heartbeat II
His heart leapt up into his throat and stayed there for the entirety of their walk down the last two blocks that led to his apartment building. And it didn't stop thump-thump-thumping against the inside of his shirt until they were inside, ascending the flights of stairs and entering the little shithole he called home. If she'd wanted to order an Uber, he was pretty sure she wouldn't have wasted the effort of climbing all those stairs. Or taking her coat off. Or helping herself to the inside of his fridge.
Suddenly, the apartment felt like home for the first time in months.
She babbled on half-drunkenly about Brittany and Brittany's shitty boyfriend. He was only half-listening to the extent of the drama that had ensued, and that she'd been forced to witness and be dragged into, because he was too entranced by the way she flowed through his little apartment like she'd never left. She hung her coat over the back of a chair and flipped on all the lightswitches after cracking open two cold beers from the fridge and handing him one, striding over almost reflexively and turning up the heat on the thermostat until it was loudly kicking the vents to life around them.
And while she laughed and loudly concluded her story with a declaration of her decision to "keep me the fuck out of it for once," he watched her rifling through the pile of clutter on his desk. He was about to ask what she was searching for, but then she opened the drawer and her eyes lit up, and she quickly reached in and pulled out the small, black speaker she'd been looking for.
If she'd opened the second drawer, she would've found the pile of old cards and love letters that she'd told him to "throw away and forget about" sitting atop a pile of paperwork clutter. But she didn't.
He wasn't worried about the state of his place or what she'd think in general. She'd grown more than used to it by now. And he lived relatively clean, except for the clutter. He knew that she lived similarly, so there was nothing she could rightfully criticize him on. It didn't seem to matter to her regardless. She moved about the small apartment like she lived there, having little trouble with remembering where everything was kept. He never rearranged or changed things either, so that probably helped. Nonetheless, it spurred an odd feeling for him. Like nostalgia, but much deeper and more painful. She navigated his tiny space with ease, but there was a new hesitance about it. As though she were afraid of overstepping a boundary that they'd never had between them.
It was the same hesitance that had sat between them all night, that had kept his hands to himself during their walk home. And now it sat inside his chest, heavy and throbbing with a steady ache; a silent reminder of how things had changed, no matter how much he didn't want them to.
Just friends, his own mind was taunting him. Just friends. Just friends.
Music blasted out from the little black Bluetooth speaker sitting on the desk, filling the small area as she slipped her phone into her back pocket and began enthusiastically nodding her head and swaying her hips to the beat. He recognized the song as one of her favorites - one of the songs she loved to play that he'd always complained about. Yet this time, it sounded different. Better. He could tell why she loved it so much, especially as he watched her hips moving side-to-side like a gentle ocean wave to the beat.
He stifled a laugh as he watched, then took a long swig of his beer. Her head turned and those cornflower blues landed on him and he felt his entire body lift upwards.
"You got any more cigarettes?" She asked.
A moment later, they were out on his balcony. It was small, barely enough room for three people to stand side-by-side at once. But he only ever needed it so that his furniture wouldn't smell like cigarettes. She'd always liked it, though. Especially on nights like this, when they could look up at the stars and over the city lights. He couldn't even fit a chair out there but she'd never seemed to care. Just like she didn't seem to care tonight.
They stood close together, arms rested on the guardrail, cold air penetrating the thin fabric of their clothes and music pouring out through the open balcony door behind them. He could tell she was drunk because she didn't mind the cold right now, and he knew his fingers were numb so hers must be, too, but it didn't seem to matter. She stared out at the half-lit neighborhood, the bright streetlights and the neon signs in the distance, cigarette pinched loosely between her fingers. He exhaled clouds of smoke that grew larger when they hit the cold air, and he leaned purposefully closer towards her. She was warm against his side.
Before he could let the beer loosen his tongue, she was pulling her phone from her pocket and checking it. He tried not to look, but he glanced over and it was there and right before she darkened the screen, he could faintly make out a bright green notification that read: Jimmy. She sighed audibly and shoved the phone back into her pocket, eyes glazed as they returned to the skyline in the distance.
"Ol' Jimbo wonderin' where ya are? Who yer with…" The words escaped his parted lips before he could stop them and he looked over to gauge her reaction, holding his breath and dreading the worst. Shouldn'ta said that. Please don't leave yet.
But she didn't grow angry like he'd feared. Her brow creased and a shadow of disdain crossed her features when she turned her head and met his eyes. She frowned and blinked for a long second, then turned her head back and gazed blankly at the coffee shop across the street before taking a long drag from the cigarette between her fingers. She held the smoke in her lungs for a beat and exhaled slowly.
"Oh - right. I guess you don't know. 'Cause you blocked me on everything," she muttered, wisps of smoke lingering on her lips, all of the light-hearted drunkenness completely gone from her voice. She was back to sounding just as bitter and resentful as when he'd approached her at the bar.
He sighed and took another long swig of beer. The bottle was almost empty. "Didn't block you - jus' deleted everythin'. Only ever had it 'cause ya wanted me to. You know I hate that social media shit."
"Whatever. I saw yer Instagram the other day, you didn't delete anything," she argued, taking a hasty sip of her beer, still not meeting his gaze. "But that's not the point - you should be happy. You win. He didn't want me. Couldn't stand me, just like you said."
In all honesty, he'd thought that she had blocked him. He'd wanted nothing more than to see how beautiful she still was, to see if she was still happy, even if it was through vague photos on his phone. But he'd fucked up that last remaining connection with his own unbridled anger and petty, childish behavior. His jealousy had gotten the best of him once again.
"I didn't mean any a that shit - I was pissed off. I was fuckin' furious. But I didn't really mean it," he muttered, throat dry and hoarse from smoke. "I… was pissed 'cause I knew that anybody with half a brain could see how perfect you are. Even that dipshit."
She turned her head and finally looked at him, and he watched as the hard crease in her brow softened, and then her mouth was settling into an unsure line. She only met his gaze for a second before staring down at the cigarette between her fingers. And her voice sounded vulnerable, full of misplaced guilt and blame, as she replied, "I'm far from 'perfect.' I'm a fuckin' wreck - I'm outta my mind. I'm… I'm a burden on everybody who knows me. And you saw it, an' you warned me and I didn't listen. Now I get what I deserve."
His stomach turned and the all-too-familiar hollow ache returned to his chest. He drained the last of his beer and stared at the side of her face, at the golden waves of hair pouring over her shoulder. "He treated ya better'an I did. I don't - I can't blame you fer wantin' ta be with him. I didn't mean any a that shit. I was mad, I wanted you to feel as fuckin' worthless as I felt. 'Cause I'm an immature asshole… 'Cause I knew you could do better, an' that you'd never even think about me again."
Her lips parted as though she were contemplating what she wanted to say and his heart didn't even skip while he watched her and patiently waited for a rebuttal. Whether it was the cold air or the alcohol or the nicotine or even the stupid pop song playing through the balcony door that was calming his nerves, he wasn't sure. But for a moment, it felt relieving just to have told her.
Even though she'd always been right, from the very beginning. About everything, really. He still needed her to know that he was trying to take responsibility for his own shit; that he was ready to let the guilt he'd held inside for his entire life begin leaking out into the world. And he was prepared to point it out, name it, and be held accountable for all the damage it caused. He was ready to tell her just how right she'd always been.
And he couldn't help but wonder, with the faintest sense of hope: was that what she'd needed to forgive him? Would that make her want to give him a second chance? Would that make her want to stay the night, maybe cuddled up in her old spot beside him in his bed? Would that make her want to text him back tomorrow? He was trying not to let himself hang on that particular indecision.
He knew that he needed to let her go. She'd never be his again. He'd been trying to convince himself for the last several months, repeating it like a mantra in his head. But goddammit… he wanted her. Forever. Did she even want him anymore? At all?
Something in her eyes, in the way she leaned in just a little closer, was telling him yes. That it might be possible. So what was the right combination of words to convince her?
"Sure sounded like you meant it. An' it wasn't the first time you've said it," she muttered, eyes downcast. "Wasn't the first time I've heard it, either…"
A sharp pain shot through his chest and his fingers fidgeted around the empty bottle in his hand, wishing he had more alcohol to pour down his throat right now. Wishing he could take back every hurtful thing he'd said in the heat of every argument they'd had.
He watched her quickly down the last couple of sips in her own bottle and continue staring out at the skyline. The all-too-familiar silent suffering on her face made him want to reach out and pull her close. But he wasn't sure that was allowed anymore.
"Well, I didn't… You know how I get. When I'm mad. I'm an asshole," he said softly. You know me better than anybody. Always have.
She didn't look up at him, taking a long drag from her cigarette instead.
"Need another beer?" He offered.
She nodded, bloodshot blue eyes set on the lights in the distance and the clouds of smoke curling out in front of her.
He quietly receded into the apartment, tossing his empty bottle into the trash and fetching two cold beers from the fridge. His head was swimming and he knew he didn't need another beer, but as soon as he stepped back out onto the balcony and felt the electricity that ran up his arm when her fingers brushed his while she took one of the bottles from his hand, he knew he needed another beer. Just standing close to her, smelling her, hearing her soft voice - no matter how slurred her words were becoming - was enough to give him heart palpitations.
Her presence had always done that to him, though, and it still did. There was an odd, almost indescribable physical effect that he could feel surging through every muscle in his body when she was near him. Being in her proximity was like being in the orbit of a vast and beautiful planet. Like being tugged downward, farther and farther, until his lungs were full of atmosphere and stardust and his head was swirling with nebulas and supernovas. He couldn't seem to pull himself out of her gravity. And he could never find the willpower to, anyway. Not when it was so invigorating.
"He's an idiot, ya know," he mumbled. "Whatever happened - he don't realize what he's walkin' away from. If he can't see that, maybe he doesn't deserve ya after all."
"Or maybe he jus' finally realized what he'd gotten himself into and backed out before he got in too deep," she said. Her tone was razor-sharp with resentment.
"Yer not that much of a wreck - no more'an anybody else. All that shit I said was what a dipshit like me says when he can see the most amazing girl he's ever fuckin' known walkin' out of his life fer good."
"Bullshit. You hate me. You said so yerself - you wish you'd never met me."
He sighed, swallowing a long swig of beer and licking his chapped lips. "I could never hate you. Not even if I tried... An' I really don't think I'd still be here if I'd never met you."
She chugged from her bottle for a solid two seconds, then took the last, long puff off her cigarette before tossing it over the edge. He could see her eyes trailing the lit cherry until it was swallowed up by the darkness. She took another swig of beer.
"Sometimes, I think I wasn't s'posed ta be here at all," she finally muttered, sounding almost defeated. "I shoulda died in that fuckin' car wreck… with Momma an' Shawn. I think Daddy would be happier now if he didn't have ta worry about me. Maybe Maggie woulda stuck around." Her eyelashes fluttered against her reddened cheeks and the expression on her face was practically wistful. "And you probably would've met a good woman - somebody yer own age who doesn't drag you through a buncha little girl drama."
His own words sounded so much harsher when they were coming from her mouth. He swallowed past a painful knot in his throat and downed a swig of beer, keeping his eyes trained on her. She barely glanced back at him for a split-second before returning to her bottle and the skyline.
"You wantin' me ta tell you that ain't true? 'Cause I think you already know it," he grumbled. "Ain't nobody better off without ya. Not yer family, not yer friends. 'Specially not me."
She hummed in mock contemplation, then said, "I just wish I could… disappear. Make everybody's lives easier."
He pursed his lips and prepared another response, but then she was turning her head and finally meeting his gaze. The pain in her eyes had grown tenfold. The small smile forming on her lips was empty and laced in sarcasm. Her voice was hollow, as though she were too tired to put any effort into caring anymore. "He did the same thing as you, but - worse. He stopped coming home, stopped answering my calls or texts. He said he needed time ta think. 'Cause he 'heard some things' from people around town. From his friends. And then, I came home from work and all his stuff was gone."
Daryl blinked, jaw slack as he watched the torment crossing Beth's face while she summed up the entirety of her current struggle.
She took a quick swig of beer before finishing plainly, "He said he couldn't stand to look at me without feelin' sick. Said he didn't even know me anymore, that maybe he never had… I broke the lease an' moved back home just 'cause I thought I might kill myself if I had t'spend one more night in that empty fucking apartment."
He immediately felt guilty for it, but Daryl couldn't stop the sudden rush of gratuity he felt toward that fuckhead, Jimmy. You didn't have to break her fucking heart like that, but now that ya did, you can stay far the fuck away, he thought.
"He's an idiot. He's just a fuckin' kid," he said tentatively. Her eyes narrowed at him and he could see the venom bubbling at the surface of her lips. He quickly added, "If he's too scared ta go against the shit his dumbass friends say, then he ain't good enough fer you. I know I said a lotta stupid shit. And I wish I could take it back… But I wanted you ta be happy. And he made you happy. But if he couldn't keep it up, then maybe it wasn't even real ta begin with."
Her eyes glazed over and she turned to stare out at the skyline once more. She let out a deep sigh and took a swig of beer. Then she mumbled listlessly, "Yeah. It probably wasn't. That's… kinda what hurts the most. That I was stupid enough ta fall so fast. That I was so fucking selfish that I didn't even care how much I hurt you in the process, as long as I had this-this chance… And then I got what I deserved."
She shrugged and tipped back the bottle again, draining the last of the beer down her throat.
"Well if you deserved that, then I definitely deserved mine. I wasn't good ta you. I was a ghost, jus' like you said. Ain't so crazy that you'd fall fer a guy who came along an' showed ya everything you'd been practically begging me for. I… couldn't give ya what you needed. That's on me. Not you."
This time, when she turned her head and focused those bright blue eyes on his, he could recognize the softness slowly forming in her gaze. Maybe he'd finally said the right thing. Or maybe the beer was just doing its job. He was hoping for the former.
"You gave me everything. I just… wanted too much. You're the only person who's ever really understood me. And I - I got really selfish. An' I fucked up. I shouldn't've pushed you so far when you weren't ready. I knew better and I did it anyway… I set myself up to be disappointed."
That ain't right, he thought.
But goddammit, she was repeating everything he'd ever convinced her of. He'd made her think she was crazy, selfish, cruel, and unlovable. When he knew for a fact that she was none of those things.
"No, you didn't," he said simply. "I did just as much wrong as you - prob'ly more."
I thought you was stronger than that, he wanted to say, but couldn't muster the courage, even now. I'm a piece of shit, throwing rocks at a girl made of glass. I thought you was made of concrete, you always seemed so much stronger than I could ever hope to be... I do understand you. I'll always understand you like nobody else ever could. What the hell kinda damage did I cause? How do I fix it?
There were no answers to be found in her expression, or in the soft sigh that escaped her lips in response to his statement. She turned back and stared out hopelessly at the skyline, then up toward the stars.
He couldn't see the wounds that were causing her endless pain, but he could feel them. He could feel the aftershocks from the earthquake that had left her shattered and trembling. An earthquake of his own doing, made worse by another man's intervention.
Before he could figure out what else he could possibly say, she was pulling her phone from her back pocket and briefly scrolling through it. He noticed a new song interrupting whatever had been playing from the speaker inside, and the volume grew louder as she turned it up before darkening the screen of her phone and shoving it back into her pocket.
It was a country song, and it only took a few seconds for him to recognize the tune. The lyrics poured out and around them, provoking a slew of bad memories to come alive in his head. Despite that, Beth turned her head and looked at him, a smirk on her face.
That was the thing about being drunk. It was almost too easy to slip from an existential crisis into a moment of reminiscence and nostalgia, just like that. Especially for someone like Beth, whose mood could be changed at the flip of a switch by something as simple as a good song. Or, in this case, a song that they'd used to enjoy together. Used to - in a time that, nowadays, felt so long ago.
Yet, right now, as she playfully bumped her hip into his side to the beat and smirked at him, he couldn't fathom ever having sour feelings towards her. For any reason. No matter what song was playing. No matter how much that song had always seemed to mock his own pain and suffering.
"Love's gone to hell and so have I… Here's to the past, they can kiss my glass, I hope she's happy with him. Here's to the girl that wrecked my world, that angel who did me in… I think the devil drives a Coup de Ville. I watched 'em drive away, over the hill - not against her will. I've got time to kill…"
"You remember this song, don't ya?" She smiled up at him and his heart skipped, slowing amidst the mud that was forming around it.
He grunted, a smirk forming on his lips that he couldn't suppress. "All too well."
She shrugged, chuckling light-heartedly. "Still a good song."
Apparently she was done with the suffering for now. She was ready to smile and laugh again, and he was more than happy to let the alcohol take its course and lift the tension between them so effortlessly once more.
She nudged his arm and when he gave her a quizzical look, she glanced pointedly at his pocket. "Got another cigarette?"
He quirked a brow, already reaching into his pocket and extracting the crumpled pack as he teased, "Oh - chain-smokin', huh?"
She chuckled softly and eagerly took the cigarette he held out for her, then the lighter. "Yeah, whatever," she mumbled, lighting it between her lips.
He followed her cue with his own cigarette, stuffing the pack back into his pocket, entranced by the way the thick smoke curled out from her lips and dissipated into the night air. He swigged down the last of his beer and set the empty bottle next to hers atop the narrow guardrail.
"Okay - here's a better song," she said, pulling her phone from her pocket again and scrolling through quickly. The country song was fading out behind them. As she shoved the phone back into her pocket, a new song began picking up.
He recognized it immediately and continued staring at her, smoking his cigarette and watching her cheeks somehow turn more red as her eyes flicked up to his and quickly away.
"Our song," she said softly, smiling to herself while she gazed out toward the skyline.
And it was. The familiar tune echoed through Daryl's bones and the lyrics filled his ears, reminding him of better times. There were no bad memories connected to this song, but the memories that were connected made him ache all the same.
"We'll buy a beer to shotgun, and we'll lay in the lawn, and we'll be good… We'll be good…"
"Good song," he mumbled sheepishly after several long seconds, glancing away and gazing up at the dim stars above. He was trying his hardest not to think of all the times she'd sang these exact lyrics to him, strummed this exact tune on her guitar, gave him butterflies where no man had any business getting 'butterflies.' The memory made his lungs feel heavy and full of lead.
They stood in content silence, listening to the music and leisurely smoking their cigarettes together. He wasn't sure, but it felt like she was inching closer against him. Maybe she was just starting to get cold. He had to remind himself not to put his arm around her, not to pull her in tight or reach over and gently grab her chin to pull her mouth towards his. It was a strange and foreign feeling, to be holding himself back around her. But… just friends. Just friends. Just friends.
Right before the song ended and faded out, he heard her soft voice from beside him, and felt her pressing her side meaningfully against his.
"I never stopped loving you, ya know… I think I'll always love you. In a way that I can never love anybody else..."
His heart skipped, it jumped all the way up to his throat. His breath hitched. Nonetheless, the words poured from him, "Me, too… You got a part a me that I ain't ever gettin' back."
He didn't like the tone in her voice when she whispered, "You could have it back - I never asked for it, Daryl."
His jaw clenched and he inhaled a deep breath of nicotine and tar. As the smoke tumbled from his lips on an exhale, he grumbled, "Don't want it back. Ain't somethin' I could get back, even if I tried. All I ever wanted was you."
He probably shouldn't have said that. But he didn't care anymore. The whiskey finally pushed through and loosened his tongue, as well as his lips. He tossed his cigarette butt out into the air and watched it fall, then turned and focused his attention on her. She'd been staring up at him the whole time, blue eyes wide and unsure. Or - was that the same longing he held inside reflecting back at him from her pale face? Or was he merely seeing what he wanted to see?
Then she took a short drag from her cigarette, puffing out the smoke. And she spoke, confusing him even more.
"I keep dreaming about you. Even when I didn't see you fer months - you kept showin' up like, every other night. An' then I'd wake up with the weirdest feeling, and it wouldn't go away fer hours…"
What was he supposed to say to that? Was he supposed to apologize? Or should he tell her that he didn't dream very often, but whenever he did, it was always about her? Even after weeks and months of not seeing her? Wouldn't that sound like bullshit to her - something that she'd never believe?
And how many more times could he tell her that he loved her before it became downright pathetic?
She lowered her eyelids for a long second, then lifted them and continued gazing up at him. The cigarette was still pinched between her fingers, her hand resting atop the guardrail, and it was nearly burnt down to the butt. She seemed to have forgotten it. Then she sighed and blinked thoughtfully, still staring up into his eyes.
"I think… you might be the only person who'll ever really love me. I dunno why, but I know you do. Even after… everything. Even after you've seen how hideous I actually am on the inside."
He flicked his tongue out across his lips and wished he had another beer in his hand right now. He was unable to break away from her intense stare, like she was boring into his very soul. She'd rooted him to the spot where he stood, heart racing and mouth gone dry. And she was gazing up at him expectantly, like there was a certain line he was supposed to recite in response.
All he could think about was that she knew he loved her. That she knew he still loved her, would always love her, like no one else ever could.
"You ain't hideous," he said. "And… a lotta people love you. Maybe not in the same way that I do, but it's still love. I won't be the last guy ta fall in love with you neither, I can promise ya that."
She rolled her eyes, but before she could scoff or quip back with a sarcastic remark or brush off his statement, he let his mouth pull the last few hesitant words from the inside of his head, and they slid quickly down a steep slope drenched in whiskey, beer, and sky-blue eyes.
"Yer the only woman I've ever loved. Only woman I ever will love."
He could see her swallowing hard, and then she was quickly looking away and staring out at the skyline once again. But her eyes didn't glaze over this time - her face was contemplative, almost conflicted. Like she wasn't sure whether she should say what was on her mind or not.
Just say it. Please. Whatever it is, he silently willed her soft lips to part and her melodic voice to fill his ears over the music playing behind them. There was a beat, a second that seemed to drag on far too long.
And then she whispered, "Sometimes, I think - I feel like we're... soulmates."
The cold night air entered his lungs and froze into a million little sharp ice crystals. She tossed her burnt-out cigarette butt over the edge and turned her head to meet his heavy gaze, the slightest hint of regret evident in her expression. Her cheeks were turning a darker shade of red and it wasn't because of the cold. Then she blinked rapidly and shook her head, giving him a crooked half-smile.
"I know, that sounds stupid, I just - "
He stopped her. "No. It doesn't. I - honestly, I never believed in none a that... Till I met you."
Her lips were still parted, paused mid-sentence, and her eyes grew wider as her eyebrows slowly raised in surprise. And realization.
But it wasn't like she didn't know. She had to, he thought. There was no way she didn't know how much she meant to him. How many bleeding, wounded sides of him had she seen since they'd known each other? Did she really think he just went around letting himself get vulnerable with random women? Or any women, for that matter? They'd had this discussion a million times. Did he really have to put it out there for her in layman's terms?
And if that was all he'd needed to do, why the fuck had his pussy ass never manned up before and just said it? Because he'd certainly done a shit job of showing it. And she's always told him: actions speak louder than words. Maybe that was why she'd never believed it. And maybe that was why, even now, she wouldn't believe him. What reason had he given her, anyway? Time and time again, he'd presented her with nothing but more reasons to believe that she meant nothing to him. To believe that he was barely a wisp of a man who would never remain solid in any one place - a ghost.
How could he ever make up for all the harm he'd caused?
At the same time, he knew that the root of most problems was his inability to swallow his pride. Ever. Even now, as he searched for ways to show her that he was remorseful, he couldn't forget the pain she'd inflicted over the years, both purposefully and accidentally. He couldn't get past the hard caster that formed around his heart whenever he thought about taking all the blame and throwing himself at her feet, begging for forgiveness. She wasn't perfect either. But wasn't that the point? That neither of them were perfect in any sense of the word, yet they still kept loving each other despite it? Or were his perceptions of 'love' all fucked-up?
"I tell myself I'm too codependent, but - I don't…" Her voice was pain-stricken, trailing off as her eyes drifted away from his, shadowed in doubt. She pressed her lips together tightly before barely parting them to finish softly, "I don't feel whole. I've always felt like a part a me was missing. And then I found you, and… it was just there. An' when yer gone, I'm incomplete again. Like there's a big open spot, somethin' nobody can fill or replace… I thought Jimmy could fill it. I thought he wanted all the stuff you didn't want. But he just left another hole."
Hearing that asshole's name roll off her tongue made him cringe every time. It made him imagine her wrapped up with a boy who had no idea what kind of treasure he had laid before him. And that image made him physically sick.
Daryl swallowed hard and stared down at his hands. When he finally willed himself to drag his eyes back up to her face, he found her gazing up at the stars.
He wasn't sure where it came from, but then his voice was coming out in a low growl, "I wanted everything you wanted, I jus' - I didn't know how ta do it. I was scared… Still am. It's flat-out terrifying ta let somebody have so much control over you."
Beth tore her gaze away from the stars and looked at him incredulously. "I never wanted any control over you," she started.
"You know that's not what I meant," he clarified.
Her mouth snapped shut and her face fell, reaffirming his assumption. She did know what he meant. He hadn't meant control as in literal control, but the kind of control that came unwillingly to someone in love. She had been the deciding factor on his mood, his outlook, his complete mindset for the last few years. No, she hadn't wanted to be. But she just was.
That's what happened when you fell in love with someone, when you laid your heart and soul out at their feet and begged them not to step on it. That's what happened when you let yourself love a wounded girl so deeply that she became an integral piece of your very existence, and the compass by which you navigated your entire life. That's what happened when you let that wounded girl see your own scars and feel your internalized agony for herself; when you let a damaged person inside and give them free reign to heal or destroy as they see fit.
He'd handed a large chunk of himself over to her, placed it in her hands, unwrapped and bare, and asked her to place it somewhere safe. Somewhere nice. And sometimes, he didn't even want it back. Even though his soul constantly ached for its restoration.
"I never wanted to fall for you, but you made me fall hard," she said matter-of-factly, and the words began pouring from her lips in half-slurred, drunken honesty, her gaze unwavering. "I wanted ta be free an' self-reliant, for once in my life. I never wanted ta let myself be defined by somebody else. I wanted ta live the life my mama always wanted for me. I wanted to prove Maggie wrong and be the best daughter my daddy could've ever hoped for. But… fuck, Daryl. I don't know what it was. I still don't know. But from the first time I saw you, I knew - I had a feeling. Like me an' you were connected somehow. And then it just… it was too easy. It felt so right. You pulled me in and pushed me away an' pulled me back in - but bein' with you always felt so comfortable... I can't go one single day without missing you, without wanting to talk ta you. You've always been my safe place."
He wasn't even sure his heart was working properly anymore, or his lungs or any other part of his body. Those cornflower blues had set their sights on him and sent a rush of icy water through every limb. And then that icy water was immediately replaced with a reassuring warmth. A sensation he'd been longing and searching for over the past months to no avail.
Because she was the only one who could give it to him. She was the only one he wanted to hear these words from. No matter how much guilt they brought to life within him.
"Didn't make you fall in love with me - didn't plan on fallin' fer you neither. I can't say sorry fer somethin' I didn't do," he said, his voice cracking toward the end. He needed another drink. "But it… I felt that, too. I dunno what it was either. I jus' - I ain't never met somebody that made me feel so goddamn alive, Beth. I fucked up, but I couldn't stand the thought a cuttin' you off completely. Still can't."
She was silent for a couple of seconds, and he subconsciously held his breath. Then she spoke in a tone that was half-mocking and half-serious, "Maybe we're just meant to be."
He wanted to laugh, wanted to brush it off as a joke. But he simply couldn't. Because he'd been thinking the same thing for so damn long now. And it was such a stupid thing to say - even stupider to admit. But if he'd learned anything from being with her, and losing her, it was that denying his true feelings only ended up hurting him in the long run. What more did he have to hide from her? She'd seen it all, and here she was. Back again for more. Unable to stay away.
Maybe she felt the same gravitational pull that he'd always felt. Or maybe she just liked punishing herself. Maybe she was a sucker for the suffering, just like him. She certainly had the physical scars to support that theory… But so did he.
At the same time, he wanted the situation to be different. Completely different. Why couldn't they have met at a different time, a different place, a different setting? Why did all the cards always have to be stacked against them?
"So… can I stay the night?" She asked, jarring him back to reality, back to the present and the circumstances around their little private party.
He hadn't thought that would even be a question. Then again, she was going through the motions - since they were just friends. It still felt odd to hear her asking for permission.
There it was: that invisible boundary that had never been there before, that boundary that felt forced and painful. As if there'd never been a time where she'd had her own spot in his bed, a million different soaps alongside the edge of his bathtub, and a drawer in his dresser. As if he'd send her away from the safety of his shitty apartment at this time of night, with this much alcohol in her system.
"'Course ya can. Ain't gotta ask," he mumbled.
She smiled weakly and, for the briefest second, it felt like just another night together on the balcony. For the briefest second, it felt like she'd never left.
to be continued...
A/N: The songs mentioned in this chapter were "Brokenheartsville" by Joe Nichols and "Be Good" by Waxahatchee.