down along with her skirt, leaving them around her ankles. The cold is shock to her exposed skin, kissing the inflamed skin there every so delicately.
"Holy shit." He breathes, making her feel suddenly self conscious with his eyes on her like this. When he goes to put a hand on her ass, she can't help but arch backwards in response, her body aching with need. Gripping her more tightly then, she can feel how hard he is, up against her hip, her head swimming with the idea of what lies beneath his coveralls.
"I got you, girl." He whispers into her neck, leaning in to kiss her there, his face rough and scratchy against her skin, the smell of coffee and cigarettes filling her lungs. They stay like that for a little while, thinking, their breaths becoming synchronized over time. Shifting against him, she prays for him to do something, say something.
Pulling back again, he goes to take good look at her, sighing at the sight before him. Bracing herself again, Beth waits in anticipation, the calm before the storm waiting to submerge her fully. Taking her ass in his hand again, he squeezes softly, lovingly even, at her flesh. Pulling back, he gives a gentle swat, watching her wince in pain, biting her lip. Increasing the intensity of each slap, she feels herself growing wetter, knowing he must be able to see the juices dripping between her legs.
Taking his time, he alternates between each cheek, seeming to favor the right for some reason, as that was where this all began. He stops to caress her again, fingers slowly delving deeper, teasing her in a way she hadn't realized she'd wanted since he started touching her there.
"You know how I know you needed this? Hmmm?" His thumb traces the outside of her pussy, rough, calloused fingers shocking her in comparison to her soft, wet skin. "You're fucking soaked."
Sliding his index fingers up and down her slit, she gasps loudly, unable to form any words to answer him. Completely lost in his touch, she can't make out anything else he's saying to her, only focused on his fingers between her legs.
"That wouldn't be punishment though, would it? If I just gave you what you wanted after you did what you did, huh?"
"No." She gulps, realizing this is the first time she's spoken since he bent her over the desk. "I guess not."
"Don't give me any more problems and we'll see what he can do about that." Peppering her neck and jaw with hard, rough kisses, he slips a finger up to her clit, just barely grazing it with the pad of his finger. Lips finally meeting hers fully for the first time, he kisses her hungrily, tongue greedily exploring every inch of her mouth while his fingers ghosting along the swollen nub between her legs.
"You're not gonna fire me?" She whispers back into his mouth as he pulls away from their embrace, pulling her panties back up carefully.
"Really, girl? You think I'm that much of a dick? Gonna fire ya after all that?"
Pulling her skirt up and zipping the zipper, she notices the oils stains covering the once dusty pink fabric, his hand prints made out clear as day, right next to the blood stains, her skirt telling a story of the day as it unfolded.
"I wasn't sure, honestly. I was thinking until I came in you'd already made up your mind."
He walks back over to the desk, reaching for his pack of cigarettes. Placing one in his mouth, he lights it, shaking his head and laughing softly. "Nah. Think I'll keep ya around for a while longer."
Unable to think or respond, she puts her hands on her cheeks, knowing they've got to be as red as her ass at the moment. Oddly enough, she did feel better. Even better than she had if he hadn't caught her, if he hadn't chased the demons away for her.
Slipping her cardigan back on, she goes to leave, unsure of what to say to him, her head feeling like television static.
"Beth?"
"Yeah?" She turns to face him, already halfway out the door.
"You don't gotta do that shit anymore. You got a problem, come to me so we can take care of it together."
Nodding her head and closing the door behind her, Beth is still in disbelief, telling herself to walk ahead, get her purse and go home. As soon as she steps outside the shop, the cool night air brings her back to reality, the beautifully, painful reminder stinging with every step she takes towards her car, silently thankful to Daryl for taking care of her in a way she never knew she'd needed. In a way she'd never known anyone could help her.