When Merle Is Away
Meet me down the road by the old barn so your bike doesn't wake everybody up.
Beth sent her final text to Daryl and he responded a couple minutes later with a thumbs up emoji and "on my way."
She waited around for a bit, biding her time until she knew he'd be getting close. Then she was shoving a bottle of water, her Bluetooth speaker, and her keys into a small backpack, slipping on a thick gray cardigan, and sneaking out of the house. She fast-walked through the yard and down the long driveway, heart racing the whole time. And by the time she'd reached the road and begun walking in the direction of the old barn that her family never used anymore, she could hear the unmistakable rumble of Daryl's motorcycle. A few seconds later, she saw the beam of his headlight appearing from down the road.
Her heart sped up even faster, if that was possible. She partially expected Merle to show up any moment. But still no sign of him.
Just stay away for tonight, she silently prayed. The handful of moments she'd spent with Daryl without Merle lurking around and commentating had actually been pleasant, and she wanted nothing more than a couple more hours of that. Just a chance to talk to the living Dixon. One-on-one. Honestly. Privately. Candidly. Without a dead guy buzzing in her ear.
She couldn't explain why, but she wanted to get to know him better. The real him—the Daryl that Carol and Dwight and Rick knew. Not the gruff and angry Dixon boy that kept everyone at a distance. She could tell there were a lot more layers to him than she'd been shown. And she was determined to acquaint herself with every layer.
That's what friends did, after all. She just wanted to be his friend.
And… yeah. Okay. Maybe her dad's lamentations had sparked a new flame in her. Because what if there could be more than one reason for Papa Legba to refer to her as Sunshine Girl?
But when it came down to it, all she really wanted to do was save at least one Dixon boy's soul from an eternity in Hell.
Will you let me in and let me help, Daryl Dixon? Will you let me become someone you can trust? Or are you the type to think you've already got enough friends? She pondered silently, watching his bike slow as it approached where she stood at the side of the road, headlight nearly blinding in her eyes.
He stopped right next to her and put down both feet. He killed the engine and nodded in greeting. She smiled and took a step forward.
"Hey."
"Hey." He took a brief glance around, then asked, "Merle with ya?"
Beth shook her head. "No, I haven't seen him fer a couple hours. Figured he was with you."
Daryl grunted. "I'on't think so. Dog wasn't barkin'."
She shrugged. "I was just enjoyin' the peace while it lasts."
She'd hoped for the hint of a smirk, but there was none. He just frowned. "Yeah." Then he flipped his hair away from his eyes and looked her up and down. "So what're you try'na do? Go to a bar or somethin'?"
"Definitely not," she said, one hand nervously gripping the strap of her backpack while the other tugged at the hem of her cardigan.
"Can't drink at my place—Carol's already in bed, she's gotta work early."
"I figured," Beth said. "I kinda had a place in mind. Nothin' special. It's just a field on top of a hill, but…"
He was gazing back at her expectantly, as though he were waiting for her to elaborate, so she asked, "Did you bring the bottle with you?"
"Yup." Then he jerked his head towards the empty spot behind him and tightened his grasp on the handlebars. "'S in the bag under yer helmet. Hop on an' tell me where ta go."
She was grateful for the darkness of night because she was pretty sure her cheeks had gone red. My helmet? When did it become mine? But she didn't hesitate to step forward and retrieve the helmet, slipping it onto her head right before she climbed onto the back of the motorcycle. She wrapped her arms around his middle and braced herself as the engine roared to life.
And she couldn't tell if it was just the vibration from the bike, or if there were actual butterflies in her stomach.
As soon as Daryl cut the engine and Beth climbed off the back, he stood up and took a few steps away. Then he put his hands on his hips and took in a long, deep breath of fresh Georgia air.
She could tell by the way his back straightened and how his shoulders visibly relaxed that he was more comfortable out here, in the middle of nowhere, than he was inside any house or bar. She could tell that the endless acres of wilderness that surrounded him brought a different kind of peace and comfort than he could find anywhere else. Because she could relate; that's why she'd chosen this spot. That's why she'd decided to come back with nothing more than the crescent moon above to cast a dim glow across the dying grass and the blankets of trees.
Even if Merle suddenly showed up again, it wouldn't be ruined. Because she wanted to share it.
Beth slipped her helmet off and set it atop the empty seat of the motorcycle before rummaging through the saddlebag. She found the bottle of moonshine—half-empty, just as Daryl had said it was. Some label and a brand name that she didn't recognize. She grasped it tightly in her hand and turned around to find Daryl gazing out at the rolling field in the distance. A light breeze ruffled his hair, and for a second, she just watched him.
Then he felt her eyes on him and turned to meet her gaze, shoving his hands into his pockets. "Nice view," he muttered.
"It's my favorite," she said. "I know it's probably silly to come out to some random field an' get buzzed—like high school all over again or somethin'."
Daryl let out a grunt of amusement. "Yeah. Merle'd probably say it's gay."
Another reason I'm glad he's not here, she thought.
Then he shrugged. "But, nah. Me an' Carol got a place like this. There's been a few times we jus' needed to get away from everythin' and..." He paused, smirking. "Go out to some random field an' get buzzed."
Beth's lips stretched into a smile and she suddenly felt much less self-conscious. Admittedly, she'd been doubting herself the whole way here. Because what if Daryl thought it was stupid and a waste of time? What if he was like Merle in that sense, and thought it was beneath him? What if he thought she was silly and childish?
But no. She should've known better. Daryl is not Merle. They are not the same.
Yet there was still that nagging voice at the very back of her head; the one that had been there since day one, slowly growing quieter and quieter… But is he different enough?
"What else did ya bring?" He asked, gesturing towards the bag that was still hanging off her back.
"Oh, just my phone and a speaker," she replied, pulling the backpack off and plopping it down in the grass. "And some water."
"Just water? Nothin' else?"
"No, why—oh damn!" The realization hit her and she let out a laugh. "I didn't bring any chasers!"
Daryl scoffed. "Guess yer gonna be drinkin' that 'shine straight, Greene," he teased. "Might put some hair on yer chest."
"I sure hope not," she giggled, leaving her bag where it lay and walking forward until she was several feet away from the bike.
She sat down in the grass, the glow of the headlight behind her, and glanced back to see Daryl standing awkwardly. She patted the spot beside her and held up the bottle in her hand with raised eyebrows.
"You gonna come sit down?"
He frowned, shifting his weight from one foot to the other. Then he shrugged. "Yer gonna get chigger bites from sittin' in that grass."
She laughed. "So? Wouldn't be the first time."
Without another word, he was striding back to the bike and rummaging around in the other saddlebag. She twisted around to watch him curiously, but she couldn't see what he was holding through the glare of the headlight in her eyes. Then he stopped beside her and she saw the old wool blanket in his hands. He motioned for her to move, so she stood up and stepped aside while he spread the blanket out and lay it over the grass. Once it had settled, she sat down again. Although this time, it was with a huge smile on her face.
And a second later, Daryl was grunting and lowering himself down to sit beside her, less than an arm's reach away. Nearly close enough for their shoulders to touch. Beth felt a chill run down her spine that had absolutely nothing to do with the presence of a ghost. It traveled down her limbs and through her fingertips, making her heart skip and beat a little faster.
Daryl let out a deep sigh as he leaned back on his hands and stretched his legs out atop the wool blanket, eyes set on the miles of wilderness before them and the star-speckled sky above. Beth couldn't help but notice how content he looked. More relaxed than she'd probably ever seen him—all things considered.
In this moment, she thought, he didn't seem a damn thing like Merle.
She sat with her legs criss-crossed in front of her, the bottle of moonshine clutched loosely in her grasp, and gazed out at the distance. She allowed herself to take it in, to try and quiet her mind for the time being. Although that was difficult to do with Daryl sitting so close. But all the same, it was peaceful. And quiet.
And actually, after a few deep breaths and a moment spent grounding herself, it wasn't so hard to relax. If anything, Daryl's nearby warmth was just another comfort. His presence was calming. Almost reassuring.
Once again: very much unlike Merle.
An owl hooted from somewhere in the trees. Crickets chirped from every which direction, filling the cool night air with their music. A single bat flapped and fluttered around in a circle before darting off into the shadows. There was a rustling of tall grass here, and the clicking of a tiny animal's paws there. But no words spoken. Not even a grunt or a sigh or an audible exhale. No shifting of weight or picking at nails.
Beth and Daryl sat motionless, staring out at the distance. Reveling in their solitude. Basking in comfortable silence.
She wasn't sure where her thoughts were taking her, if anywhere, but after several minutes, they were abruptly interrupted by his low voice. She hadn't even realized he was looking at her until he spoke.
"Y'gonna drink that er jus' keep it warm for me?"
She smiled bashfully and glanced down at the bottle still clutched in her hands, nearly forgotten. She held it out for him to take. "It's yers, you should get the first shot."
He quirked a brow and teased, "What—ya scared?"
She rolled her eyes, still smiling. "Well, my daddy does say bad moonshine can make ya go blind."
Daryl scoffed and reached out to snatch the bottle away. "This's store-bought. Won't even make ya lose yer sense of smell."
She laughed and watched him unscrew the cap. He raised it towards her in cheers and said, "But if you insist." Then he put it to his lips and tilted his head back, taking a swig. Beth watched closely and he didn't even wince. He just swallowed, blinked, and licked his lips before handing the bottle over.
"Jeez, Dixon," she muttered, taking it almost hesitantly. "You tryin' ta show me up or somethin'?"
He waved a hand and teased, "Yer turn. Drink up, Greene."
She stifled a giggle and lifted the bottle to her lips, pinching her nose with the other hand and tilting her head back. She tried to throw back the shot as quickly as possible, forcing it down her throat before she could really taste it. Daryl started laughing before she'd even lowered the bottle. Her eyes immediately began to water and she nearly gagged, but she fought it back.
"Bet'cher wishin' ya brought somethin' to chase it with now, aren't ya?" He joked.
She nodded, still cringing and shivering as the alcohol burned its way down her esophagus.
He took the bottle from her hands and threw back another shot while she continued to recover. She laughed, shaking her head and giving him a look of bewilderment.
"Good lord," she remarked. "It's not a contest."
"Not everybody's a lightweight like you," he quipped back, smirking.
"Fair enough." She chuckled and watched him swipe the back of his hand across his mouth. Then he went back to gazing out at the distance, the bottle grasped loosely at his side and his eyes narrowed like he was thinking.
The silence settled over them again and Beth let it remain for a moment. Her smile faded. She looked out towards the wide open landscape, trying to figure out what Daryl was looking at. What he was thinking about. The moonshine had sent a new warmth rushing through her veins, filling her chest and the pit of her stomach.
His deep voice broke the silence. "'S nice out here."
She hummed in agreement. "Yeah. It is."
"I can see why ya come out here. Good choice."
She smiled to herself.
"Look'it—over there." He pointed off to the right, towards the very edge of the sky that was visible above the miles of thick trees. She turned her head and looked: dark, billowing storm clouds slowly rolling in, swallowing up the stars and the deep blue of the night sky. "Storm's comin'."
Something that Beth couldn't identify swelled within her chest as she gazed over at the building clouds and watched them encroach on her land. They were still a ways off. She couldn't even hear the thunder or see the lightning, and she could barely smell the hint of wet earth on the breeze.
But the storm was indeed coming. And it was too big to stop.
She swallowed hard and dragged her eyes away, back to Daryl. He was still gazing at the distant clouds, but when she spoke, he turned his head and met her eyes.
"Daryl, I owe you an apology," she said, as plainly as she could manage. Even though her heart was thumping so hard that it was surely echoing in her voice.
"Fer what?" He looked confused.
"For what I said to you earlier," she explained. "And how I talked to you. I was really crass, and I shouldn't have been. You were right, I didn't need to compare our brothers, because that's not what you were trying to do. I'm just so frustrated and I'm startin' to feel overwhelmed, and I guess I got defensive when I didn't need to—but I know that's not an excuse. There is no excuse. I didn't mean to be a hypocrite, but I was. And I'm sorry. That's not how friends are supposed to act."
He frowned, appearing even more confused.
She went on, "I know you were just tryin' to help. And I lashed out. I mean, I wanted you to understand, but I could've explained it a lot nicer—"
"Stop," Daryl cut her off.
Beth snapped her lips shut and wavered, nervous for what he'd say next. But then his frown slowly curled up into an amused smirk and he was shaking his head, waving her off like she was spouting nonsense.
"Ya don't gotta apologize every time you lose yer temper," he said. "Ta be honest, I jus' thought you was givin' me a taste of my own medicine."
"What d'you mean?" She asked.
He shrugged. "I was a dick ta you when all you were tryin' to do was help me. Lost my temper more'an once… figured you was showin' me what it's like. Thought maybe you was seein' how well I'd handle it if you acted like a bitch fer a minute."
She snorted. "What—like I was testing you or something? Or gettin' revenge?" She gave him a bewildered look and said, "I don't blame you fer how you've reacted to my situation. And I would never try ta punish you fer my own hurt feelings. I don't wanna be a bitch."
"But sometimes ya gotta be."
"Well, yeah. I guess. If it means gettin' things done, or getting my point across. I mean, Maggie taught me that much." She paused before adding, "But you don't deserve that. I'm frustrated with Merle and my brother, and maybe myself. But I'm not frustrated with you. I shouldn't take it out on you. None of my stress is your fault."
He grunted and glanced away. "Kinda is, though."
"No, it's not," she insisted. "Even if your soul wasn't on the line… what makes you think I wouldn't wanna stop a murderer? Or that I wouldn't wanna help a dead guy get a little bit of justice?"
"I'ono," he grumbled. "'S just a lot to take on. 'Specially when ya got the farm to worry about. An' yer dad just keeps gettin' older…"
A heavy silence fell between them, during which Daryl pursed his lips and looked at her like he was expecting some kind of argument. But Beth simply frowned.
"He's dying." It burst from her lips before she could stop it. She hadn't wanted to say it, yet it escaped like…
Like she'd been thinking it and fighting it and denying it. And now, for some reason, she was starting to accept it. Now. Of all times.
She expected a look of shock to appear on Daryl's face. But it didn't. He frowned and remained silent. He didn't glance away. Even when she kind of wished he would.
His unwavering gaze made her feel like she needed to fill the silence. Her breath hitched in her chest and she swallowed hard, unable to tear her eyes away. Another word poured out, uninhibited and unintentional, "Fuck." She blinked and fought back an onslaught of tears. Then she suddenly remembered the bottle grasped in her hand, and she lifted it to her lips and threw back a shot of moonshine in hopes that it would make her just a little numb. Because she was feeling way more than she'd intended to right now.
Daryl watched, waiting patiently for her to go on. She expected to find judgment in his eyes when she met them again, alcohol burning her throat. But there was none. He was just… looking at her. Waiting. Listening.
She sighed. "I shouldn't've said that. He's not dying. He's—"
"Got a lot less time left'an you thought he'd have," Daryl finished for her. "Than you'd like him ta have."
Her lips snapped shut and she nodded, fingers wrapping tighter around the neck of the moonshine bottle. "Yeah. I think he's gettin' closer everyday. I know he's gettin' closer everyday. Sometimes, he's so weak, he can barely get out of bed…" She choked back a sob and blinked away tears. "I don't… I-I wanna believe he's got another twenty years left in him. But that's just stupid. I'm too old to be gettin' my hopes up like that. I know better. I'm supposed to be mature enough to prepare myself for the inevitable."
"That what yer brother taught ya?" Daryl guessed.
Beth furrowed her brow. "What d'you mean?"
"That yer s'posed ta be mature enough to handle everything?" He elaborated. "Even though you ain't left the farm in yer whole life, or made any friends—you ever even had a real job 'sides babysittin'?"
She finally glanced away, frowning in contemplation. And shame. "What's that gotta do with anything?"
He scoffed, his voice low and gravelly over the chirping of crickets. "C'mon. How was you s'posed ta grow up an' get all mature if nobody ever gave ya the chance to go out an' live yer own life? Make yer own mistakes. Get yer hopes up an' have 'em smashed right in front'a ya. Learn a lesson or two the hard way. Ain't gonna learn a damn thing if you don't experience that shit on yer own. Keep livin' in a bubble an' eventually… it's gonna get popped."
"Nobody ever kept me in a bubble," she argued. "It's like I told you… we were just tryin' to make ends meet. And the next thing I knew, years had gone by. I couldn't just abandon my family."
There was a semblance of defeat in his tone when he said, "I know."
He reached over and grabbed the bottle from her hand, and she watched as he took a long swig. She kept her eyes on him, but he was gazing out into the distance. Looking towards the billowing storm clouds once again.
"I know all about loyalty to blood," he said plainly, eyes still set on the distance. "Yer lucky. Your brother's a good guy. He wants the best for ya. He wants the bubble you live in to be safe. I always wanted to think that's what Merle wanted fer me… but I knew better."
Beth didn't say anything. She watched him grip the bottle a little harder, his jaw tensing and his voice remaining flat.
"Didn't have no choice in the matter, though. It was either him or… nobody. 'Cause I sure as hell wasn't gonna keep suffering under my dad's roof. An' I thought about leavin' at least a thousand times 'fore Merle got home. But I didn't have a reason till he dragged me away."
"Wasn't getting away from your dad reason enough?" She whispered, unable to stop herself from asking.
"Yeah," he replied simply. "But I couldn't make it on my own."
"Why not?"
"Just couldn't. I'ono… Carol calls it codependency. But I don't think there's a name fer whatever it was that kept me there. Whatever it was that told me I'd never survive alone, an' convinced me that the whole world owed me somethin' I'd never be able to earn."
There is a name, Beth thought. Two names. Will Dixon and Merle Dixon.
She remembered what Hershel had told her just a couple of hours ago. How he'd suffered under an abusive father and been convinced that he was incapable of anything more than anger, hate, and pain. How he'd almost persuaded himself into accepting a lonely, mediocre life because he thought that's what he deserved.
"Your dad put all that stuff into your head," she said. Daryl turned his head and met her gaze, a bit taken aback. But she continued, "And so did Merle. They convinced you that you were worthless, that you'd never be anything without them. They made you need them… That's what Carol means when she says it's codependency."
He scowled and looked away again, shaking his head. "Don't tell me like I'm some illiterate fuck. I'm not stupid."
Beth reeled and quickly backtracked. "I don't think you're stupid, Daryl. I was just—"
"I know. Okay?" He snapped, turning his gaze on her and narrowing his eyes. His voice turned into a low growl. "I already know all that shit. You think I ain't figured it out? I'm nearly twice yer fuckin' age, girl. I've had more'an enough time to think about it."
She withered where she sat and looked away, embarrassed. She shouldn't have said anything.
But then he sighed and she felt the tension lighten between them, right before she felt something nudging her arm. She looked and found him bumping the moonshine bottle against her elbow in an apologetic offering, so she reached over and took it. She swallowed a shot, hoping it would ease the churning in her stomach.
"Sorry, I just—"
"No, I understand," she cut him off, swiping the back of her hand across her mouth and meeting his eyes. "I shouldn't have said anything. It's not my place."
He sighed again. "'S not that." He averted his gaze back towards the sky. "Just… I know. I know how fuckin' stupid I was. How codependent I've always been. I done figured it out over a decade ago. But what choice did I have? Merle was all I ever had. He was a fuckin' asshole an' a waste of oxygen, but he was my brother. I know he poisoned my mind. But I can't be too mad at 'im 'cause I know our dad poisoned his mind first. He couldn't help it; he didn't know better. He was an ignorant asshole. But that's the thing… he was ignorant. All he ever did was the only thing he knew to do. He was stupid enough to think he was doin' me a favor."
Beth swallowed hard and watched him with a frown. He shook his head but didn't turn to meet her eyes.
She wasn't even sure that his words were intended for her ears when he spoke. But they had to be, because she was the only one here.
"The worst part, though—shit, the worst part is that I ain't ever gonna be free of him. Pretty soon, he's gonna cross over, an' you won't have to hear his voice no more. But I hear 'im every fuckin' day. In the back of my head. I see him hangin' from that rope every damn night when I sleep. I ain't ever been able to escape him. Even when I stopped talkin' to 'im, even when I finally decided to grow a fuckin' spine and put my goddamn foot down…" Daryl shook his head and scoffed angrily. "Nah. That asshole couldn't leave me alone. Always in my head, tryin'a tell me that I don't deserve nothin' good, that I need ta stop playin' pretend and just accept…"
There was a beat of silence.
Beth breathed out through barely parted lips, "Accept what?"
Daryl cleared his throat. "Nothing. Absolutely fuckin' nothing at all. 'Cause it's never good enough. Ain't none of it ever gonna be good enough. God didn't make a place in the world for Dixons. We don't belong here. Got no purpose. We was always given the short end of the stick. Made to suffer. And it's somebody's fault… but I can't seem ta figure out whose."
Beth waited to speak until she could see him chewing on his lower lip.
"That's the stuff you tell yourself?" She asked softly. "That your dad and brother put into your head?"
He grunted indifferently, refusing to look over at her.
"And you know it's not true. And you can keep telling yourself it's not, and hearin' it from other people… But that doesn't make the voice go quiet. It doesn't make your brain work the way it's supposed to work. You don't just wake up one day and decide to be better. Even if you do… it doesn't work like that. 'Cause there's still the days when you don't even wanna wake up, let alone try an' be anything. 'Better' is an unrealistic expectation. Somedays, it's damn near a miracle to even be present. Tryin' to be better would just be… more than you're capable of."
Daryl had slowly turned his head and met her eyes while she spoke, an indiscernible expression on his face. She immediately snapped her lips shut and looked down at the bottle in her hand.
"Who put it into your head?" He asked. She realized the look on his face had been confusion—like he was baffled that she could relate. That she understood.
Beth shook her head. "That's the thing," she said, pausing to take a shot from the bottle and force it down her throat. It seemed to go down a lot smoother this time, and her brain was beginning to feel lighter. So was her heart. "Nobody put it in my head. That's not how I was raised to think. I've always been surrounded by people who loved me and cared about me and believed in me. It just kinda… happened."
"What—after yer mom died?" He guessed, reaching out and taking the bottle from her.
She responded while he took a shot, "I dunno. I guess. But it feels like that voice has been with me forever. It was just easier to ignore it before she died."
He wiped his mouth and met her eyes again. "'S that why you tried ta kill yerself?" He asked bluntly.
Her cheeks grew warm and she quickly averted her gaze. "Probably. I mean—I didn't really wanna die. I thought I did. But as soon as I dragged that razor across my wrist and watched the blood start pourin' out… I panicked. It was a mistake. I wanted to live. For what, I dunno. But I wasn't ready to die." She let out a choked sigh and met his eyes warily, expecting some sort of judgment. Yet once again, there was none. She licked her lips and added, "My daddy always said suicide is the coward's way out. And I've tried to be brave. I've never been the quittin' type, but sometimes, quitting just seems… a lot less painful."
Daryl grunted in understanding. "Ain't a coward fer wantin' peace."
A memory flashed through Beth's mind: Maggie's voice in her ears. The words scrawled in black ink on the bandage over her wrist. "How can you give up like this? On yourself? On us? On me? You really think taking the easy way out will give you peace? What about our peace?"
Beth shoved those memories away and shrugged, reaching over for the moonshine bottle. He let her take it. She threw back a small shot and winced as it burned down her throat.
"I mean it," he went on. "I mighta never really got to that point, but that don't mean I can't understand it. Difference 'tween you an' me… I was too much of a coward to even try. I was just waitin' fer the day that one of Merle's twackstar buddies would put a gun to my head an' finally pull the trigger. I figured my brother would get me killed eventually, an' I was ready for it."
She gave him a bewildered look. "His friends actually did that kinda stuff to you? Like… regularly?"
He simply nodded and muttered, "Couldn't tell ya how many times I had a gun pointed at me by some dude that was too fuckin' high ta even turn the safety off. And it was always over stupid shit. Merle was always too fucked up to care."
She shouldn't have been surprised. It wasn't like she didn't know what kind of person Merle had been while he was alive. Yet she was still a little shocked. It was similar to how she'd felt when she found out Will used to shoot at things inside his own house—she hadn't had high expectations, but at the same time, they hadn't been quite that low.
She swallowed hard, the alcohol causing her mouth to go dry. But she couldn't look away from him. "Did you ever really believe your brother killed himself? Did you ever…" She paused and finally glanced away, her voice cracking. "It'll sound really fucked up, but… did you ever wish he would'a taken you with him?"
Without missing a beat, Daryl responded, "Yes. And no. And yes."
She looked at him quizzically.
He sighed, shoulders slumping as he rested his elbows atop his knees. "I was only just startin' to accept that he might've actually killed himself when you showed up. 'Cause I already know… if he was gonna take the easy way out, he would'a forced me ta come with him. I wouldn'ta had no choice in the matter." He cleared his throat and straightened his back, looking away to gaze out at the distance. "Nah. I never wished I'd gone with him. 'Cept… maybe every once in a while."
An owl hooted from somewhere in the trees. The crickets chirped a little louder.
"Yeah," Beth whispered. "Me, too."
Before the silence could draw out, he said, "That's why Carol's my best friend. She helps make Merle's voice a little easier to ignore. She gets it… she's been there. Sophia's dad was a real piece of shit. Put all kinds of poisonous shit in her head. Drove her to the brink of suicide 'bout a hundred times. She ain't got no family left, ain't had no friends since Sophia was born. Her ex is long gone, but I know she still hears his voice every damn day. Tellin' 'er she'll never be enough. But she keeps doin' everything she can to prove him wrong. Even though he ain't around to give a fuck."
"'Cause she's got her daughter to live for," Beth blurted out. "It's easy for her. She has a real purpose."
When Daryl shot her a puzzled look, appearing almost taken aback, she realized that the moonshine had loosened her lips. Her head was starting to swim, thoughts flowing in and out much quicker and freer than usual. Which meant they were making their way down to her mouth without much inhibition.
She quickly shook her head and apologized, "I didn't mean that—I don't mean it's easy for her. I could never imagine surviving an abusive marriage and movin' on, and I know she's about a million times stronger than anybody I've ever met. I just meant—"
"Nah," he cut her off. "I know what'cha meant. And you're right… It is easier for her. If it wasn't fer Sophia, I ain't so sure she would've even made it this far."
Beth looked at him apologetically, but it wasn't necessary. He hadn't taken offense. Even though she felt like she should be sticking her foot in her mouth.
"Guess it ain't so simple to be better fer yerself. When there's nobody else countin' on ya," he surmised. "Almost ain't worth the effort. Most of us gotta have a reason to try." Then he threw back another shot of moonshine.
"Yeah," she agreed softly, watching him swallow the liquor and gaze up thoughtfully at the sky. "What's your reason?"
He didn't look at her. He sat silently for a long moment, staring up towards the stars. Then he exhaled a deep breath and replied, "Still tryin' to figure it out."
She pursed her lips and looked away, staring blankly at the overgrown field in the distance. Despite the content of their conversation, her back suddenly felt a few pounds lighter.
She'd never talked to someone like this. So bluntly expressing her general indifference towards living. So openly discussing the reasons for her suicide attempt and depression without fear of judgment.
Sure, she'd talked to Maggie plenty of times. And there'd been a couple years when their dad had been able to afford regular therapy sessions. But it had never been like this. No matter what was said, Beth had never really felt all that comfortable trying to explain it to people who would simply never get it. None of them understood—truly understood. In the way that only someone who had nothing to live for could understand.
Not in the way that someone who was very slowly finding their reason to live could understand.
She'd never been able to speak this honestly with anyone before. Not even the dead people.
(And she was 99% sure it wasn't just because of the moonshine.)
Then that nagging voice chimed in from the back of her head: He's different… but is he different enough?
And she decided: Yes.
Daryl Dixon is more than different enough.
to be continued…
