PERSEPHONE CHAPTER 12

Okay, since I'm new to this I'm not sure how this is done-but I put some pretty graphic descriptions of physical abuse from Daryl's childhood in this chapter so if that sort of stuff disturbs you be aware.

Lucy ran around the streets of Alexandria on a route she'd run multiple times already. She'd worked out a mile stretch, and she usually walked it with Daryl and the dogs in the mornings and evenings. She'd missed her runs today while out with Daryl at the museum, and now she felt even more keyed up than usual since Daryl and she had kissed.

She knew from previous experience that when she was this full of nervous energy it would take a longer run than her usual mile or two. She slowed her usual pace to stretch the run out, tried to clear her mind of everything and concentrate on the feel of the wind in her hair, the sound of her feet slapping the pavement, controlling her breathing. By the third circuit of her route, she had finally started to feel less keyed up and her mind was cleared of all thoughts of Daryl.

As Lucy came down her street finishing up her fourth lap, she looked up to see Daryl on his porch smoking, watching her. She immediately stumbled and ended up on her hands and knees on somebody's lawn. She blew out a breath. How embarrassing! She heard Daryl running over to her and hid her face in her hands, trembling from the sudden cessation of her running. She could feel the sweat on her skin starting to cool from the breeze.

Daryl knelt beside her, anxiously looking her over. "Are ya aight?" he muttered, examining her legs and arms. Lucy nodded, too embarrassed and shaky to utter a word. "Why ya out running now? And ya ran more than ya usually do." He sat back on his heels, studying her. Lucy wiped her hands over her face and Daryl noted her trembling. He bit his lip, watching her closely.

"I missed my runs today," Lucy replied, shrugging impatiently. Daryl nodded. She'd been running for the same reason he'd been standing on the porch smoking. They were both thinking about earlier this evening and couldn't relax. Daryl bit his thumb, thinking.

"C'mon, let's get ya back inside and cleaned up. Looks like ya skinned your knee a little," he murmured as he helped her to her feet and led her toward her own house. Lucy walked beside him silently, wishing a hole would open up and swallow her. She was not a naturally clumsy person-she didn't know why she'd stumbled like that and she felt like a fool.

As they reached her door, Daryl squeezed her hand and pulled her inside. "G'on an clean up. I'll wait down here for ya," he muttered, still biting at his thumb. Lucy glanced at him sharply, but nodded silently and climbed the stairs to her room. Daryl wandered over to the couch and sat down to think. He wanted to take things slowly, but that didn't mean he had to stay completely away from her. If this was going to make both of them lose sleep, might as well spend the time together. They could talk if nothing else. He shifted uncomfortably and looked about the room, spotting the painting. He could ask her about the painting when she came back down and that way he could learn some more about her and they could still be together instead of tossing and turning in their separate houses.

Lucy stood in the shower rinsing the sweat off and rinsing the dirt off her knee. God she felt stupid. And why was he here when he said he wanted her to think about things? She hoped he'd decided to speed the getting to know each other better process, but she didn't think so. Maybe he felt pulled to her the same way she felt pulled to him. She had thought she had been in love with Richard, and a boy in high school-but neither of them had made her feel like this. She could feel her heart thudding in her chest every time she looked at Daryl, felt light headed and breathless around him. She had always scoffed at descriptions in books of characters feeling like she was, thinking it was just phony and overwrought prose. But apparently it wasn't-because she sure felt she fit all those descriptions.

She dried off and dressed in an oversized t-shirt and some jean shorts. She brought the towel along with her to dry off her hair more. As she entered the living room she saw Daryl had lit some candles and propped the painting on the mantel over the fireplace. Her throat went dry as she gazed at Daryl in the candlelight, sitting on the couch gazing back at her. He motioned for her to come sit by him, and she sank beside him feeling her senses come alive with the nearness of him.

She cleared her throat and nodded toward the painting. "Thanks for putting it up there. I'll probably hang it there eventually." Daryl nodded and took her hand in his, rubbing his thumb over the back of her hand. Her skin burned as his callused thumb glided over her hand. She made herself look anywhere but at him.

"What's the picture of?" he asked quietly. Lucy did look at him then. He was gazing at her quietly, his face shadowed from the flickering light of the candles.

"Um, Starry Night. It's by Vincent Van Gogh. I mean, that one isn't by Van Gogh, that's a student copy of course." Daryl nodded, not understanding a word she had said, but he wanted her to talk. He loved her husky smoke filled voice-that alone kept him awake at night, imagining how she would sound in bed. Something he had never imagined about any other woman before. Thinking of it now caused him to shift restlessly, but he kept a firm grasp on her hand and continued to circle his thumb now on her palm. He could feel her palm growing slightly damp and he smiled slightly. Seemed she was just as unsettled as he was.

"What's it about?" he prodded her. She looked at him again, trying to decide what exactly he was up to. She couldn't decipher anything with his face half in shadow. She sighed softly, his thumb making her palm tingle and her fingers twitch slightly.

She shook her head slightly to clear her thoughts. "Um, he spent time in an asylum more than once. This is from his stay in June 1889. It's the view from his second floor bedroom of the asylum. He was dead by the next July."

"So, he was insane?" Daryl wondered why anyone would want a painting by a crazy man.

Lucy shook her head. "No, not really. He had periods of depression, anxiety, and today would probably be treated for bipolar disorder. Anyone back then who had mood swings and outbursts of temper was committed to asylums for treatment, but since they didn't understand the illnesses and there weren't any medications to treat the illnesses many people lived their lives in and out of mental institutions and weren't taken seriously even during relatively stable periods." She smiled sadly.

Daryl frowned. "Well, why do ya like the picture then?" he was still unclear on what Lucy liked about the picture.

Lucy thought a minute, biting her lip. "I guess I just always felt sad for him. He was a brilliant artist, but so tortured emotionally and didn't live to see his works become successful. I guess I've always kind of identified with anyone who struggled to fit in, who fought to make themselves be heard and taken seriously." Daryl's mouth dropped open.

"Because ya didn't feel like ya fit in?" he whispered. She nodded. "But why? Ya had parents, ya had an education…." he groped for a reason she would have felt this way. He had never felt that he fit in anywhere-but he'd had parents who drank and a father who beat his momma and he and Merle badly enough to break bones and leave scars. They'd lived in shitholes and food was a daily concern until he and Merle had taken to hunting squirrel and deer and rabbit to keep themselves from starving.

Lucy frowned, trying to think how best to describe herself to Daryl. "Yes, I had parents-but both my parents were older when I came along-they hadn't planned on having children. Dad was very involved in his vet practice, mom was a teacher and very involved with her students," she paused. "When I was eighteen mom died from cancer-she had been sick for two years-she was diagnosed the week before my sixteenth birthday. My dad pretty much fell apart-he and mom had been each other's whole world and Dad become consumed with taking care of mom after her diagnosis. I mean, I understand that. But I felt like I was a distraction. I kept pretty much to myself and took care of the house and made sure dad ate and slept otherwise he would've stayed at mom's bedside round the clock." Lucy glanced at Daryl and then looked down at his hand holding hers. "I sound selfish and petty I know, but….I had always felt like an unwelcome intruder in my parents' love affair with each other and when Mom got sick it was like I was completely forgotten about. And after Mom died, Dad would stay at the clinic longer and longer every day. I went off to college that fall and when I did come home I never really saw dad or spent much time with him." Lucy shrugged. "I mean, my parents never mistreated me-they were just never really there even when they were physically there. After mom died it seemed dad's reason for living had gone with her. He was still alive when the virus hit and for a while after," here he noticed Lucy paused slightly, "but I hadn't really had a dad or a family since mom had gotten sick." She shrugged again.

"Guess there's all kinds of different reasons for not feeling like ya fit in," Daryl murmured. Lucy nodded. "Maybe that's why we like each other," he mused softly. He had always heard like attracted like-if that was true then he and Lucy weren't really all that different from each other in the things that counted. He felt the tension ease out of his body and the tightness in his chest receded. Maybe he really could tell her the things that most shamed him and she would understand. He pulled her to him and she leaned back against his chest and he wrapped his arms around her, their hands clasped together on her stomach. He kissed her hair softly. "My parents was a lot different than yours in some ways. My family is nothing but white trash, always has been on both sides going back a long ways." He tightened his grip slightly to prevent Lucy from turning to look at him. This would be easier if he didn't see her face. "My dad and momma got married young, never finished high school. Momma got pregnant with my brother Merle. Dad never really held a job long enough to make a go of it. And he'd always liked his liquor and it just got worse as time went on. Momma worked at little shit jobs-cashier at a convenience store, did something in a shoe factory for a while. But after I was born she started drinking too, and pretty soon she was getting shitfaced almost as often as Dad." He paused for her to think about what he had told her. "Dad got mean the drunker he got, and he beat on Momma pretty often. After a while he started in on Merle too. I used ta hide in the closet until Merle or Momma would tell me it was alright." Lucy listened silently as Daryl recited all this in a monotone. It was probably the only way he could talk about his childhood, by talking about it like it had happened to someone else. Her heart ached for him. No one should have to go through that. "Anyway, when I was eight my momma burnt herself up in our house, smoking while she was drunk. I was at school and Merle was in juvie, he was twelve and this was already his second time in there. Don't know where Dad was that day. I come home from school and saw the police cars and amblances there by our house and I just knew what had happened." He sighed softly and kissed Lucy's head again. "They couldn't find my dad, so I spent the night with some foster couple. Had a hot bath, hot food and a real bed to sleep in –felt guilty for enjoying it so much with my momma dead and all. But I hoped that the foster people would keep me, that they'd never find my dad and I could stay there. Hoping there'd be no more beatings or drunken fights." He paused and sighed again. "Anyways, I got to stay three days with that family. Three days of as much food as I could eat, a real night's sleep in a soft warm bed. Then my dad showed up," his voice had turned bitter. "Took me home-course our house was gone but he'd somehow managed to get us into another piece of shit place-worse than our own house, if possible. And because he was angry Momma had burnt the house down and Merle wasn't there to take the beatings, I got all of it. That first night I thought he was going to kill me," his voice tightened with anger at the memory. "I tried to hide in the closet, tried to run to the door to get out, but he wasn't having any of it. Kept grabbing me by the shirt til he tore my shirt off. Swung that belt at me and didn't care where it hit. Got hit on the back, chest, legs, arms-even in the face once." His throat grew tight with unshed tears. "After that I learnt not to run. Best to stand still and take it, no matter how bad it was. After he'd pass out I'd get in the shower and clean the blood off and then get in the closet and hide in case he woke up and wanted to start up again."

Lucy cleared her throat. She'd been crying silently for some time now but knew he had to get this out, wanted her to hear it all so she hadn't interrupted. "Was your dad alive when the virus hit?" she whispered.

Daryl coughed. "Mmmm no. The old man died before I was eighteen. I'd dropped out in tenth grade, well my second time in tenth grade anyway. I'd started staying in the woods as much as I could to avoid my dad, and when Merle was home from juvie we'd found a old huntin' cabin that we half assed fixed up to stay in-kept the rain and snow off us at least. I missed so much school, and didn't want to repeat tenth grade again so I just quit going. Mostly stayed in the woods and hunted and fished to eat. Sometimes I'd go into town and help out in one of Merle's friend's auto shop. He taught me all about cars and bikes and that."

Lucy thought quietly. He'd been pretty much on his own once his mother had died, around the age of eight. That explained a lot about his behavior –explained about his distrust of others, his reticence at being touched in any way, his reluctance to share anything of himself, his feelings of shame and lack of self esteem. He reminded her of the animals they'd rescued from puppy mills or animal hoarders when she'd worked at different clinics. Some of the abused animals could be rehabilitated with patience and care-others were too far gone and had to be put to sleep. She sighed. She had never understood cruelty for cruelty's sake. Hearing all of this made her feel like a whiny, selfish bitch. Her life had been like a trip to Disney World compared to Daryl's. She felt even more stupid now if that were possible.

Daryl felt Lucy move restlessly. He eased his hold on her and she sat up and turned toward him. He could tell she'd been crying and he flushed with embarrassment. He hadn't old her all that for her to feel sorry for him-he had wanted her to know what she was getting, he was damaged goods. Maybe too damaged for anyone to deal with. He gazed at her, trying to decipher the mood she was in.

"I feel like the most stupid, whiny idiot in the world. You must despise me," she said softly. His mouth dropped open silently.

"Why would ya think that Lucy?" he sat up and leaned toward her, uncertain why she felt that way.

Lucy wiped her face and sniffed. "Everything you went through, and here I am whining and complaining because my parents didn't pay me as much attention as I wanted. You'd probably have given anything to live my life and here I was complaining about it." She put her face in her hands and sobbed, ashamed of herself. Daryl pulled her to him quickly and pulled her hands from her face.

"Lucy, look at me," he said softly. She looked up and saw the look on his face-he looked relieved. "Lucy, a person don't have to be beaten to feel unwanted or unloved. There's all kinds of ways people hurt each other. Don't matter how it's done, end result is we feel bad about ourselves and go around expecting other people to feel bad about us too." He shrugged slightly. "Don't ever feel like ya have ta have lived my life ta understand how I feel. Seems like we both come to the same idea about ourselves by different routes, but we got there just the same." She nodded and he smiled slightly. "Ain't ya tired yet?" he asked softly. She nodded again, looking at him quietly. "Don't ya have some big bed upstairs?" he whispered again. Lucy felt her face flush and she looked at him uncertainly. "How bout we go up there and we just lay there. Just sleep. Would that be okay?" Lucy nodded again. She couldn't seem to do anything but nod.

Daryl stood up and held his hand out to her. She grasped his hand and he pulled her up and they walked upstairs together to her room. In her bedroom Daryl pulled his boots off and stretched out on her bed and motioned for her to lie down with him. She lay down beside him and he rolled her onto her side facing away from him and then he rolled up against her, wrapping her in his arms. She heard him sigh and then she heard his breathing deepen and slow. He was already asleep. She smiled in wonder. Telling her all that did him a world of good-he'd probably never told anyone all of that –if any of it.

Lucy fell asleep, knowing Daryl's arms were wrapped around her and that he'd be there in the morning when she woke up.