Nature 0 - Nurture 1
Beth opened her eyes and jerked back like she'd been electrocuted. She couldn't help it—her heart was racing.
Everything she'd just seen was flooding through her like a tsunami. An overwhelming mixture of agony and hope.
The thunder rumbled overhead. A flash of lightning lit up Daryl's face as she looked up into his eyes.
Suddenly, she was able to see all the pain lying within those azure depths. She could see where he'd buried it amongst the faint wrinkles in his skin. She could still feel it.
She could only imagine what the expression on her face looked like, but she had no will to control it.
She took in a shuddery breath, felt the oxygen coursing through her veins and filling her lungs, and she nearly started crying. Hot tears pricked the corners of her eyes, but she fought them back.
This was so much worse than seeing Dale Horvath's memories. This was so much more painful. So much more personal.
As she pulled away, she gripped onto Daryl's arms. He stood before her, frozen and unsure, gazing down at her quizzically. But before he could say anything, she wrapped both hands around his right wrist and turned it over, revealing the open palm of his hand. She gazed down at it. Inspected it. Searched for the scars, for the burn marks—for the remnants of the intense heat he'd felt when he reached out and tried to touch the sun.
The memories were shuffling through her head like a deck of cards. Her heart was swelling with grief and guilt and the insurmountable pain of being helpless.
She ran a thumb across the lines in his palm, and as another clap of thunder echoed overhead, her voice escaped in a choked whisper.
"Icarus…"
Beth felt the very first raindrop land upon her cheek.
Daryl yanked his hand back, startling her. She looked up and met narrowed blue eyes. He was searching her face, trying to make sense of her expression, trying to figure out what she meant.
"What?" He snapped. "What'd you just say?"
She inhaled sharply, and the words poured out before she could stop them, "Your hand—there's no scars. But you…" Her voice trailed off.
His features hardened. Thunder cracked, and there was another flash of lightning. The wind whipped his hair to one side. Rain began to fall, slowly at first, fat raindrops that pelted down upon them so definitively.
"I got lucky with a good skin graft—but I bet you know all about the scars that didn't heal." His tone was sharp and accusatory. He took a step back, glaring at her with distrust. "The fuck'd you just do to me, girl? What'd you see?"
Beth faltered.
Crap. Crap crap crap. She wasn't supposed to see that. She shouldn't have seen that.
She should've walked away. She should've stepped forward and leapt off the edge at the first chance she got. She shouldn't have turned back and kept going deeper. She'd invaded his privacy. She'd invaded his very mind. How could she ever explain that it was an accident?
She'd flown too close to the sun and now she was getting burned.
"Nothing, I—"
"Nothing, my ass," he growled. "You said Icarus. You asked about my hand—how fuckin' deep did you go with that Gift of yers? Huh?!"
"I didn't mean to!" She cried. "I swear, it was an accident, I didn't want to see—"
He slashed an arm through the air and took another step back, distancing himself from her. "You got yer show. Hope it was entertaining. Guess I ain't no more to you'an ol' Horvath, huh? Just another experiment ta see how well yer Gift works—just another piece of this bullshit fuckin' puzzle."
There was a clap of thunder. A burst of lightning spread across the sky. The rain began to fall steadily, coming down heavier and with more permanence.
"Daryl, stop!" Beth begged, stepping closer towards him. But he took another step back and put out a hand to stop her.
"Keep yer fuckin' distance," he spat. "Already got what you wanted outta that hug you tricked me into, I don't got nothin' else for ya."
Beth reeled, freezing. Her breath hitched in her throat and she fought back tears. "Daryl, please. I wasn't trying to trick you, I would never do that! I can't control my stupid Gift, it—it took me somewhere without my consent. I didn't want to invade your privacy, I—"
"But you did!" Daryl cut her off. "And ya didn't come back once ya started seein' it. Ain't that right? I know how it works, Greene. I know how powerful you've gotten… I know you chose to stick around an' watch the goddamn Daryl Dixon shit show."
"No, I didn't," she argued. "I'm not as powerful as you think, I'm not in control yet! I tried to walk away, but it wasn't like the other times, I couldn't… I didn't…"
Daryl scoffed. "Save it. Got what'cha wanted, didn't ya?"
Beth gave him an incredulous look. "Why would I have wanted that?"
He shrugged indifferently. "Fuck if I know. Can't make sense'a most the shit you do. Reckon it was like watchin' TV or sum'n." His rage was boiling over, barely contained. "Was it more tragic than Dale's memories? Was it riveting enough for ya? Did'ja get the peek into my fucked-up psyche you was hopin' for?"
She hated the scathing tone in his voice, the cold expression on his face, the absolute loathing in his eyes. It made her want to shrivel up into a ball and disappear.
But she stood her ground, putting all the confidence she had into her voice.
"I know what you're afraid of," she said firmly. "You're afraid that I'm gonna pity you. But I don't. I didn't mean to see all that stuff, and if I could, I'd take it back—it doesn't help me none, and I'd never intentionally invade your privacy anyway. I don't use my Gift to get a show. That's sick. I can't believe you'd think that of me. I can't believe you'd assume I would pity you. 'Cause I don't, Daryl Dixon. I've never pitied you, and I never will. Not even one little bit."
Daryl tensed up but kept his distance, eyes narrowed as they raked her up and down. He was standing rigid as a board. His mouth was pressed into a thin line. He didn't respond.
"I saw…" Her voice cracked and she stifled a sob, blinking back a wave of tears. Regardless, she retained her composure and stood firmly in place, meeting Daryl's eyes with defiance and determination. "I saw how much you suffered. I saw just how much your mama loved you, and I saw just how awful your daddy was. And I saw where your pain lies on the spectrum."
His eyes flickered and his jaw twitched, but he still didn't speak.
Beth swallowed past the knot in her throat and went on, "But it wasn't like the other times—when I went inside Dale's head, it was an elevator, and I could choose whether I kept going up or down. When I got taken into your head, it was more like when we touched the crystal ball at Morgan's. I was thrown around, I couldn't move or control it, I didn't know how to get out. I just kept watching, experiencing all of it… and-and feeling all of it."
Daryl remained silent. He stared at her almost expectantly, as though he were waiting for one wrong word so he could hop onto his bike and ride away in an angry huff.
She went on, "I saw—I saw the day Merle left for the military. I've seen it before, when—"
"You've seen it before?" Daryl interrupted. "What, you've been inside my head before this?"
"No," she quickly explained. "I saw it before, when I was sleeping. Remember the dream I told you about when we were outside my mom's memorial? It was different, though. I can't… it's hard to explain. Maybe it had somethin' to do with Merle. I don't know for sure."
Daryl frowned, but didn't say anything.
Beth sighed. "And I saw the last times you spoke to Merle. I know exactly how you felt about him… I understand it."
Daryl huffed out an indignant breath. "You understand it?"
She nodded meekly.
"And what d'you understand, exactly?" He demanded. "You think 'cause you seen all that, you can empathize? Like you got me all figured out now? You think you got any idea what the hell I been through to get to this point, Greene?"
Beth quickly shook her head. "No, not at all. I would never claim to really know—but I know how much guilt you carry around every day of your life. I know how much Merle and your friends and all of this means to you, Daryl. That's the only thing I really know."
She chose not to breathe a word of the last few memories she'd glimpsed. It would only make matters worse. Besides, she didn't want to explore the implications that came from those brief moments inside Daryl's head, either. They were a little too much right now. A little too off-base to be worrying about.
"Then I guess you don't really know shit," Daryl spat. He stepped over to his bike and threw a leg over, mounting it, then he gripped the handlebars and kicked up the kickstand rather aggressively.
Beth took a few steps closer, approaching him, still determined. "Really?! Yer gonna claim I don't know shit?" She challenged. "I didn't need to see your memories ta know what kinda man you are, Daryl Dixon!"
He paused with his hand on the accelerator, the other hand wrapped loosely around the key in the ignition. He growled, "And what kinda man d'you think that is?"
She approached him, closing the distance between them despite the palpable tension. "The kinda man who'd blame himself fer everything that's happened to him. The kinda man who can't accept the fact that people still care about him and believe in him, even if he screws up once in a while. The kinda man who thinks he doesn't deserve anything good in life, 'cause he doesn't think he's earned it… Or, I dunno—the kinda man that I'd like to be friends with, even though he's still learnin' how to trust people."
Daryl grunted and looked away. He was still tense, an angry scowl set into his features. Fat drops of rain fell from the sky, pelting his hair and face.
"See, this is exactly why I said I ain't tryn'a be friends—'cause you can't understand boundaries," he said. "Not everybody's like you, Beth. Not everybody wants ta be coddled an' told they're special."
"Daryl, I didn't—"
"I ain't no fuckin' stray cat. Y'can't just feed me a couple times and expect me to keep comin' around. I don't need you, I don't need nobody," he growled. "Like I said… ya don't really know shit, Greene."
Beth didn't get the chance to respond. A second later, the loud engine of the motorcycle was revving to life, and Daryl switched on the headlight before putting his feet up and speeding away.
She was left standing at the end of the driveway, staring after him through the falling rain. It mixed with the tears that were silently streaming down her cheeks.
Well… this was a new complication.
Beth took a long bath while the storm raged outside, rain pelting the rooftop and thunder rumbling loudly in the sky. Merle still hadn't reappeared. She was thankful for small graces.
The rest of her family were in the midst of their afternoon naps, tucked away in their respective bedrooms. Beth got out of the bath and threw on some comfy clothes before retreating to her own bedroom, where she checked her phone one last time as she lay down in bed.
In just a couple of hours, Shawn or her dad would be waking her up and urging her to come downstairs for one last dinner with Maggie and Glenn before they headed back to their apartment in Atlanta. But until then, she could have a restful nap. And hopefully, she could forget how angry Daryl was at her, and maybe she could push away the lingering memories of what she'd seen inside his head.
Although she was still watching her phone from where she lay in bed. Expecting… hoping… that it would vibrate with a new text message from Daryl. An apology. Or another chance to explain herself. Something. Anything.
But the phone remained silent and still. As did the rest of the Greene farmhouse. Eventually, Beth's eyes fell shut and she drifted off to sleep.
She did not dream.
Nearly two hours later, Hershel knocked on the bedroom door and beckoned Beth downstairs for dinner. Maggie and Glenn had taken a short nap and gotten up a bit earlier to cook. The whole house smelled like broiling meat, simmering vegetables, and oven-warmed bread. The storm outside had dulled. Rain was still falling steadily upon the rooftop, but the thunder and lightning had grown quieter and less frequent, and the wind wasn't blowing with quite as much force.
Beth kept expecting Merle to reappear at any moment. But she couldn't even sense his presence at all. Not that she was particularly worried about him—she was too preoccupied with replaying her and Daryl's argument inside her head. She kept checking her phone, hoping for some kind of message. She was even beginning to debate whether she should text him with a heartfelt apology, or if it would just be a desperate waste of time.
Supper at the Greene table was a pretty calm event tonight, with tones of the somber mood everyone was feeling. They were never happy to see Maggie go back to Atlanta. Shawn must've been feeling bad about earlier, because he barely spoke. Or he was still pissy. Beth couldn't tell, nor did she care. Though she noticed how he was barely looking at her or their dad all through dinner. Maybe he was feeling ashamed. She could hope.
When everyone was done eating and the dishes were all cleaned and sitting in the dishrack, dessert resting comfortably in their bellies, Maggie and Glenn loaded both their cars up with the small suitcases they'd brought and bid everyone goodbye. Hershel got teary-eyed, as he always did. Shawn gave Glenn a hearty handshake and a clap on the shoulder. And Beth asked if they were sure it'd be safe to drive in the rain. Glenn reassured her that he was a good driver and had plenty of experience with driving in all types of weather thanks to years of delivering pizzas. And Maggie just gave Beth an annoyed look.
As the Greene sisters hugged goodbye, Maggie whispered in Beth's ear, "Call me tomorrow night so we can talk—I wanna know everything. Keep me in the loop, okay? Yer not alone in this."
Beth hugged her sister a little tighter than usual and nodded her head, fighting back tears. She was finding it a lot harder to say goodbye this time than the past couple dozen times. But she was grateful to have Maggie on her side. Truly on her side—the one member of her family that she could be completely honest with. They would have a lot to catch up on when Beth called tomorrow.
A short while later, Hershel, Shawn, and Beth were standing on the porch, watching Maggie and Glenn drive off, headlights reflecting off the raindrops. Hershel waved until the cars were out of sight. Then he sniffled and gave Beth's arm a squeeze before retreating inside. Shawn and Beth followed behind him.
Well, that was that. Beth was back to being on her own. Or at least, that's what it felt like.
With Maggie and Glenn gone, and a busy Monday morning to look forward to, the remaining Greenes chose to turn in early. Hershel retreated to his bedroom with a worn old Bible and a notebook, Shawn stayed downstairs in the den to watch some Sunday Night Football, and Beth locked herself away inside her own room.
She spent a while scrolling mindlessly through social media on her phone while she lay in bed, trying to distract herself. She needed a friggin' break. It felt like she'd been going nonstop for the last five days, each day presenting her with some new emotion to process. Her head was fit to burst with all the information running through it.
And Merle still hadn't reappeared. Which she didn't take as a particularly good sign. She knew he was probably with Daryl, listening in and being nosey. But how long until he got bored and came back to pester her? It went without saying that he knew about their little argument. She just wasn't sure how much shit he was going to give her for it, and whether she had any patience left to listen without exploding.
When scrolling through social media grew boring, and Beth found herself still thinking about Daryl, she gave up and opened her text messages. She'd already been half-forming what she could say. Though she wasn't sure whether she'd actually press the Send button or not.
She started typing: Daryl, I'm honestly so sorry. I understand why you're angry, and you have every right to be, but I need you to understand that —
She stopped and erased everything she'd just typed, scowling to herself. She was sorry, yeah. But she'd already explained herself. She'd already made it as clear as possible that she had no choice but to be thrust into his most private memories. Did he not understand just how powerful and new her Gift was? Or did he really think she was going to master it in three days flat?
He's not stupid, she thought. He knows. He understands. He's not a stray cat—yeah, well, I'm not a doormat. I don't owe him any more apology than what I've already given. I can't be any more sorry. We have more important things to worry about. He needs to focus on the big picture instead of getting upset because I accidentally slipped through his armor.
Beth sighed and tried to follow her own advice. She pushed Daryl from her head and thought about Rick. About Merle. About the judge they were supposed to meet. About Morgan and the things he'd foretold. Halloween was approaching fast, and where the hell were they supposed to find this mysterious party?
At that, she typed out a new message. And before she could hesitate, she pressed Send.
So did Rick contact you at all today about meeting with that judge lady?
She set her phone aside and tried not to look at it. Instead, she occupied herself with pulling out her journal and locating a pen. Then she sat down at the desk and started jotting down all the things that were still flooding her mind, trying desperately to make sense of it all as she put it into words.
At least thirty minutes passed, and Beth had filled three pages front-and-back with her feverish scribbles. She paused to stretch her hand out and ease the ache forming in her wrist, then dove back in, thoughts and emotions pouring out through the pen. She'd filled another half of a page when her phone vibrated.
She stopped and dropped the pen, flicking her eyes over to land on the lit-up screen. Daryl had responded.
Couldn't get a hold of her. Said he'd try again in the morning and let us know.
Beth read the message a couple times, sighing with discontent. She ultimately decided not to reply with anything more than, "Ok lmk when you hear from him please."
She almost hoped he'd send another text back. But several minutes of clutching her pen without writing anything and constantly glancing at the dark screen of the phone finally dashed those hopes.
Of course, that was the moment Merle decided to show up. A chill ran down her spine, immediately followed by that familiar scratchy voice.
"He don't wanna talk to you, blondie. Not tonight, pro'lly not tomorrow… shit, maybe not ever again."
She expected him to cackle with sadistic pleasure, but he didn't. In fact, his tone was borderline morose, despite the taunting lilt that was almost always present. Still, she didn't turn and look at him. She hunched down over her journal and tried to ignore him.
No matter. He was growing accustomed to being ignored. "Ya done went an' made the boy cry. Angry tears, sure, but tears nonetheless. Hell, I ain't seen him that pissed off since before I died… But you know all about that now, don'tcha? He gave you an inch an' ya took a mile. It's ballsy, I'll give ya that. But ya ought've known it'd piss 'im off. All yer doin' is pushin' him further away."
Beth couldn't resist. She turned and glared at Merle, who was leaning back against her dresser with his hands in his pockets. "It was an accident. How many times do I have to try an' explain it? You guys will never get it, but… he should know I'd never try and take a mile. I didn't need to see any of that stuff… I didn't want to see that stuff."
Merle scoffed. "Sure ya didn't. What was it you was tellin' me? Sum'n 'bout havin' intent? And control? What happened to that?"
She shook her head. "It was different this time. I didn't have a choice. I know how it happened—"
"And?"
"And what?"
"How'd it happen? If you know. Why the hell couldn't you stop yerself from crossin' those boundaries?"
"I…" Beth's voice drifted off and she averted her gaze. She suddenly felt ashamed. Her voice softened, "I was thinking too much. I was askin' too many questions inside my own head."
"Huh," Merle grunted. "Typical."
"But it was still different, because it wasn't intentional," she insisted, meeting his eyes with renewed determination. "I just—I didn't know how to stop it. And I didn't realize it was happenin' till it was too late. And I couldn't figure out how to step away until I'd already seen too much."
And, she thought to herself. I didn't faint or pass out or even black out. Daryl wouldn't have had any idea that I'd seen anything if I hadn't said something. It was just like with Dale, but accidental… so, what does that say for how powerful I'm getting? Am I starting to learn how to control some parts and not others? How do I control all of it?
Merle's eyebrows knit together. "Yeah, well, sounds ta me like ya'd best take a valuable lesson outta this. Y'know how it happened—so don't let it happen again."
Beth waved him off. "I don't need you tellin' me how to deal with my Gift… Just leave me alone. I don't wanna talk about it anymore."
He snorted. Then he disappeared, immediately reappearing on the other side of the room, perched on the edge of the bed. He leaned forward and rested his elbows atop his thighs, and even though she was staring down at the half-filled journal page before her, she could feel his icy glare on her back.
"Don't wanna talk about it, huh?" He asked, low and menacing. "Really? 'Cause I know yer li'l virgin eyes got one helluva show. 'F you went anywhere as near as deep as ya went with Old Man Horvath, I know you saw some ugly shit."
Her shoulders tensed, but she didn't respond.
"Yeah." She could hear the sly smirk on his mouth. "I'll bet you ain't ever gonna look at my brother the same again. Isn't that right, Greene?"
She set her pen down and spun around in the desk chair to face him with an expression of stony determination. "It's not Daryl that I'll never look at the same—it's you."
Merle blinked and his smirk disappeared. "The fuck for?"
"'Cause I saw just as much about Daryl as I saw about you," Beth clarified. "Yeah, I saw the day you left for the military, and I saw what I can only guess is Daryl's best memory of your mom; maybe one of the only memories he has left of her. And I also saw how despicable yer dad was, especially after Daryl spent a week healing in the ICU instead of dying. But I saw more of you than anythin' else—I saw that big fight between you two, when you discovered his scars. And then I saw the last time he ever spoke to you… I heard everything you said, Merle. And I saw exactly how you treated Daryl while you were alive. And all I can say is that it makes a lot of sense."
Merle's lip twitched and his eyes narrowed. She could see him grinding his teeth in silent aggravation. When he spoke, his tone was even lower than before, even more threatening. "Oh yeah? So now ya think you got it all figured out? 'S that it, blondie?"
She shrugged indifferently.
"'Cause you saw Daryl's side, not mine," he growled. "Best you keep that in mind next time you go huntin' fer Dixon treasure. One'a these days, yer gonna learn somethin', and it's gonna make you wish you'd never even asked the fuckin' question. You can bet yer ass on it, girl."
"Too late," she retorted. "I already learned what it feels like to hear your own mother screaming in the next room, and bein' unable to do anything about it except crawl out a window to keep from dying with her."
"Fuckin' Christ," Merle cursed, standing to his feet. "How many goddamn times am I gonna have ta hear about that shit?!" He took a step towards Beth, staring her down with narrowed eyes and a heavy scowl on his face. His voice rose with anger. "You think that's the worst thing you could'a learned? You think that's as bad as it's gonna get? 'Cause you got a rude fuckin' awakening comin' yer way, Beth!"
"So do you," Beth snapped back without missing a beat. She met his glare with one of her own, unwavering, and went on, "The thing is, Merle—this whole time, I kept thinkin' you had some kinda superiority complex. But now I know that's not it. It's exactly the opposite, isn't it? You've felt inferior yer whole life; you were raised to believe you were inferior. Deep down, you think everybody is somehow better than you, and it infuriates you. But it leaves ya powerless. You can't change your past, or how people look at you, no matter what you do. And you spent so many years bein' powerless that you have to maintain power somehow. You have to lash out at those people, because even though you killed Will Dixon, it didn't kill the part of him that lives inside yer head. And it doesn't matter what you have to do to assert your dominance—manipulating, lyin', guilt-tripping, whatever. As long as you come out on top. Right? As long as everyone knows yer not the pathetic, waste of space, ignorant trailer trash that you've always been. 'Cause if they fear ya, or hate ya, they can't look down on you, or make you feel inferior… even though you know you're inferior. In more ways than one."
Merle's face paled, even for a ghost. "Fuck you," he spat. "You don't know what you think ya know. You got no clue what the hell yer even talkin' about. I didn't—"
But she cut him off, maintaining her level tone of voice, staring him straight in the eyes. "And I can't even blame you fer all that. I know it's not your fault. If I'd had a dad like that, I'd probably have the same cruel voice in my head fer the rest of my life. But then I see Daryl and—Daryl's a lot like you. Of course he is. He learned all the worst self-soothing habits an' coping mechanisms from you. Because he looked up to you. He relied on you. Yet he's so different. He has hope—real, genuine hope. Hope fer you, and for himself. He kept tellin' himself you'd see the light eventually; kept hoping you'd stop tryin' to live in spite and just start living in the moment. Livin' for yourself… He loved you, Merle. He missed you even before you were really gone. He wanted better for you. An' he still does."
The dead Dixon barked out a humorless laugh, though his face was still pale and he was crossing his arms over his chest defiantly. "Save yer psychobabble bullshit fer somebody who cares. You think you can shrink my brain? Too late fer that, sweetheart."
His words rolled off her back and she continued with full confidence, "It's time ta let it go, Merle. Just like the Witch of Youghal told you. All you ever really wanted was to make sure you an' Daryl would never turn out anything like your father. And you didn't. Daryl didn't. You both turned out a million times better… in yer own ways. It's not too late for you yet. Or him. You can still make amends for all your short-comings. I'm givin' you the chance—Daryl is givin' you the chance. Don't squander it like you squandered everything else before you died."
He sneered, shaking his head. "I ain't squandering shit. It's you who's fuckin' this up. I didn't piss Daryl off. I'm not the one who made him cry this time."
Beth sighed and spun her chair around to the desk, turning her back on him. "There you go again," she muttered. "Placing blame, turnin' things around so you don't have to acknowledge yer own flaws."
"How the fuck is this about me?!" Merle cried, indignant. "Last I checked, you're the one with the Gift, and you're the one who went divin' too deep into my baby brother's head. This one ain't on me, sweetcheeks. Don't you try an' deny it."
"I told you, it was an accident," she argued, growing frustrated and turning her head to look up at him. "It's not like I saw anything that I didn't already know—all it did was give me a better understanding of the relationship between you two, and why you've been so stubborn through this whole ordeal. If I wanted real answers, I wouldn't go bargin' into Daryl's head to find 'em."
Merle cackled. "Maybe you should try tellin' that to him. Again. 'Cause I don't really give a flyin' fuck. What bothers me is the idea that Daryl ain't gonna be so willin' ta help us out no more. All thanks to you."
She shook her head and turned back to stare down at her journal. The weight of guilt was settling inside her stomach, making her uneasy.
Was it possible? Did she push too hard and effectively push Daryl away entirely? Could Merle actually be right for once?
When she didn't respond, he took it as an admission of guilt. And he added, "Jus' so ya know, he ran home cryin' to that butchy roommate of his, all pissed off an' ready ta hit somethin'. And ya wanna know why? 'Cause it's not like he's sad—nah, he don't cry when he's sad. He's pissed. He's fucking furious."
Beth remained silent, refusing to lift her head or meet Merle's gaze.
"'Cause you just fucked everything up," Merle said. "Daryl thought he had some kinda fresh start with the likes'a you. He's naive as all hell, but I can't say I blame 'im fer thinkin' he might have a fightin' chance with a girl like you—or a family like yers. But now you've seen all that grisly shit in his head. You saw how the sausage got made. And he knows just as well as I do… that's the type'a shit that scares a person off. Makes 'em look at ya different. Makes 'em feel bad for ya, even if they don't wanna feel bad. Makes 'em not wanna try as hard… You can say you don't pity him, but you an' I both know that ain't true. It could never be true. Right, blondie?"
Her mouth had gone dry and the weight in her stomach was getting heavier and heavier.
Merle huffed out a breath, half-amusement and half-exasperation. "He's terrified that you ain't ever gonna look at him the same again. And he should be. Because you won't… Mark my words. With everythin' you see, everythin' you learn, it's gonna leave an impression. Not a good one, neither. The deeper you go, the more painful it gets. And you got more'an enough pain of yer own. Don'tcha, blondie?"
Beth didn't say anything.
She knew Merle was wrong; there was nothing she could learn about Daryl at this point that would make her feel any differently about him.
But that wasn't the issue, was it? It was him knowing that she knew. And understandably, there were some parts of his past—some memories ingrained into his mind—that he didn't want anyone knowing about. Least of all his new "friend." Whether she would judge him or view him differently or not, it didn't matter. Because now she knew all his deepest insecurities. She'd seen all his best-hidden scars.
And she had no right to know those things.
Well, she got what she wanted. To understand him. But at what cost? Would he ever let her get close again after this? Or did she really just fuck it all up?
A moment later, Merle disappeared. But she could still hear the echo of his cold laughter after he was gone.
to be continued…
