AN: Here we are, another chapter here. This is maybe three for the day?
I hope you enjoy! Let me know what you think!
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She looked like she was choking to death on sadness and fear. The sight of it constricted Daryl's air.
He never liked when people "needed" to talk to him. In his experience, that had very seldom been something good.
But he could tell that she really did need to talk to him. Something had happened in that bathroom, and even though he wasn't sure that he wanted to know what it was, she had to get it off her chest before it suffocated her.
Merle hadn't argued with Daryl in the slightest when he'd told him to take the others and go ahead. He and Carol had to talk and there was no going to dinner first—there was no leaving the room, even. They'd catch up. Thankfully, too, his brother had heard enough in his voice to know that this wasn't some kind of laughing matter. He'd simply wished Daryl good luck and he'd given him quick and easy directions to find the place before he'd hung up and let Daryl return to Carol.
Daryl led Carol out of the bathroom and let her choose where she wanted to sit. When she took a seat at the small table, Daryl sat across from her and offered up his cigarettes and lighter. She helped herself immediately and Daryl noticed that her hands were trembling.
"Shoot," he said. "Go. Say whatever you wanna say. I'm all ears."
Carol laughed to herself, but Daryl could tell she didn't mean it. He got up and came back with a roll of toilet paper from the bathroom. She thanked him and twisted off a wad of it to blow her nose.
"What if I don't even know where to begin?" Carol asked.
"Start wherever you think is good," Daryl said. "Or start just now an' work your way backwards. I don't care how you get there."
"I do know where to begin," Carol mused.
"Then start there," Daryl offered.
"I met a man named Ed Peletier when I was in high school," Carol said. "I mean—I'd known him my whole life, I guess, but not really. I really got to know him the year that he asked me to date him." She looked at Daryl with the charcoal colored streaks running down her cheeks. "That was around the time it all started to go wrong."
Daryl laughed to himself and quickly held his hand up.
"I swear I ain't laughin' at you," he said. "Laughin' 'cause—hell—don't we all got them moments?"
Carol frowned at him. She'd stopped actively sobbing like she had been in the doorway of the bathroom, so he was hoping to steer her away from going right back to that.
"What's wrong?" Daryl asked. "I mean—I know about Ed, but he ain't here."
"That's the problem," Carol said with a sigh. "Sometimes it feels like—he's always here."
Daryl swallowed and sucked in a breath.
"You mean..."
"In my head," Carol said. "He's always here. I can hear him telling me things he used to say all the time. Do you understand what I'm trying to say?"
"I hear shit," Daryl said. "In my head. Like—I ain't never gonna amount to much. Ain't good for shit. That kinda thing."
"You're a good guy," Carol said. "She swiped at her face with some clean toilet paper that she removed from the roll. "You're probably way too good a guy to end up having to even spend your weekend with a mess like me. This place is crawling with women who—women who love MCs. Women who have spent their lives with them. You could find someone who...someone you really liked."
Daryl stared at her. She looked like she was just about as low as a body could get. He had a good feeling that if he left her alone, she might very well crawl under the bed and simply stay there until it was time to leave.
And he couldn't understand what the hell had happened in that bathroom because she'd gone in there with a smile on her face and she'd come out looking like she might cry herself out.
"Carol—I don't know what happened, but I wish to hell you'd just tell me what's wrong," Daryl said. "I'm here with you. You was the only person I wanted to come with. Hell—do you know how damn many of these rallies I been to in my life? And I ain't once found nobody I liked."
"You want to be here with me?" Carol asked.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"It's where the hell I am, ain't it?" Daryl asked.
"Look at me..." Carol said.
"I am," Daryl said. "Only reason I ain't been starin' at'cha all day is 'cause I had to keep my eyes on the road to keep us both alive. But—even ridin', I was imagining what you looked like on the back of my bike. All hugged up on me like I could feel you was."
"My hair is awful," Carol said.
"What's wrong with it?" Daryl asked.
"Look at it," Carol said.
"You wanna—do somethin' to it? We got all the time you want..." Daryl offered. "I told 'em we'd be late."
"I can't make it grow," Carol said. "And—I don't have anything to dye it."
Daryl laughed nervously.
"I don't understand what's wrong, Carol," Daryl said. "Shit—I just don't. I'm stupid, OK? Your hair looks fine to me. Maybe a lil' bit—maybe—was it the helmet that bothered you? Because everybody down here gets used to the whole helmet thing. That is if you goin' for safety an' don't wanna crack your head open. And—I'd much rather you wear the helmet."
"It's short," Carol said.
"I like it," Daryl offered.
"And gray," Carol said.
Daryl shrugged.
"Pretty," he said. "Glitters in the sun."
"It's not supposed to glitter," Carol said.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Well I know that shit isn't true, Carol, because it if it wasn't supposed to do it then it wouldn't do it," Daryl said. He sighed and shook his head. "Is that what all this is about?" Daryl asked. "You don't like your hair?"
"I'm plain and...there's really nothing pretty about me," Carol said.
"You look a bit like an extra for KISS with all that make up smeared on your face," Daryl offered. "But once you wash it off, you look pretty to me."
"You were upset about the double bed," Carol said. "Was it because—you don't want to share a bed with me?"
"Thought you might not want to share one with me," Daryl countered.
His stomach had been in knots since Merle told him that he and Carol were going to room together. He was terrified that she might very well be using him. She might sleep with him and simply tell him, after the whole thing was over, that she didn't appreciate him as anything more than a weekend fuck.
There was something that Daryl almost found magnetic about Carol. He wanted to be near her for just a moment more—always a moment more—ever since the first time she'd spoken to him. She was sweet and soft. She was pretty and funny. Daryl liked the look she got in her eyes when she gave him hell about something. She had a kid and she wanted a life for that kid. Family was important to her, and she'd do whatever the hell she had to in order to make sure that her family was taken care of.
Immediately, Daryl had felt drawn to her, and that terrified him. The last time he'd thought there was somebody who could actually be everything he wanted her to be, she'd fallen just short of cutting his beating heart out of his chest and eating it in front of him.
His past experiences—so many of them—haunted him like Carol's past seemed to haunt her.
But right now it was her demons that Daryl was interested in keeping at bay.
Daryl had been terrified to share a room with Carol, but suddenly he didn't feel as terrified. Suddenly he simply felt desperate for her to feel better—whatever that might take.
"You wanted to share it with me?" Daryl asked.
"You don't have to say things just...anything just...just because," Carol said. She shook her head at him and mopped some more at her face. Soon she'd wash all the offending makeup off.
"Just because what?" Daryl asked. "You think I'm lyin' to you about—about wantin' to share a bed with you?" He laughed to himself. She didn't have to answer him. He could see it on his face. "Fuckin' hell," Daryl mused. "He sure done a number on you, didn't he?" She didn't respond. Daryl stood up. "OK—hell—OK...that's how we gotta play this."
He walked over to his bag and heaved it up off the floor where he'd tossed it in the corner. He tossed the bag on the bed and unzipped it.
"I was almost ashamed of this," Daryl said. "No—I weren't even almost ashamed of it. I was all the damn way ashamed of it. But here's what the hell I got in my bag—at the risk of sendin' you runnin' all the damn way back to Liberty. And I packed this bag 'fore we got here an' so you know I brung it with me." Daryl unloaded several handfuls of the condoms onto the bed. Carol watched as he piled them up. She watched, too, as he dropped the oversized bottle of lube onto the bed among them. Daryl stared at them. It really was a ridiculous sized pile. He chewed his lip. "I don't wanna look at'cha," he admitted. "But there you see it. I clearly was hopin' we was gonna share the bed. Either that or I was hopin' we was on the second floor so we could make about—prob'ly two-hundred durable fuckin' water balloons to pitch at people in the street. I'd let you decide for yourself which you thought was the truth, but I can tell you in the kinda spirits that would have you figurin' we would really be up all night filling these damned things up with water."
Carol got up and came over. She sat on the edge of the bed. She was still holding a balled up pile of tissue, but at least this looked fresh and not soggy like the last bunch she'd been holding. She ran her hand through the pile of condoms and spread them out on the bed.
"How many is this?" She asked.
"About two hundred," Daryl said. "Give or take a couple."
"For three nights?" Carol asked.
Daryl snorted. He couldn't help it.
"They were there," he said. "I brought 'em. Figured—you'd tell me how many you had a mind to use and we'd have enough. Can I look at'cha yet or...what kinda look you got on your face? I'm focusing on your hands right now."
"Please look at me," Carol said.
Daryl did.
She looked better. He'd never imagined that two hundred condoms and what felt like a half-gallon of lube would make a woman feel better, but apparently it did. Her face was still damp and a little streaked, but there was a hint of a smile on her lips.
"I don't know what he said to you," Daryl said. "And maybe I don't wanna know...'cause it might make me hate him more than I can hold right now. But—whatever it was, it weren't true. And I don't even have to know what it was to know that."
"I can't believe you brought all this," Carol said. "I—I might..."
"What?" Daryl asked.
"Nothing," Carol said. "It's nothing." She offered him a smile. It was more sincere than the one before. She raised her eyebrow at him. "Just—if you hate my hair, Daryl...I could change it."
"Do you wanna change your hair?" Daryl asked. Carol stared at him. "Well?" He pressed.
"Nobody's ever asked me that before," Carol said.
"Then I'm askin' it," Daryl said. "I don't care. One way or another—it's on your head. I mean—I don't see nothin' wrong with it."
"Do you think I look ridiculous?" Carol asked. "In these clothes?"
"Do you think I do?" Daryl asked.
"Are you going to answer every question I ask you with another question?" Carol asked.
Daryl laughed to himself. He could feel the knot in his chest loosening as he felt some of the tension evaporating out of the room.
"Are you going to keep askin' me ridiculous shit?" He asked.
"It's not ridiculous," Carol said.
"You askin' me if I wanna be here with you is ridiculous," Daryl said. "It's me who oughta be askin' you that. Askin' you—when the hell you was thinkin' about tellin' me it's been fun but you're outta here."
"I didn't leave after you showed me—all two hundred of your weekend plans," Carol offered.
"I got one more thing to show you," Daryl said. "And then—maybe we go get somethin' to eat?"
"There's more?" Carol asked.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"I told you that I weren't jerkin' you around. I told you that I knowed it was you I was spendin' the weekend with. Go wash your face? Unless—you wanna go like that. I mean—it's OK if you do."
Carol stood up and laughed to herself.
"Asshole," she muttered as she walked around collecting up her soggy tissues and depositing them all in the trashcan. Daryl watched her while she cleaned up. She gave him a half-smile as she passed by him on the way to the bathroom.
He unwrapped the bracelet and his pulse quickened.
He was feeling confident and he almost feared that he was a touch overconfident. It was a chance he was going to take, though, before he lost his nerve. In the bathroom, Carol was washing her face with the door open. He gave her a moment and stepped around the corner to watch her as she was putting some more stuff on her eyes and painting up her lips.
"You don't need all that paint," he offered. "But you look beautiful anyway."
She looked at him, her mouth partially open like it surprised her to hear him say it, and then she smiled.
"Thank you," she said sincerely. She didn't dispute what he'd said, but he could tell she was fighting against her instinct to do just that.
Daryl held up the bracelet between his finger and thumb so that she would see it.
"I brought this. If you don't want it then you don't gotta take it. I was—I know it's a little early maybe...and maybe it's way too damn early in the weekend...but I was thinkin' that...if things went well..."
"Daryl," Carol said, catching his attention.
He stopped talking and looked at her. She smiled at him and raised her eyebrows at him again.
"Just say what you want to say," Carol said. "Because—I've got a good feeling that, whatever it is, I'm going to say yes."
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Thing is—I don't know how to say it 'cause I never said it before," Daryl said.
"Then I probably don't know how to answer it because I've never answered it before," Carol said. "But we'll both do the best we can."
Daryl handed her the bracelet and she turned it over in her palm.
"I was hoping you might—wanna try your hand at bein' my old lady," Daryl said. "I mean—if you wanted."
Carol didn't answer him with words. Instead, she simply offered him a kiss. The stickiness of her lip gloss was a strange sensation and it tasted sweet. Daryl closed his eyes and focused on the sensation of her teeth scraping his lip and her tongue teasing his. He felt like it was the kind of kiss that he ought to remember.
She'd almost stripped him of his breath by the time she pulled away and he smiled at her.
"I think I messed up your makeup again," he offered. "Your lip gloss."
"I can fix it," Carol assured him.
"Was that a yes?" Daryl asked.
"What did you think, Daryl?" Carol asked.
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Now it's you who's gonna answer me in questions?"
"Can you put it on me?" She asked, offering him the bracelet.
It took him three times to get the bracelet on her. His hands were sweaty and he nearly dropped it until he'd dried them off on his jeans. Then he couldn't get the tiny clasp open and his fingers were shaking too badly to get it hooked. Finally, though, he clasped it and it fell delicately on her wrist. Still standing by the bathroom sink with her lip gloss smudged, Carol admired it.
"You like it?" Daryl asked. "It's right? It's a good bracelet?"
"More than the bracelet," Carol said, "I like—what it means."
Daryl swallowed.
"I like what it means, too," Daryl said. "But—you're sure you don't wanna change your mind or wait or whatever? I know—you're new to the club and all that and you ain't had time to learn everything."
"You're right," Carol said. "I'm new and I've got a lot to learn. So—why don't you let me fix my lip gloss and...you can start teaching me?"