scar tissue II

They didn't kiss again for three long weeks.

He wanted to, more than anything. But it always took a few drinks before he could build up the courage to even consider actually doing it. And then, whenever he'd find that perfect level of inebriation and begin to contemplate acting on his desire, she would lean into him and bat those eyelashes and flash that smile and suddenly, he would feel completely sober. And completely terrified. All of his gathered courage would immediately flee his body and he would find himself frozen before her, unable to close the distance between them, unable to fight through the tight ball of anxiety that would form in the pit of his stomach.

She made him feel a fear that he was unfamiliar with. He was used to fear, but not like this. He didn't know how to overcome it, how to push it off or confront it. All he knew was that something had changed between them, and he wanted it to keep changing - but not if it meant losing whatever it was they'd been sharing all summer.

Sometimes, he had no trouble reading her. They'd gotten to a point where they were occasionally finishing each other's sentences, where he could tell when she was uncomfortable or upset or holding something back even if she tried to hide it. But with this, he couldn't tell. He couldn't read her. He had no idea if she was just drunk when they made out and was too ashamed and nice to tell him that she regretted it and that it meant nothing… or if she was scared, too.

They didn't even talk about it. He wasn't sure if talking about it was unnecessary, or if they were both just too cowardly to sit down and confront the truth. But he wasn't going to be the one to try and fix something that wasn't broken.

He'd already decided that, wherever they were going, he would take her hand and let her lead them there. Even if it wound up being a dead end.

Then everything fell together at once. Definitely not in the way he'd expected or hoped, but he'd long past accepted that that was how life worked most of the time.

A week after her birthday party, Beth's cousin, Arnold - who'd spent a large chunk of the summer hanging out with them alongside Maggie and Merle - came home to find his daddy lying dead on the kitchen floor. A massive heart attack swooped in and stole Hershel Greene's last living brother, sending him into a rapid downward spiral. He turned back to the bottle. Just like he did after Maggie's mom died and before Beth came along. Just like he'd done not so many years ago, when he'd lost his wife and only son in the same car accident that nearly killed his youngest daughter.

Daryl couldn't say he didn't understand. He'd dealt with alcoholics all his life, he knew the pattern and the struggle and the general disappointment that seemed inevitable. But that pattern had mostly played itself out before Beth had even been conscious. And then she'd only gotten a bitter taste of that experience for a couple years of her life, as Maggie had been the one to take responsibility and keep the family from falling apart while dragging their father out of a deep, dark depression.

This time, it was different. Beth didn't know how to console her daddy, how to drag him away from his precious bottle or break his destructive pattern. She didn't know how to fix things or even where to start to try and make things better. And Maggie decided that this was the last straw. She didn't leave college to come home and try to resume her role as the Family Healer. In fact, she stopped visiting altogether, and the phone calls became screaming matches drenched in tears, growing fewer and farther between until they began going to voicemail and, eventually, remaining unanswered.

She didn't have the "emotional capacity" to deal with all of that. She was seeing someone she really liked, and she was trying to focus on her degree and her job. She simply didn't have the time, or the energy, to fix the same problem for the hundredth time. Besides, Beth was an adult now, and she'd chosen not to attend college for her first year out of high school, so what did she have better to do anyway? According to Maggie, this was a good "learning experience" for the youngest Greene, and if nothing else, a sign that it was time for her to "separate and live her own life."

When all was said and done, the only thing Daryl had taken from it was that Maggie was truly selfish, and her notion of "family" was fifty shades of fucked up.

He felt a sickness to his stomach at the realization that he could recognize the pain Beth was experiencing: it was all too similar to the pain he'd felt decades ago, when Merle had enlisted in the military and disappeared, leaving Daryl to deal with their father all alone. It nearly broke him. And he'd be damned if he would sit back and watch Beth be broken like that. Whether she was an "adult who could handle it" or not - no one should have to carry that load all alone, he decided. Especially not a pure soul like her.

But he didn't know what to say, had absolutely no idea what to do. How could he help her? How could he try to make it better, how could he fix it for her? He didn't even know where to start, what he could possibly contribute that would be helpful in any way. He'd never been very good with words, and he'd always been terrible at comforting people and giving reassuring advice. And he was pretty sure she wouldn't feel any better from hearing that he thought Maggie was a fucking bitch.

All he wanted was to pull Beth out from beneath the debris of her slowly crumbling life and tuck her under his arm until the storm had passed. He wanted to keep her safe. He wanted to protect her from all the sharp edges of the world. Even if most of those sharp edges lay around her home and her family, in the invisible demons that were constantly circling her like a swarm of vultures. She was too good for all of that. They were going to drain the goodness right out of her, they were going to break her before she even had the chance to spread her wings.

In all honesty, he just wanted to whisk her off her feet and take her far away. Someplace nice - peaceful and quiet. Somewhere that would make her feel so happy amidst the chaos that she'd want to sing, loud and unabashed.

So that's what he did. Instead of sitting and watching her cry, listening to her yell and vent and downright sob; instead of holding her and rubbing her back and letting her tears soak his shirt; instead of downing beer after beer with her, continuously searching for the right words to say like they'd been doing nearly every night for the last two weeks… he took her away. Just for a night.

But that night turned into something more than he'd ever expected.

He could still remember nearly every detail, no matter how much time passed.

It was a Sunday night in late September and the weather was still nice as autumn began peeking its head around the corner and the summer heat and humidity gradually faded. Beth had been huffing and puffing over Maggie's cold shoulder and Hershel's lack of presence - the old man was spending every night in the bar at the edge of town, stumbling home around sunrise and sleeping until dusk. She'd tried everything she could think of - everything she was capable of - to snap him out of it, but nothing worked.

So she'd resorted to pacing around her bedroom while Daryl sat on the edge of her bed, and she ranted and raved as he nodded and grunted and made all the appropriate sounds of disapproval and agreement. Her window was open and the warm evening breeze was drifting in, ghosting across his skin. He was still racking his brain for a solution, for comforting words that he could say, for any sort of real help he could provide for her. He felt so powerless, so absolutely useless as he watched her crack and struggle not to break apart before him. It was only a matter of hours before she'd be lying across his lap again, sobbing quietly and asking for more beer.

And then it hit him, very suddenly and all at once: he decided that he had to do something.

He was watching her pull a can of beer from the case he'd brought up to her room, his gaze focused on her fingers as they worked to flip the tab open. He saw the way her fingernails were chewed down to the quick, how the edges of her thumbnail were rusty red with dried blood and tiny scabs. And before her lips could even touch the rim of the can, he was standing up and telling her to grab her jacket and guitar while he grabbed the beer. He didn't miss the small smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth as she set her can down and silently moved to retrieve her things. And a few minutes later, they were sitting in his dirty old pickup truck and speeding down the empty gravel roads, leaving the farm in their rearview mirrors and large clouds of dust in their wake.

She was quiet during the drive. She didn't ask where they were going, didn't voice any dark thoughts about her family, didn't speak at all. He cranked the radio up and tuned it to her favorite station in hopes that she might start singing, or at the very least, humming along. But she just stared out the window and watched the open fields and endless trees whizzing by, blue eyes wide and clouded with countless worries and unspoken fears. They both smoked cigarettes out the open windows and let the evening breeze whip through their hair. He kept glancing over at her, watching her, willing her to speak or smile or even cry. But all she did was continue gazing outward thoughtfully, occasionally tracing the pad of her thumb across the scar on her wrist like a nervous habit.

By the time he was making the final turn down the dark and quiet road that led to their destination, he was a tight ball of tension and clenched muscles. At first, the idea that popped into his head had filled him with excitement, and he'd driven a little faster than normal just because he was so antsy to get there and see her reaction. But he was doubting his choice more and more with every mile, wondering if it was even a good idea at all or if she would think it was a waste of time and demand that he take her home. Maybe she'd just thought they were going for a drive. Maybe he really had no fucking idea how to make her feel better, how to show her that he cared and wanted to help - somehow.

But the clear night sky wouldn't allow him to turn back. The stars were growing brighter above them, the crescent moon rising higher and higher, silently insisting that they lay beneath it together and try to remember how small they actually were amongst the vastness of the universe. Insisting that he show her.

She remained silent as he took them off the road, slowing down and driving through the tall grass of a large field, heading toward darkness. She was looking around curiously, trying to figure out where he was taking her. Then he approached the edge of the darkness and slowed, finally coming to a stop at the top of a steep, downward sloping hill. He put the truck into Park and shut off the engine, and as soon as he turned and saw the look on her face, he knew he'd had the right idea.

He knew she'd like this place.

The last of the lights in the truck turned off and the darkness enveloped them completely. There were acres and acres of green fields rolling out before them, and in the distance, the Atlanta skyline shone bright against the darkened night sky. Every building was lit up, glowing even brighter than the stars above. They had a perfect view of the bustling city, far enough away to enjoy the peace and quiet of nature, the buzzing cicadas and singing crickets, the hooting owls and howling coyotes.

Daryl came out to this spot every now and then, but it was always alone. It was his quiet place - the place he could go to get away from his asshole dad and Merle and everything else, where he could drink and smoke in peace and listen to his radio while he stared at the fireflies and the stars and the city skyline. It was one of the only places where he could go and think. Or not think.

As he watched Beth leaning forward with a smile slowly forming on her face, his heart leapt. And when her blue eyes widened and lit up and she turned to him with an expression of genuine surprise and joy, his pulse jumped and he couldn't help but smile back.

Her voice was full of astonishment as she quietly breathed out, "Daryl, this is beautiful."

And he had to agree. Though everything else had disappeared for a moment and all he could see was her.

They got out of the truck and sat atop the warm hood for a little while, sipping beers and gazing at the skyline, watching the stars multiply above while the evening breeze ruffled their hair. She mumbled a little here and there, after-thoughts and bitter statements that he knew felt better rolling off her tongue than being trapped inside her head. He nodded and grunted and agreed, flashed her a reassuring smirk every few minutes, attempted to crack a light joke or two. Her shoulders gradually relaxed and he could practically see the tension rolling off of her in waves, seeping out with every can of beer that she ingested, slowly leaving her body in a much less tensed state than it had been all day. Or all week. And when he tentatively put his arm around her, she leaned into his side and welcomed his touch.

Once again, he was thinking of how badly he wanted to kiss her. But there wasn't nearly enough alcohol in his system yet for that kind of courage.

Then she got up and went around to the bed of the truck, and while he thought she was grabbing another beer, she was actually checking to see if he still had a couple of blankets stashed in the toolbox. Which he did. She suggested they lay the blankets out in the bed of the truck and leave the tailgate open so they could be more comfortable. So he happily turned the truck around, backing up to the top of the hill, and shut it off once more before setting out the blankets and creating a makeshift bed in the back of the pickup.

And then they were sitting close together atop the blankets, shoes kicked off and cold beers in their hands, gazing out at the skyline and the stars. Though he couldn't seem to take his eyes off of her - the way her long, blonde hair rolled down her back and ruffled in the breeze, the way her eyes drank in the sights set out before her, and particularly the way her pink lips wouldn't stop smiling. She looked weightless out here, lifted high above all the baggage that had threatened to drag her down for the last two weeks. Her laughter filled him with warmth, and he tightened his arm around her and pulled her closer every chance he got.

When the steady buzz of cicadas had mostly died out, and Beth was three or four beers deep into forgetting all her problems, she grabbed her guitar from inside the truck and perched herself on the edge of the tailgate. Daryl sat back on his elbows and sipped his beer, watching her strum and trying to burn the image of her - all tanned skin and long hair and half-drunken smiles glowing against the darkness around them and the lights off in the distance - into his brain forever. He wanted to be able to picture this moment in his head forever.

But more than that, he wanted it to last forever. Everything felt so peaceful in the bed of his old pickup truck with nothing but blankets and beer and Beth. It all felt so right.

She strummed playfully for a bit, playing a couple of short tunes and loosening her fingers, her smile slowly fading into a slight frown of concentration. Then she started plucking out the beginning of a song, the sound growing steadier as she fell into rhythm, fingers pressing tightly against the frets. He watched the muscles in her thin arms flexing, repeatedly tensing and relaxing. A small smile returned to her face but her gaze remained focused on the strings she was strumming.

And then the melody registered in his mind and he recognized it just as she began to open her mouth and sing: an old country song, something from way before her time. Her voice rang out around them, filling the night air and drifting out across the open field, echoing inside his chest and making his breath hitch. She was the only thing he could see, and her melodic singing was the only thing he could hear.

"We started the tour out in Denver, Colorado. I made the first one, but I did not make the second show. 'Cause I met this girl there that brought about quite a big change… But I OD'd in Denver, an' I just can't remember her name…"

A light chill ran up and down his spine and he reflexively jiggled his foot to the music, slightly nodding his head along and watching her intently. Her saccharine voice drawled out and dripped across his skin like warm molasses, and though she didn't look up at him, he couldn't take his eyes off her. He'd completely forgotten about the beer in his hand, and all the anger and sadness that had been surrounding him all day suddenly felt miles away.

It was just him and her, and this old country song that was inexplicably making his heart thump at an unprecedented speed. Something about those familiar lyrics coming out in her feminine voice made it sound almost haunting. Like he'd never heard it quite like this before.

"...Doc said, son, you can't do anymore of that cocaine. But she made me higher than all a those expensive things. But I OD'd in Denver, wish I could remember her name… Now I turned to other things, tryin' ta make my daydreams real - but they don't take the place of a woman's face, and her feels. She treated me nice an' I'd like ta find her again. But I OD'd in Denver, and I just can't remember her name… I brought it on myself and I guess that I shouldn't complain. Be damned if I'll ever do anymore of that cocaine…"

As the last few lines poured from her mouth and sunk into his bones, she lifted her head and looked over at him. He wasn't sure if it was a trick of the low light or just his imagination, but he could've swore he saw something flicker in those cornflower blues, intense and meaningful, as they met his steady gaze.

And when she strummed the final chords and softly ended the song, he could feel her telling him something. He could hear it - in the music, in her body language, in the way her eyes set solely on him and refused to drift away.

He just had no idea how to respond.

It took several more beers, a few cigarettes, and a handful of good songs. Then he responded in the only way he knew how - the only way that felt appropriate, that somehow felt right. As they sat close together on the edge of the tailgate, his arm around her lower back and a beer in his other hand, she turned her head and looked up at him with a crooked little half-smile and, without warning, the courage he'd been searching for welled up and burst to life within him, begging to be freed. And he finally leaned in and closed his eyes and pressed his lips softly against hers.

It was worth the weeks of waiting.

Even with all the beer in his system, he would always vividly remember the way she momentarily froze, as though she were caught by surprise. He held his breath without realizing it and waited for the signal that it was okay, prepared to pull away and apologize. But it didn't take more than a second for her to lean into him, to kiss him back and press her body tightly against his. And then a surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins and he couldn't remember a time when he'd ever felt more alive.

After that, their instincts kicked in. The tension that constantly settled around them faded away completely and morphed into something new, something unfounded and unfamiliar. It evolved into a creature of its own, tying a thick, unbreakable thread around both their wrists, binding them together with something they'd never had before, never experienced or felt or understand.

They never stood a chance. Not just him, but either of them.

The kissing turned into feverishly making out, which quickly escalated to heavy petting. In Daryl's head, it was a wispy, half-drunken blur of exposed skin, fingers slipping beneath shirts and pants, hot breaths on necks, and a lot of excruciatingly wonderful friction in all the right places. Like a natural progression that should've taken place a long time ago - that they both wanted to take place a long time ago, but would never give in to until now. The singing crickets and hooting owls played as background music to the steady hums and moans that elicited from her mouth, and the breathy gasps and soft grunts that escaped his own.

He felt drunk on far more than beer when he was buried deep inside her. She tasted sweeter than anything he'd ever had before, and the sounds she made sent a whole new riptide of ecstasy washing over him. He'd never fucked someone like that before. He'd never felt such a connection while being inside of someone.

They tried to use a condom but it was a size too small for him and she definitely noticed. It didn't take long before she was demanding that he take it off, reassuring him that she was on birth control. And for a second, she'd paused - she'd looked him directly in the eye and asked flat-out if he was "clean." But he didn't get offended, barely even batted an eye at the question. It was a legitimate concern, especially considering his track record. But he'd never touch her if he thought there was a chance of tainting her with something. So he just nodded and grunted in reassurance, and he knew that she didn't need anything more than that.

Because, he suddenly realized, she trusted him.

And after they were done, after she'd come onto his fingers twice and then three more times while he was actually fucking her, he found himself leaning down and kissing her. Long and deep, and dare he admit, meaningfully. And when he helped her clean up and lay down beside her afterward, completely spent and panting for breath, the realization fell down upon him like a ton of bricks.

He trusted her, too.

That night was filled with a lot of firsts: The first time he'd made out with someone since high school. The first time he'd fucked a girl that he actually cared about. The first time he'd ever given a shit about his partner getting off before him. The first time he'd kissed a woman after having sex with her…

The first time he'd looked into a woman's eyes while he was inside her and felt something welcoming looking back at him. Something almost loving.

He always told himself that he could never quite pinpoint the exact moment he fell in love with Beth. But if he actually sifted through all the pain and nostalgia, he knew precisely where to find that moment. He'd felt it, bright and burning and all-encompassing, impossible to ignore. It had been sudden, yet inevitable at the same time. And he remembered it so goddamn clearly, like some kind of milestone in his life. Like a fleeting moment of total clarity.

The radio was playing from inside the truck, echoing out around them. It was a song that stuck in his head and remained there forever, epitomizing the moment, sending a sharp sting of agony throughout his whole body whenever that unmistakable beat hit his ears for years to come. It was some stupid hip-hop track by a newer rapper called Drake - he only knew because he vividly remembered the radio DJ announcing it before the music began to play, and because he'd been watching Beth's slender arms gracefully slip through the holes of her T-shirt at the same time.

The lyrics drifted out into the night air while the bass thumped steadily from the old speakers inside his truck, creating a soundtrack for his mental index of pain. Like a reference point among his timeline of suffering.

"You used to call me on my cell phone,
Late night when you nee-eed my love.
Call me on my cell phone,
Late night when you need my love...
And I know when that hotline bling,
That can only mean one thing.
Ever since I left the city, you…"

She'd slipped back into her gray T-shirt and cut-off jean shorts, blonde hair a mess from his fingers tangling in it for the last hour, and she was sitting on the tailgate with her tanned legs dangling off the edge. There was a cigarette between her fingers that she was taking leisurely drags off of, slowly puffing out clouds of smoke and watching them dissipate in the night air, barely nodding her head along to the music and silently mouthing the lyrics. She knew this song; she liked this song.

The lights of the skyline off in the distance were reflecting in her eyes, hazy with post-orgasm bliss. And as he leaned back on his elbows and watched her, a forgotten cigarette in his own hand, she turned and looked at him over her shoulder.

The music seemed to fade away into nothing as a coy smile formed on her still-swollen lips, and all he could hear was her sweet voice drawling, "We oughta do that more often."

And though he smirked and chuckled, something was swelling to the point of bursting inside his chest. It surrounded his heart and threatened to shove out every last bit of oxygen within him, as well as every last bit of hate and resentment and cynicism that had settled there over the last few decades.

That was it.

That was the moment he realized he would do anything for this beautiful, scarred girl. That was the moment he fell in love with her. And he never did manage to figure out how to stop falling.

Even when the fear took over and caused him to fuck it all up.

to be continued...

A/N: Next chapter will pick up where chapter 6 left off. Thanks for reading!

Lyrics/songs mentioned are "O.D.'d in Denver" by Hank Williams, Jr. and "Hotline Bling" by Drake.