AN: Hello all. Please don't be too shocked that I have another chapter ready within days of the last one Thank you so much to all of you that have been reading and reviewing. I get such a kick out of knowing what you think, and apparently I am not above begging for your feedback. Keep it coming!
Part Ten
The middle of the night was when she'd always found it the quietest. Found a small, secret pocket of peace hidden in what was the ruin of her life. Ed would sleep, leaving her to either breathe in relief that he hadn't chosen to hurt her that day, or left her bleeding or in agony to fix her own wounds. The neighbourhood would be silent, filled with families with sleeping children and tired parents counting down the minutes till their eyes could close to their day, and Carol would creep or stumble around like a mouse or a zombie, whichever state she was in, and the only thing that reassured her was the quiet. The distance between her and those other people she'd never made an effort to get close to in fear they'd learn how she lived through her life and still not care to help. At the quarry, things were a little different—the people around her always made one sound or another, whether they were awake or asleep, and if those subtle reminders of people being near weren't enough, the hoot of an owl calling through the night or the scrabbling up the bark of a tree by some critter with sharp claws quickly reminded her of the fact. The middle of the night used to be the time she crept away—sometimes whole, sometimes broken—and she'd think and dream and plot ways to escape her miserable life. Think up a scheme that would take Sophia away from it before she fully comprehended what the staccato screams, drawn out wails of pain and the muffled thuds against the bedroom walls could possibly mean. Out here, surrounded by all these people, Carol found the continuation of noise to be disconcerting at best.
She had a lot to process. She had her first night of freedom in fifteen years to celebrate—to be marked by something momentous. She didn't know what that could be, didn't know what she wanted it to be, only knew that she had to do something to remember it by as the most important moment of her life next to the birth of her child.
Most of the camp had retired for the night; only small fires continued to burn near individual tents, indicating that some were still awake if not active in anyone's sight but their own. Carol could hear quiet murmurings from Lori's tent, guessing that Carl was asleep and Lori was finding comfort in the man that had so far kept them alive. She didn't begrudge the woman that, knowing that comfort received was often not quite the comfort sought, but finding it strange nevertheless that she'd escaped one man and went and got caught up with another.
Carol dropped her head into her arms across her bent knees, and tried to steady her breathing. She couldn't do that, couldn't condemn someone for moving on and finding solace, especially in a worthy man like Shane. It was hard to remember sometimes that not all men were like Ed, that they existed only for putting their women down, for planting fists into their faces and soft stomachs, for finding satisfaction for the spill of blood when a slap or a punch might split lips. Not all men wanted to hurt those they supposedly cared for, and while theoretically she knew it was true, Carol had had too many years of conditioning to cast away suspicion and cynicism overnight. Not even when men like Merle and Daryl had made her their pet project of the day.
They'd had a spare tent. She didn't want to know why two single men had three tents. Something ticked in her brain trying to make her whittle the idea into a solid truth, but Carol refused to give it room to breathe. No matter what kind of men they'd been before they'd reached this camp, and no matter what kind of men they were with their own women when they had them, to her they'd given her back her life, and for that she would be forever grateful. She'd ignore Merle's mumbled insults toward other members of the group, the ones that whispered 'racist' and 'sexist pig', knowing that he said them quiet enough that he'd suspect she hadn't heard a thing while she sat zoning out in front of her tent, shivering, confused, but stubborn enough to ignore the small sparks of fire in front of other tents while she waited for the urge to sleep. At least she knew she'd have enough inside her new home to keep her warm when she did finally crawl inside. Thanks again to Merle, she'd been marched earlier over to her and Ed's tent, her barely standing husband swaying in the breeze as he was roughly held up by Shane and T-Dog while she gathered not only the clothes she'd managed to pack before fleeing their house, but also a pillow and some blankets and some of the precious food Ed had sequestered away from everyone else's eyes. Before she'd left that tent for the final time, she'd stared around her, reliving the previous day when he'd laid his hands on her, spilled his ugliness all over her, and she set the memories to flames. It was over, this chapter of her life, and now she was more than ready to move on.
Merle had walked her to her new home, a small tent pitched between the Dixon tents and those of the rest of the group, then helped her pack all of her things inside before tipping his head at her, a glint of satisfaction sparkling in his eye, and walked away. He'd left her there to contemplate her new life on her own, his good deed complete, and Carol watched as slowly everyone said their goodnights, leaving Glenn on watch as the others tried to forget that life as they'd taken for granted had been blown to bits and nothing would ever be the same again. They hid in their tents or in their vans, and slept, no doubt dreaming of all the things they'd left behind, all the things that had made them complete, while Carol sat in front of her tent and contemplated how new and full of hope everything suddenly seemed to be. Jacqui's words rang in her ear, telling her of endless heartbreak but pushing the need to let it all go as much as she could. Telling her not to forget her daughter, but to surrender some of the guilt so that hope and faith could enter her heart. Sitting here now, trying to hide amidst the almost quiet, she could feel the words' impact.
It seemed like something evil to embrace hope when she'd just lost her daughter. Sophia had been everything, and now she was nothing, gone like last season's snow and all because of Ed. Everything to do with Ed. She'd cried more tears than she known a body could produce, but as Carol's eyes fell upon Ed's tent on the far side of the camp, she knew it was enough. Just like she'd said goodbye to the way Ed made her feel inside that tent, she had to say goodbye now to the tragedy that had taken her little girl. No matter what, Ed couldn't hurt either of them anymore, and at least for that she'd be thankful.
It felt like…if she shrugged off the unbearable shame and guilt she'd been forced to wear for years, it felt like she'd been reborn. Like Ed had crushed out all the old her and once the wind had blown free all the cobwebs taking up space in her head, she was left with room to grow—room to fill with new things, exciting things, meaningful things. She'd been given a new life and it was time to embrace it, if she only knew how. Carol felt no fear—not of being consumed by those walkers that she'd not seen many of since making it to this camp, not of Ed sneaking up on her in her sleep and killing her finally, not of being left behind, or lost or starting again. She knew she should be—she wasn't six foot tall and bullet proof. She was still just a woman who mere days ago had been afraid of her own shadow, too busy grieving the death of her daughter to piece together the true events that had led her there. She should be scared—but she wasn't, and that realisation seemed to be the most stunning one of all.
When Daryl had put up the tent for her, he'd left a small knife beside the inside of the door flap and Carol had picked it up and let the weight of it sit in her hand for a long time—long enough to start becoming accustomed to it. She'd sat outside now, under the moon, contemplating her life for hours until her eyes stung as almost everyone else in camp had finally found sleep and, beside her, gripped casually in her hand, remained the knife. It seemed to reinforce this simple reality of freedom, of discarding fear off her back, of embracing change, and Carol relaxed. She smiled and looked up at the moon and suddenly she felt it urgent to shed every last horror of her past so she could start fresh, change her mindset—become something new. Metamorphose.
Almost trance-like, Carol stood, the knife clutched loosely in her hand, and made her way quietly toward the lake. Her ears were attuned to the night now and she felt more confident than she ever had that if Ed snuck up on her, this time he wouldn't get the chance to wrap his hands around her throat before she had this knife's blade slammed into his throat. She might not have the skill, but she had the intent and if she'd learned nothing else these last few days, anger gave you super-human strength and blind ideals when you least expected them.
No one noticed her leaving camp, not even Glenn as he sat on top of the RV and scanned the surrounding landscape for movement. On the one hand that lack of observation frightened her—how easily any of them could be snuck up on and killed while they were sleeping—but on the other, she was grateful to not have eyes on her. She was grateful to be completely alone. It didn't stop the mad, erratic thumping of her heart in her chest, though, knowing that her sneaking off could be the thing that got her killed. Then where would she be? Claiming to need some kind of cleansing from her former life wasn't going to be much of an excuse if one of them found her being nibbled on or turned into one of those things herself.
She was committed to this decision now, though, and with a determined heart, Carol struck a steady path to the lake and kept on going, her gaze skittering nervously all around her, Daryl's knife clutched securely in her tight grip, despite the slipperiness of her palm. She pushed through the darkness like she was progressing through a blizzard, her head down, feet determined, but the density of her surroundings almost suffocating her. Her body trembled, even though the air was brisk rather than cold, but that bloom of grief kept surging and swelling in her heart until it just ached with the pain of it. Until her whole body just hurt with needing to feel her daughter in her arms once again.
Each step became harder the closer she got, but Carol refused to turn around. The soles of her feet burned, a headache started to pound insistently inside her skull and her stomach roiled sickeningly. By the time she reached the bank of the lake, she felt truly sick and struggled to hold it in. She shivered as soon as she saw the calm surface of the water, the cool breeze skimming across the hairs on her arms and leaving her frigid and alone. Nervously, Carol kicked off her shoes, glanced over her shoulder up the hill to make sure no one had followed her, then, feeling confident she was alone, completely disrobed and placed her first foot into the water.
She moaned at how warm it was—unnaturally so considering how frozen she felt inside. The water glided around her flesh like silk the further she waded in and Carol gasped and shook. The sensation was almost that of a lover, caressing her gently as her naked body made progress to the centre. Subconsciously she searched for the spot where she'd tossed her wedding ring after Ed attempted to kill her, wanting to banish all her ghosts and call for peace in a spot that held power. Despite the encompassing warmth, Carol felt the water ripple around her ribs, rising to her nipples as she reached the place. Her body reacted unexpectedly, her nipples hardening and drawing a painful tug of arousal from her belly to her core. There was nothing to respond to, just the gentleness of the water and so she laughed softly, embarrassed. Drawing in several deep breaths to centre herself, she closed her eyes, shut everything else out and remembered her daughter. Pictured Sophia in every capacity she could think of, made every effort to celebrate her life the way a mother should, and she wept through it all. She cried silently, her face wet with the liquid evidence of her love and loss. The memories rolled through her, dragging up new ones she'd thought she'd forgotten or ones that had been buried because of brutal ones that had preceded or quickly followed. Not once did she let herself succumb to dreams she might have had for her daughter, never gave in to the hopes that were now denied, just remembering all that was real in this new world that seemed anything but.
When it was ended, when there was nothing more she could pull from her memory, Carol unchained the cross from her neck and held it in her hands, staring at Jesus as he surrendered for her sins and brought it slowly to her lips, kissing it once then letting it ghost through the water as the chain slid from her fingers, funnelling straight to the sandy bottom of the lake. The sick feeling in her gut lifted and Carol once again smiled through fresh tears, gulping down hard against the painful lump in her throat. That was her wedding ring and now her chain, two things she'd had with her for more years than she cared to remember, two shackles that had tied her loyalty and commitment to a world and to a past that split her loyalties no longer. She sniffled, feeling lighter than she had before and hardly believing it was possible.
"Sophia?" Her voice drifted into the dark, bouncing against the shimmering ripples of lake water in the moonlight and without doing more than ask, she felt Sophia around her and new it was right to let her go. To go on living. "I love you, baby. I'll see you again one day, I promise."
Carol stood as still as marble in the middle of the lake, breathing in slow, deep breaths as she let her girl go. She was feeling sleepy, and the hoot of an owl startled her enough to jerk her back to awareness enough to realise it was time to leave this place, leave the past behind her and strike out on her own.
Turning back to shore, the silhouette of a man momentarily frightened her, but then she saw the shadow of a crossbow strapped across his shoulders as he stared out at her, his hands crossed across his chest, his head dipped toward the edge of the water nearest his feet. She didn't know what to do; her clothes sat in a pile not far from where he stood and she was as naked as the day she was born. Her face burned as he looked up and across the lake, brightly reflecting the moonlight. She thought she saw a little grin curl at the corner of one side of his mouth.
"Don' guess you brought a towel?"
He knew she didn't. He was standing next to everything she'd brought along with her and there was nothing soft and fluffy to be had there.
"I might have forgot about that," she admitted, her head tipped to the side, wondering what he'd do, how he'd react, why he was still there, watching her. She remembered what Ed had said, degrading her physically, sexually to this man and everyone in the camp to the point where her nakedness now was something she felt true fear to reveal, even if by accident.
He nodded at her and she wasn't surprised to realise he understood without her saying a word. By the time she made it back to the edge of the lake, nervously pulling herself out of the water, arms crossed against her breasts and shivering with a new chill, he'd taken off his crossbow and was unbuttoning his shirt. She was on the verge of panic when he turned around and passed it back to her, his eyes fixed on the trees around them and hers drawn to the stark, white lines that the moon emphasised on his back. Not being able to tear her eyes away from the ruin of his flesh, she quickly used his shirt to dry her skin and then redressed so fast that everything felt twisted and skewed. She was still straightening her underwire and her shirt when he finally turned. She held out his shirt stupidly, gratefully, the thin fabric dripping with water, then frowned when he quickly shrugged his way back into it, buttoning it back up so the livid line of puckered flesh on his chest was once again shielded from her eyes.
"Whatcha doin' down here anyway?"
She could see so clearly in the moonlight and the way his vulnerability was laid bare to her made her gasp. She couldn't help but peer with some kind of unexplainable craving into his eyes, caught in something much deeper than the water she'd just left and wondering what imprint he was leaving on her soul.
"Letting go."
The night was profound and Carol almost felt like she was slipping through some veil into a space that was ethereal. They barely existed in either place, yet were so solid in both. Daryl tipped his head at her shyly, squinting a little in a way that had nothing to do with sunlight and was seemingly lost in thought as he surrendered to this strange sensation of time and space.
"Did it help?"
She nodded, then grinned. "I think so."
"You ready to go back then?" He jerked his head toward camp, his gaze wandering up the path she'd trodden before slowly coming back to catch her answer.
"I think so." She sounded suspiciously husky and she shivered again, hugging herself nervously. She noticed he hadn't shivered even once, and he was wearing a sopping wet shirt. His eyes darted open a little at how she sounded, and she blushed. He drew his bottom lip between his teeth and nibbled, stretching his face into a different shape so that Carol's pulse kicked up a notch and she couldn't tear herself away.
"Okay. Ladies first."
She was nervous walking beside him as they headed back, her senses on high alert as his boots moved silently across the underbrush and hers sounded like a herd of horses crashing through the camp. The wind picked up a little and Carol rubbed her arms, darting a sudden look beside her to catch Daryl watching her intently. He looked away fast and she grinned to herself, nearly hopping the rest of the way. She felt so much lighter, renewed and as she casually walked beside Daryl in a way that felt anything but casual, she couldn't help but wonder how a man who, on the surface so rough and suffering through generations of world weary pain, could show a woman like her a gentleness of heart she didn't think anyone could ever suspect he had.
They stopped outside her tent and she turned, and before she could stop herself, Carol reached out and fingered the still damp shirt, her digits catching in the pocket across his chest. His body was hot beneath the fabric and she fancied she saw wispy strings of steam emanating from his chest and she had to tamp down hard on a giggle spiralling up from some place she'd forgotten about that would allow her such simple things like laughter. She curbed that sound but simultaneously to that fight, her body acted on its own and she was tiptoeing to reach his cheek, her cold lips stealing a kiss against his cheek. He reared back away from her, blinked, then took the step back toward her to show, though haltingly, he didn't hate what she did, even if he made no move to do anything else about it.
"Good night, Daryl," she whispered, and ducked inside the tent. She was placing the knife beside her pillow when she heard him pull down the zipper that would give her minor protection against the threats outside. Smiling secretly to herself, Carol squeezed her hands together, said a silent goodnight to the group sleeping around her, and fell into sleep.