The graveyard where they buried Rose and Cassie was a small, grassy lot wedged between the wall and a curving line of closely planted pines. It was a typical affair: each body was wrapped in a shroud of white and lowered into their allotted square of earth, to be tucked in later under a blanket of hard, rust colored dirt. A bank of thick silver clouds hung low over the gathered crowd, huddled together in a solitary mass of holey mittens, ratty jackets, and misty-eyed grief. Father Gabriel stood in the grassy space between the graves and led the service, a weathered bible open in his palms.
Although there were open spaces available amongst the assembled mourners-several of which were her own family members-Beth watched the proceedings from the edge of the lot, halfway hidden behind a pine tree whose sharp green scent tickled her nose. Some of Gabriel's words got lost amidst the shuffling and sniffling of the bereaved, his eulogy and condolent blessings morphing into unintelligible murmurs of sound. But she did not move closer. She was there only because it felt wrong not to be; she'd already said her goodbyes holding Rose's hand in the street, and she didn't care to hear what Gabriel had to say about the pain of a meaningful life cut short, about the will of God or how their untimely deaths served as a harrowing reminder to love one another. They were just hollow reassurances, a cheap band-aid that didn't have the power to fix what was irreparably broken.
Each new death was like an amputation, and the sudden absence of someone she'd grown attached to a phantom limb of the heart that surprised her each time she reached for someone who no longer breathed. No amount of prayer or whispered words from a man in a collar were going to change that.
Across the cemetery the service drew to a close. Father Gabriel shut the bible and as he crossed himself an amen rumbled from the bowed heads in response. Beth took the opportunity to disappear, stepping behind the barrier of pines before anyone could notice her and turned in the direction of the hospital to visit Glenn.
Her brother-in-law had finally awoken in the inky, ambiguous hours where dawn and night bled together. Much to everyone's relief he had a firm grasp on the memories Pete had warned he might lose, and despite being battered and sore would recover fully.
Despite the early hour she was not the first to arrive at his bedside. In addition to Maggie-who as far as she knew had yet to leave his side-stood Abraham, Michonne, Sasha, Eugene, and Carl, all circled around the bed like sentries. Beth shed her outerwear by the front door, breathing in the smell of antiseptic and freshly laundered linens. The group adjusted their positions, exchanging silent, greeting smiles and parting ways until a space opened up beside the bed revealing Glenn to her.
Glenn looked like he'd lost a fight with a wood chipper. Red gashes of varying lengths and depths adorned his face and arms, trenches scored by the flying debris that hurtled through the air after the grenade exploded. Beneath the countless white butterfly bandages was a sea of bruises, splashes of violet and indigo painted like a savage watercolor over the canvas of his skin.
Before she could say a word to him her eyes darted over her shoulder to the neighboring bed where Tara lay, breathing steadily but unconscious as stone. Compared to Glenn Tara looked relatively unharmed, and if one didn't know better it could be assumed that she was enjoying a restful morning nap. Rosita sat beside her with a book in her hand and her knees pulled up to her chest. She glanced over the ridge of her cheap paperback at Beth, and in her eyes poorly concealed worry pooled. She shook her head, a silent answer to an unspoken question, and returned to her book.
"Hey Beth," Glenn said as she sat down on the bed.
"What'd I tell you about these near death experiences?" Beth chided.
Glenn smiled, although with his swollen cheek and split lip the effect was more of a half-hearted grimace. "To stop having them."
She patted his hand. "It might be a good idea if you listened."
"Maggie would agree with you."
"Most definitely," Maggie agreed brightly. She brushed a strand of shiny black hair off of his forehead, revealing more of a vicious bruise that extended into his hairline. "You keep coming back looking like an eggplant and our baby will think that's just how your face is."
"Well the eggplant is one of the better looking vegetables."
"Fruit," Eugene said. "The eggplant is a fruit."
"I think technically they're berries," Carl said.
Michonne grinned down at him. "And how would you know that?"
"I do know some things."
"Well," Sasha chuckled, "fruit, vegetable, or mineral there are worse things he could look like."
"Yeah, he could come back lookin' like a potato," said Abraham.
The jokes and soft laughter continued but Maggie and Glenn had exited the back and forth. Glenn entwined their fingers and pulled Maggie's hands to his lips, a gesture both reassuring and apologetic. Not even the slight wince of pain the motion caused him could diminish the love in his eyes as he gazed upon his wife. It was a beautiful moment, and yet Beth had to fight the sudden, self-pitying urge to cry.
Pull it together, she told herself. This isn't about you. You don't get to get upset.
Her father's words were usually just what she needed to hear to snap her out of whatever pity-party funk she'd fallen victim to. And yet somehow, this time the words weren't enough.
That Glenn could look like this when he'd only gone out for a simple afternoon supply run was fuel on the fire of her fears for Daryl. With a mission like Daryl's the possibilities of danger were endless and his demise seemed more and more likely. The image of Daryl in Glenn's place seared into her retinas, as clear and present as if she were actually looking at it. His body bruised and broken, perpetual scowl fixed in place, gruff and seemingly irritable as he accepted the visiting family members gathered around his bed. It felt like the only scenario she could hope for, only slightly more likely than being ripped apart by walkers or murdered by a group of bloodthirsty scavengers he'd been trying to save.
And if that was the best she could hope for, the only positive outcome of this decision he had made without her, then what was she supposed to do? What kind of choice did that leave her?
For the rest of the day Beth took her own advice and attempted to put away the feelings threatening to overwhelm her, replacing it with a brisk efficiency. She cared for Judith when Rick was called to attend to other matters, and after putting her down for a nap she tackled a list of chores she made up as she went along. She swept the front porch and followed up cleaning the already spotless kitchen with the laundry from both houses. She even mended the holes in one of Sasha's shirts and clumsily darned a pair of Carol's socks. When there was no item of clothing left to clean or care for, she turned her attention to the mud caked soles of her boots, scrubbing them with a dry brush until they resembled their original color.
The one thing she did not do was talk to Daryl. Not that he was around to talk to-he'd been holed up in Aaron's garage putting the finishing touches on his bike since the sun came up. Nevertheless, she tried to push him to the farthest, most unvisited corners of her mind in an attempt to avoid even the thought of him.
It didn't make sense, she knew, to avoid him when neither of them had done anything wrong. Especially with the way he'd taken care of her the night before in Deanna's bathroom. The thought of his attentive, gentle hands settling over every inch of her skin, and the look in his eyes as he'd done so that had both coiled her tight and unhinged her made the fact that he was leaving all the more painful. The memory of it made her yearn for something that had once been within her reach, but no longer felt possible in light of the events of the past twenty-four hours.
She sneaked away again late in the afternoon when the house began to fill with bodies and chatter, in search of the food and warmth they were denied most of the day at their various assigned posts. It was obvious that her family was growing used to living without a knife at their throats, and while it would be impossible to erase the memory of that cold, ruthless blade against their skin, the relative comfortability that accompanied having food to eat and some semblance of routine was settling in. Any other day Beth would have found pleasure in this fact and eagerly joined in. However today the collective mood filling the spacious rooms contrasted sharply with her own dark, twisted thoughts. And so, before anyone could engage her, she slipped out the front door and stole into the evening chill.
She wandered aimlessly through the streets of Alexandria with her head down, hands shoved into the deep canvas pockets of her parka. Here and there front porch lights glimmered, their muted yellow smudges clinging to the corners of her downcast eyes and guiding her way through the blue of twilight.
Only when the wall rose up in front of her did she stop. The road slithered underneath it, unhindered by the monstrous man-made object. Beth craned her neck towards its top, for the first time feeling both irritated and amused by the inconvenience of a barrier when all she wanted was to roam. She sighed, the heavy exhalation curling like silver smoke around her head. But there was no moving it or climbing it so she made to turn around. When she discovered her feet had taken her to the abandoned house at the edge of the community she froze in place, the muscles of her abdomen tensing like they'd just taken a punch.
Broken things had always called to her. She'd fallen hopelessly in love countless times before with the things the rest of the world discarded, fascinated by their history, the underlying beauty of their furious or delicate decay, the hope and possibility that what had fallen from grace could become whole again. It had been her hope that she and Daryl could finish what the previous owner's of the house had started and make it their own. That together they could build a home and a life from all that had been left behind to rot.
But, staring at it now with a more objective eye, all she could see was another weathered shell, worn out and sagging under the weight of its neglect. The peeling paint and abandoned spider webs taunted her while the opaque black windows glared mercilessly from their molding frames. For the first time the lonely little dwelling disappointed her senses and inspired nothing but pity. No one, least of all her and Daryl, would ever call the house home.
Still she'd loved it enough to have made a mark on it, brief and temporary though it might have been. If she looked hard enough she could almost see the pair of them, ghostly, transparent versions of her and Daryl sitting on the warped front steps: her bent over with hysterical laughter at something he'd said while he smiled at his lap, a mild surprise blooming over his features as if he didn't quite believe he was really there. Beth's eyes narrowed, trying to strengthen the image and feel once more the happiness and peace she'd taken for granted in that moment. But it faded away like mist.
That was the thing about this life, she thought as her feet carried her away from the house and towards the pond. The harder she tried to hold onto something the more quickly it seemed to vanish.
Her muscles ached with a fatigue she couldn't rightly attribute to her walk, short and slow as it was, but she collapsed onto one of the benches by the pond all the same, letting its weathered wooden frame support her slumped form. She remained there as night fell, spilling shadows across the water's surface until it rippled like a puddle of tar. The air around her grew colder but she paid little attention to it, hopelessly preoccupied by the sinking feeling in her gut that physicalized her dread at Daryl's departure, a feeling which seemed to intensify with every passing minute.
She made a concerted effort to sort through the layered and conflicting feelings fuzzing up her brain. She tried to shake off the cold and bleak mist of grief that seemed to have settled in her bones, to cool the red hot sparks of anger that hissed and sputtered every time she thought of watching Daryl ride valiantly off into harm's way. Underneath it all lay a thick, grey blanket of worry that threatened to suffocate. She tried to embrace the pain of being left behind, to ignore the doubts that crept up the back of her neck and clung to every attempt at positive thinking like ivy, but that only made the sparks of anger burn brighter.
It was in the middle of this particular thought that Michonne found her, the swish of her official police windbreaker rising over the gentle lapping of the water against the bank and alerting Beth to her presence before she appeared just inside her line of vision.
"That was some speech you gave yesterday," she said by way of greeting.
"Yeah," Beth said with a half-hearted smirk. "Maybe Deanna will start paying me to give motivational speeches."
A gentle smile turned up the corners of Michonne's full mouth. She gestured toward the empty space beside Beth.
"May I sit?"
Beth nodded, finding surprising comfort in the familiar way Michonne sidled right up next to her. Her warmth bled through her clothing and thawed the stiffness of Beth's limbs where they touched. She smelled spicy, like cinnamon and woodsmoke.
Never one for excess conversation, Beth wasn't surprised when Michonne kept quiet for a time. In the silence Beth resumed her watch over the water and her thoughts, much to her chagrin, returned to their previously scheduled programming. When Michonne finally did speak, it was not to speak more about Deanna like Beth expected but to apologize.
"I'm sorry about Rose," she said, her voice low and gentle. "And the little girl, too."
Hot tears sprang to Beth's eyes. She blinked them back furiously, surprised at their presence, feeling her eyelashes dampen with the effort.
"Thank you," she managed to say, forcing the hollow reply from her constricting throat. "She was a good woman."
"Does this mean you'll be taking her place as the teacher?"
"I guess so. I mean, I was before. So…" She trailed off with a shrug.
Michonne nodded. "What about Cassie's family?"
"She didn't have any. She lost her mother over a year ago out on the road to an illness of some kind, I think. And I heard Reg mention to Abraham that her father died in an accident on the construction crew last month. She was staying in the house the Lafferty's share with Mr. Carrick and his grandson."
Silence fell as they each pondered the misfortune of the little family neither of them had known. Beth didn't need a mind reader to know their thoughts, if left uninterrupted, would soon drift to the destruction of their own families, of the endless waves of pain and death and bloodshed that had torn their individual and shared worlds to shreds, in various circumstances, over and over again.
"It was probably better that it was Cassie," Beth continued. The words felt wrong to say out loud and her stomach churned with guilt at the mere thought. She was not usually one to think such things. "She was nobody's sister, nobody's daughter. She was as alone as she could be without actually being alone, and now that she's gone there's no one to miss her. No one to worry about her or mourn her passing until their own violent end."
Michonne's gaze cut through the dark, heavy with concern.
"But you're missing her right now, Beth. You're mourning her, not just because she lived here but because she mattered."
"Well I don't want to mourn her. Or anyone else."
"Ah," Michonne said after a pause, lifting her chin in understanding. "Anyone else."
Beth felt a stab of resentment that she was so easily read, but she didn't try and deny it. The thought of being forced to mourn Daryl, of him becoming yet another person she couldn't save, was too powerful.
"Daryl's leaving," she announced abruptly.
"I know, he told me and Rick this morning," Michonne replied. "He sent me over here, you know. He was worried about you. Although he seemed to think that you wouldn't want his company."
"I'm angry with him. I know I shouldn't be, but I can't help it."
Michonne nodded slowly. "People leave here all the time. Food and supply runs, scouting missions. It's what keeps us going."
"Finding more people isn't vital to our survival here. It's dangerous and stupid and I hate that he's doing it."
Michonne tried in vain to fight a smile from stretching across her face. "No you don't," she said kindly.
Beth felt whatever fight that had been building in her burst like a bubble. "No," she agreed with a defeated whisper. "I don't."
And she really didn't. Daryl's bravery and selflessness were two of the traits she loved best. Not to mention imagining a cowardly Daryl was like trying to imagine a purple sun or a cuddly porcupine, strange and pointless.
"So what's the real problem?"
"I… I thought that we were going to be happy," Beth said, feeling defeated.
"And you won't now? Who says that what you want can't exist?"
Beth shook her head. Michonne didn't understand. She'd let her guard down, become hopelessly enamored with the idea that, after everything they'd been through, they'd finally found a happy ending. Only to be told that happy ending was all in her head, a solo endeavor. Michonne had no idea what it felt like to hope for a future with a person who claimed he didn't belong in it.
"How can we?" She asked. "He doesn't want to be here. But that's where I am. Where we all are."
"I don't think it's us that he's leaving."
"He said the same thing. But it doesn't feel that way. How can you be with someone if you're never actually together?"
Michonne pondered the question. "You make the most out of the time you do have," she said after a moment.
"But that's just another compromise. I'm tired of compromising."
"Life was always about compromises, even before it ended," Michonne said. "And the thing is… we're all still here so it didn't really end. It just got harder. Which means the compromises we make sometimes have to be harder, too."
It wasn't what she wanted to hear but the words resonated in Beth's chest, a tolling bell of truth she'd be hard pressed to escape from. She felt something in her chest crack open under its weight, and from it words she had never spoken aloud came pouring out.
"After the prison fell and everything that happened at the hospital… there was this emptiness inside of me. A hollow in the pit of my chest that I tried so hard to fill on my own. And when I couldn't, I tried to pretend that it wasn't real. I told myself that because I was strong enough to have made it through that automatically meant I was fine. That I had no other choice but to be fine. But Daryl… not only did he see through all that, he filled that emptiness. With good things and bad things and happy and sad things, things that I had no idea I was missing and things I'd always wanted to feel. For the first time… I don't know." Beth paused to collect her thoughts and shook her head. "Loving Daryl is the first thing since all of this started that hasn't felt like a compromise. I'm not ready to give that up, Michonne. I'm just not."
Michonne raised her eyebrows and Beth blushed. She hadn't expected to say it, hadn't even known until the word left her mouth that she felt that way. But judging by the pleasant warmth buzzing through her limbs it was the truth.
The earlier disappointment combined with this strange new love she'd uncovered was rapidly morphing into fear, its sharp, overwhelming taste souring her mouth like she'd just been sick.
"I'm worried of what will happen while he's gone," she continued. "Of who or what out there will try and hurt him. And I know who Daryl is… how strong and capable and perfectly right for this job he really is. I know how good he is out there. But this fear and worry is like a drill burrowing into my brain and no matter what I try and tell myself that stupid drill just keeps whirring away, faster and louder with every passing second."
"Well that makes sense. But he won't be out there alone. Aaron will watch his back."
But I'm not Aaron.
Beth wasn't stupid. No one out there was safe, no matter who they were with. But she and Daryl were a team. They worked well out there, together, and she didn't trust Aaron to do the job in her place.
More than that she was terribly afraid of the not knowing. Of the days and weeks it would take for them to return, each one filled with anxiety and fear, not knowing if he was hungry or tired or sick or hurt. He may not have been leaving her, but he was asking her to spend her days afraid for him, and it made her as angry and heartbroken as her foolishly blind faith in the safety of Alexandria.
"Look," Michonne continued, angling her body towards Beth. "I know I don't have to tell you this, but I'm going to anyway. No matter what happens out there, Daryl always comes back to us. Always. And now that he has you there isn't anything or anyone that will stop him from returning. He will come back to you, Beth."
Beth took a deep breath and reverted her gaze back out over the water, every fiber of her being humming with the need to believe what Michonne said was true.
"Do you really love him?"
Instantly their time together flashed before her eyes, a series of painful, exhilarating, beautiful moments that made her heart twist with longing. The first time she'd held him outside her cell at the prison and the hesitant, bewildered way he'd held her back. Falling apart together outside the moonshine shack, the heat of the flames against her cheeks as they raised their middle fingers to the starry sky and burned his demons to the ground. The memory of piggy-back rides through a graveyard of wildflowers, the sharp scent of smoke as they passed a cigarette back and forth, kissing in the dark living room with wine on her lips.
She saw every touch, relived every lingering look in the cab of a truck or over a smoking campfire, every stupid argument or whispered secret or lack of faith. They'd found each other when every odd was stacked against them, broken one another and built each other back up from the ashes of their former lives and created something few people ever got to experience.
Of course she loved him. She suspected that she always had.
Tears filled her eyes as she looked back up at Michonne. "Yes," she said.
Michonne smiled. "It's the scariest thing in the world, being in love. And I won't lie to you… it hurts like hell. That part won't ever go away. But, as I recall, a wise woman once told me that when you care about people hurt is part of the package."
Beth shot her a watery smile.
"If you want my advice," Michonne continued, "tell him. Not because it will make him stay, but because he should know. Don't let that worry and hurt make you afraid, Beth. Don't let it turn you cold. You both deserve better than that."
With her gaze fixed on her lap, Beth nodded and Michonne stood to leave. Before she walked away she placed her hands on Beth's shoulders and leaned down, the ends of her dreads brushing Beth's cheeks, and planted a kiss on the top of her head. The motherly gesture made a part of Beth ache for her own mother, but she closed her eyes against the pain and smiled gratefully.
Beth realized the buzzing thoughts and distracting feelings filling her up prior to Michonne's visit had settled, leaving behind only the subtle surprise of her own revelation. She felt slightly foolish for not realizing it sooner. She filled her lungs with the sharp, cold air in an attempt to calm the butterflies flapping furiously in her stomach.
They lived in an uncertain world and that would always make her nervous. But Michonne was right. She couldn't sit back and let someone she loved slip through her fingers in the present because of the possibility of sadness. Not when there was so much happiness still left to be had.
She stood, on shaky knees but with a renewed sense of purpose. She would not turn cold or aloof and call it strength. Her strength had never been rigid or unyielding, was not all or nothing. She was the one who hoped, the one who carried on when life was at its most frightening.
It was late and the house was dark when Beth returned, the sounds of sleep drifting under doorways and echoing softly in the shadow-lined hall. Beth parted it silently, walking gingerly on the balls of her feet up the stairs and towards Daryl's door at the end of the hall. A dim stripe of orange flickered under the door and spilled out onto the polished floorboards, so she knew he was awake. Still she lingered outside the door for a few moments, a different kind of fear than before simmering in her belly.
Michonne's words echoed softly in her head.Tell him, they urged. Tell him.
Her heart hammered in her chest with the knowledge that whatever happened next was something she couldn't turn back from. She took a deep breath and opened the door.
Daryl's room was tiny, more like a few extra square feet with a window than a proper bedroom. The ceiling above the window sloped sharply upwards, making the space only big enough for a twin sized bed, a bedside table, and a worn leather armchair tucked in the corner by the door. Built in shelves recessed into the wall above the chair, with his sparse belongings—the clothes she'd brought him folded neatly in a pile, a foggy green stone, his knife, a collection of handmade arrows bunched together with a torn red rag—tucked away on the middle two shelves.
Daryl sat on the bed with his back against the headboard, his arms crossed loosely over his bare chest and his legs stretched out in front of him. He looked up when she slipped inside, his eyes narrowing slightly with surprise.
"Beth?"
She crossed the room without a word and climbed onto the bed, praying she didn't lose her nerve as she straddled his lap, pinning his hips between her knees. She took his face in both hands and leaned down to kiss him, the warmth of his skin like a burn against her stiff, cold fingers. Despite his initial bewilderment and the surely unpleasant shock of her icy skin, his arms wrapped around her and she felt the heat of his palm as one of his hands sneaked its way up her back, his fingers tangling in her hair. She deepened the kiss, trying with each brush of her tongue and squeeze of her hand to communicate how sorry she was for avoiding him, for being scared his bravery would get him killed and angry that his choice was taking him away from her.
When her lungs burned with the need for oxygen she broke the kiss, running her thumb up and down his stubbly cheek. She slowly opened her eyes to find Daryl staring at her looking slightly dazed, his eyes dark with something that sent a delicious thrill up her spine and brought the familiar sting of tears to her eyes.
"I don't want you to go," she whispered, her voice cracking with the tears she refused to cry, "because I love you. I love you more than I have ever loved another person... and I-I think that you love me too. And I want to you to be here with me so that I can love you for a very long time. But I understand that this place isn't yours yet, and I understand what it would cost you to stay. And while it took me some time to get there, I also know this isn't just something you want to do or feel like you have to do… it's something only you can do. And I'm proud of you for doing it."
In the silence that followed she could feel the weight of her admission floating between them. She had no idea how many people in Daryl's life had told them they loved him, but she imagined it was close to zero. Daryl watched her closely, pinning her in place with that stormy look in his eyes that always made the world around her spin. Beth took a deep, steadying breath, using the pause to brush a surprisingly clean strand of dark hair out of his face.
"So instead I want you to promise me that when you leave here tomorrow you won't do anything too brave. You won't try to save people who don't want to be saved, you won't sacrifice yourself for strangers or even Aaron. Promise me right now that you'll be safe and that you'll come home."
Slowly he slid his hand from the back of her neck and cupped her cheek, tracing the curve of her scar with his thumb. His other arm tightened around her waist and pulled her flush against his chest where she could feel his heart under the layers of skin and hard muscle. He nodded, his eyes dark and serious, and one of the tears that she refused to cry trailed down her cheek and over his fingers.
"Promise me," she said again. She wanted to hear the words out loud, as if only the words themselves would truly bind him to it and return him to her. Her eyes fluttered close as his thumb slowly wiped the tear away and he pressed a soft kiss against her mouth, easing her lips apart. Her physical surroundings began to fade away, everything that wasn't Daryl a superfluous afterthought.
"Daryl," she breathed, insistent this time. "Promise me."
Gently he reached up and brushed a wayward tendril of hair out of her face. "I promise," he said in a gravelly whisper.
Satisfied Beth pulled his mouth to hers again, the delicious need for him spiraling outward from her chest into the far flung corners and crevices of her body. His hands slid down her back, bunching the fabric of her shirt tightly in his fists. He pulled it up over her head and discarded it in one swift motion, but unlike yesterday there was urgency, the way he gripped her to him possessive and needy. Without breaking the kiss she reached behind her and unhooked the clasp of her bra with steady hands, letting it join her shirt on the floor.
For a moment, sitting there at her most vulnerable, nerves began to clatter in her head. She was afraid the faces of her nightmares would make an appearance and destroy another intimate moment no matter how fiercely she begged them to stay away. Daryl sensed her hesitation and paused, hands freezing in their eager exploration of her bare skin while his dark eyes searched her face for the slightest hint of discomfort or memory-induced panic.
"Okay?" He asked.
Beth held her breath, waiting for the cozy room to fade into a hallway lined with doors that smelled like bleach and despair, for Daryl's worried expression and cautious grip to morph into Gorman's lecherous smirk or Dawn's cold, empty stare. She waited for the feelings of love and safety being tangled in Daryl's arms gave her to disappear in a flurry of disembodied screams from women being raped behind closed doors, for this moment she wanted to have so badly to be tainted again by the horrors of her past.
But nothing came.
A soft laugh bubbled out of her and she exhaled, jerking her head in a relieved nod. She wasn't so naive as to assume they were gone for good, but for now both the memories and the fear they inspired were a foggy, distant memory. She'd never felt more okay.
Reassured Daryl resumed their kissing, the muscles of his arms flexing as he held her to him with more force. She moved with him when he fell back against the pillows and rolled over, pinning her between him and the mattress.
She tried to hold onto the moment, to memorize everything about it: the weight of his body spread over hers and the heat of his skin, the feel of the puckered scars slashing across his back under her fingertips, how every place he kissed or touched burned and made that red-hot coil in her belly tighten. He looked down at her, a corner of his mouth lifting in a barely-there-Daryl-smile and she felt whatever lingering doubts she'd had about this decision disperse like dust in the wind.
Somewhere, in another life that hadn't been torn apart by walkers and decay, Beth knew the girl she used to be was still there, living her carefree life with all of its simplistic joys. If she closed her eyes she could see her clear as day: washing dishes beside her mother after dinner, singing with the church choir on Sundays, sneaking kisses with uncomplicated Georgia farm boys in the hayloft. She was always clean, always safe, surrounded by people that she loved and couldn't imagine living without.
That Beth lived a comfortable, normal life, a life that would never have to know the constant and terrible ache of loss. Beth felt only pity for her. Because that Beth would never know Daryl. She would never know a happiness so raw and real it almost didn't seem fair that she got to experience it. That Beth would never know the depth of love and life she was missing.
Whatever pain was coming—tomorrow, a year, five minutes from now—she was grateful it would come from Daryl. She loved him with everything that she was despite the fact that it was never going to be easy and it would never be quite what she'd imagined. Tomorrow she'd let him go, but there in that moment tomorrow was a distant future she didn't have to face.
She threw her arms around him and held on tight.
