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Daryl's hands drifted down to her hips, grasping tightly, pulling her flush against him. There were too many layers between them and his hand found the hem of her shirt and slid under it. His fingers followed the protruding vertebrae of her backbone up then back down again.
In the back of his mind and through the dense fog of alcohol, he wondered what the hell was going on? The moonshine seemed to be hitting him all at once. Every touch was magnified. Her skin felt impossibly smooth, her lips forcibly soft.
Well, he knew what was happening. What confused him was that it was actually happening. He was kissing Beth. Or rather, she was kissing him. Either way, he wanted it to continue.
Though he wanted to continue, he also knew they should stop because… because he wasn't right for her. He was lumbering and awkward. She was young and beautiful. He had no business putting his hands on her.
It wasn't just the alcohol making both of them this brave, this mindless. He wanted this to happen from the time he was coherent enough to realize what was in front of him. Unfortunately, he was afraid she'd regret this if it went much further.
When Beth pulled back, breathing heavily, inwardly he panicked. He stared at her, her skin yellow-orange refracting from the fire; the want he felt was an animated object of its own. Large and ambiguous. He was afraid for the first time since he could remember. He was afraid of continuing, also afraid of stopping. Afraid of what this might mean.
They came together again, fear and uncertainty be damned. He put everything he had into that kiss, into holding her close, knowing she is going to sober up and this was going to have to come to an end.
Flames ran down his spine, fire ignited in his blood. His body had laid dormant for so many years, Beth was waking him up. He was acutely aware his cock, alive and pulsing so hard against the fly of his jeans it hurt.
Still kneeling between his legs, her fingers dragged through his hair, knocking his hat off, winding her arms around his neck. Pulling him closer, deepening the kiss. He didn't know it was possible to feel this way from a kiss.
She angled her head, their lips meeting again and again. Without parting, she pulled him down to the mattress. Lying on her side facing him, her leg slid up to his hip. He hooked his hand behind her knee, pulling her into him. She felt the outline of his hardened cock pressing against her inner thigh.
She ached for him, for his touch. She took his hand and guided it to her breast. He squeezed, catching her nipple between his fingers and she gasped. Literally gasped.
Yes. This is what she wanted. His hands roamed her skin, his lips vigorously, almost aggressively, against hers. She wanted to feel every inch of him. Wanted to feel him deep inside of her.
She shifted, pushing him onto his back and straddling him, she unfasted each button of her flannel shirt, exposing a peek of pale skin underneath.
He grasped her hips, stalling her moves. "Beth," he groaned.
She leaned forward, tracing the skin of his neck with her tongue. Tasting him, his sweat, his uncertainty. Smoke and pine.
Through the opening of her shirt, his calloused roughened hands slid up the hills and valleys of each rib, rounding to cup her breast. She sighed heavily against his mouth. Between their bodies, Beth's hand left his shoulder and traveled down his chest, over the soft fabric of his well-worn shirt. Then tentatively over his stomach and came to rest on the button of his jeans.
That snapped him back to reality and he abruptly sat up, grasping her hand, stalling her movements.
"Daryl?" She asked. Her eyes were hazy with alcohol and need.
He shook his head. "We better stop," he whispered gruffly, trying to reign in control.
She smiled coyly and leaned in again, her chest pressed against his. "Doesn't it feel good?" She asked, faintly brushing her lips against his, summoning vibrations from deep within him like an earthquake building at the epicenter, blooming outward.
Did it feel good? What kind of question was that. Hell yeah, it felt good. "You're drunk." And he was a coward.
"You're drunk too," she reminded him.
"I'm not as far gone as you." His swimming mind told him he might just be. His head felt light on his shoulders threatening to float away.
She backed away, her eyes clearing, glowing with disappointment. Part of him wished she'd ignore him, that she'd kiss him again. That she'd change his mind. But instead, she moved away from him and laid back on the mattress. She was embarrassed and he hated himself for making her feel that way.
"You don't gotta' be worried about my honor. Doesn't matter now anyway," she mumbled her voice tinged with hurt.
"It does matter, 'n I'm not gonna take advantage of you when you're drunk. You'll regret it." He wasn't going to be that guy. For the first time in his whole damn life, he wanted to do the right thing.
"Regret?" She scoffed. "Regret is a waste of time. Something you'll learn about me is I don't do a thing I don't wanna do."
He really didn't doubt that. She was as stubborn as a mule. But alcohol tended to amp up the chance of regret no matter who you were. He wasn't ready to go back to the lonely, cold couch so he moved to lay next to her, pulling her close. He wrapped his arms around her.
"Don't be pissed," he said into her hair.
She sighed, "I'm not pissed." At least she didn't push him away. He wondered if he was making a huge mistake. He wanted Beth, not drunk Beth. He wanted her to be stone sober when and if she made the decision to be with him. He wanted to be sober as well.
He gently clasped her chin between his thumb and finger studying her face in the dim light for signs that he'd screwed up. Instead of making her look haggard, her drunken exhaustion made her appeal all the more strong. Her eyes were sleepy with vulnerability. Her cheeks were flushed.
He brushed his finger over her bottom lip, still wet from their kiss. He was confused about everything. Confused as to why he stopped things when he really didn't want to. It'd been so long since he'd touched anyone...
They woke up tangled in each other the next morning to a shrill squeal coming from Chubs as he and Lydia made their way down the ladder. Even though they didn't have to answer to anyone they both sat up and moved quickly away from one another. Lydia smiled, shifting Chubs to her hip. "Mornin'!" She said cheerfully and a little too loudly.
The light filtering through the curtains was an assault on Beth's eyes and holding her still unbuttoned shirt closed with one hand, she rubbed her forehead with the palm of her other, feeling Daryl shift up and off the mattress.
She opened her eyes again, smiling through the banging headache at Chubs, who was just happy to be alive, kicking his feet anxious to get down out of his mom's arms.
Beth quickly buttoned her shirt, not that it mattered. Lydia already saw what she saw and Beth wasn't exactly shy. Lydia plopped down on the mattress next to Beth and Chubs leaned over onto Beth's lap. He went to her, gibbering in his baby talk.
Daryl could be heard in the kitchen putting on his boots and coat and opening and exiting through the door. Lydia gave her a knowing smile. "Well. That's a new development," she said with a playful glint in her eyes.
"He just fell asleep while we were talking, that's all," she fibbed.
"Uh huh, sure. Y'all were talking," Lydia gave Beth an exaggerated wink and elbowed her lightly in the arm.
Beth couldn't help herself and laughed which made her head pound stronger. "You're about as subtle as a bull in a china shop, ya' know that?"
"What are you women cackling 'bout?" Beta asked as he climbed down the ladder.
"Oh, nothin'," Lydia said in a sing-song teasing voice. "Just about bulls in china shops. Girl talk."
The conversation from the night before ran through Beth's mind over and over again. She couldn't lie, at least not to herself. Daryl turning her down had hurt.
While it was probably a good thing they didn't go further while they were both drunk, she wondered why. Wouldn't the average guy have taken the opportunity? Easy lay, she's drunk. Beth rolled her eyes, the thought igniting anger in the pit of her stomach knowing that happened far too much.
Daryl, she supposed, wasn't like normal guys. She knew this much.
She walked through the woods in search of the large willow tree she knew was a few feet off the path. Tranquil leftover rain dripped from the branches of the empty trees, buds just beginning to sprout.
The sun was trying to shine through the morning cloud cover to heat the earth and hopefully the air. Beth loved the winter but was eager for spring. Longer daylight hours, warmer temperatures. She was anxious to get her hands in the dirt and start her garden.
She hardly made a sound as she roamed over the soft moss forest floor. A murder of crows squawked in the distance. She trained herself to not only watch but listen. Listen for animals and the hushed chatter of people and for the snarls and the scuff/drag of the walkers.
She also listened for what she didn't hear. When there were walkers nearby, the birds and other woodland sounds became quiet, the breeze stilled. It was as though even they knew the walking dead was dangerous.
Did Daryl not want things to go further because of her? Because he wasn't interested. She practically threw herself at him. She went over it again. It wasn't like her to question herself like this. If someone wasn't interested in her, then they weren't interested.
Of course that had been years ago. She was young and cocky and felt she had the world at her fingertips. There was no lack of love interests with her being blonde, long-legged, and sociable. And well, she wasn't ugly, this much she knew. She never really thought of herself as gorgeous but the guys didn't seem to mind her.
Maggie often lectured her about worrying too much about her appearance. "You won't always be able to rely on your looks to get you through," her sister would say in her no-nonsense way. "You've got more to offer than that."
Beth thought that was easy for Maggie to say with her sharp wit and green eyes. At the time, Maggie didn't know just how right she'd been. Looks didn't matter. Survival mattered.
She found the willow with its boughs bending over the rush of a river a half-mile from the cabin. The river streamed down from the frozen mountain and was the best tasting, coldest water she had access to. During the summer months, she bathed here. The water was a little less chilly when the weather was warmer. Taking an invigorating skinny dip after a long hot day was a welcome release.
She knelt at the ledge and put her mouth to the flowing water, taking a few big gulps. It was freezing and refreshing going down her hot throat. She cupped her hands together and splashed her face, wrapping the coolness around to the back of her neck. She then filled the tin water canteen.
She'd never been hungover before and she wasn't planning on finding herself in that stare again. Her head pounded and the water sloshed around in her stomach. Why would anyone do this regularly?
She reached down into the water again, watching the ripples flow over her hand. The frigid temperature made her skin turn pale white.
Watching her hand float in the current, she turned her palm up. The scar on her left wrist protruded noticeably. She traced a finger from the opposite hand over the raised blemish. It was only about three inches in length but it had bled with full force, sopping one towel then another. Strangely she felt no pain as tears of panic streamed down her face.
Regret is a waste of time, her words echoed in her head.
At the time, she no longer wanted to live her life. So yes, she had meant it as she slid the mirrored shard of glass across her skin. Blood gushed into the thin slit it created. Only then did regret begin to flood her psyche much like the blood overflowing the cut.
She lied to Daryl. She did regret a lot of things. Being with him wasn't going to be one of those things.
The soppy ground was seeping through her coveralls and she forced herself up. Taking her knife from its sheath, she went to the base of the willow and began scraping the bark, placing the pieces in a cloth pouch.
Her stride was a little slower due to the hangover. She took her time on the walk home, enjoying the promise of spring in the still cool air. The branches above her head swung lightly in the breeze, long brittle fingers against the brightening sky.
She raised her face to the sky and breathed in deeply. It was at times like this that she could really appreciate where she was. Despite everything else, it felt very fortuitous to be in that moment at that exact time.
A flash of light to her right, a blur of motion, caught her attention. Panic shot through her body, a scream caught in her throat. Kowing a scream wouldn't help anything, it would only garner more attention, she bit her lip to stifle the sound.
"What are you doin' here?" A voice said in a deep whisper.
Daryl. The panic faded as he walked up to her from behind a growth of sagebrush. He stopped within a few feet of her, like an exclamation point at the end of a wordless sentence.
"You startled me," she said.
"Am I that scary lookin'?" He teased.
She looked up at him, at his bearded face, his eyes. Today they were lighter, less somber. They changed with his moods. "Na. I suppose not." Damn it, why did her face flush when he watched her so intently?
"Are you followin' me?" She asked, breathless from being frightened but mostly because Daryl apparently had that effect on her.
He took a step closer, kept his hands in his coat pockets, looming over her. "Maybe," he grinned. "You took off, didn't tell me where you were going."
Did he care? Her heart swelled juvenilely, embarrassing herself. "Well, in my own defense you weren't around to tell. And I did tell Lydia I was leaving. I was collecting willow bark.
"What for?" He focused momentarily on her hair, maybe disappointed it was tied back again. A strange pull yearned through her body at the memory of him telling her to take it out of the braid. She wanted to take it down again just to see his reaction.
"For my headache. Yours too, I'm guessing."
"Willow bark gets rid of headaches?" He questioned.
"Yep." She was a little proud of herself for knowing something he didn't. She retrieved the cloth drawstring bag from her pocket as if she wanted to prove to him that she was indeed collecting bark.
He squinted. "That doesn't sound like a bad idea. Someone forced me to get drunk last night."
"Uh-huh, someone forced you." She laughed. This kindred banter with him was unexpected.
She liked it. She liked the way his eyes lit up, the way his mouth curved into a small secret grin she liked to think was reserved for her - even if it wasn't.
But then his eyes changed, shifting to a darker stormy blue, becoming serious again. Not that he was ever far from serious. "'bout that, I'm… I'm sorry."
That caught her off guard. His apologizing was the last thing she expected or wanted. She actually had been hoping for a replay of the evening before. "Sorry? For what?"
"Doin' what I did, what we did. For allowing it."
"What are you talkin' about? I didn't mind it so much, if you didn't notice.'' She'd practically thrown herself at him, practically had a fit when he shut things down.
"Yeah, but I shouldn'ta let it happen at all." He bent his head, looking at his boots in the mud. "You were drunk."
His apology stung. It was like a slap in the face. Maybe it was the headache causing her short temper, but she snapped. "Let it happen? I'm not a child. You didn't let anything happen. I wanted it. Thought you did too."
"Beth," he reached out a hand, she pulled away before he had a chance to touch her. It was too late now. He expressed how he unambiguously felt. Anger hummed through her mind, twisted in her gut.
"Don't flatter yourself," she bit out. She shoved his chest and walked past him without looking back. Over her shoulder, she said, "We just made out. It's not like I asked you to marry me."
Back inside the cabin, Beth built a fire in the stove and placed a pot of water on the burner waiting for it to boil. Once it was boiling she added the willow cuttings and allowed them to seep in the water.
She'd kill for the luxury of being able to pop a few aspirins. She did find the process of making the tea comforting. The gathering, chopping, steeping, the steam from the boiling water. The scent filling the kitchen reminded her of her Daddy.
Beta and Daryl sat at the table discussing the community. She was hoping Beta and Lydia were going to stay longer. By the way Beta was talking, they'd be leaving soon.
Once the bark had steeped long enough she strained the liquid into mugs and put one in front of Daryl. She sat with them, ignoring him like the mature woman she was, and told Beta the route he'd need to take to get to the community. It wasn't as easy as 'take a right at the big tree' but overall Beta seemed to grasp where they were heading.
"I also marked the trail with strips of clothing tied to branches. If they're still there, they'll help guide you."
Sending them off into the still unpredictable weather made her nervous. They would have to stay at least one night out in the elements. She had a small tent they - Beta, Lydia and Chubs could stay in. Mentally she started listing off the things they'd need to bring with them.
If it was only Beta going, that would be different. She had no doubt he'd make it fine on his own. Lydia and Chubs were more susceptible to the weather and other dangers. She did trust Beta, still, bad things can and do happen.
By the time her tea was almost gone and the headache was already lessening she decided she was going with them. Both men looked at her like they didn't hear her correctly.
"What?" She asked, perplexed. "I know the way. I've been there a few times. Made it safe and sound all by myself." Bristling at the idea that they thought she shouldn't go, she wasn't helpless. "You're traveling with a baby, another set of eyes and arms would be beneficial."
"I'm sure we can find the way," Beta assured. "Wouldn't want to put you out any more than we already have."
"I wanted to go before spring planting anyway." She glanced at Daryl. He was concentrating on the cup in front of him. His lips were in a thin line, his brow furrowed. "Once summer hits I'll be too busy to go."
"If you're sure, I don't want to take you away from anything," Beta said, his gaze going from Beth to Daryl and then to his hands folded on the table.
"It's fine," Beth told him, placing her hand briefly over his. He jumped slightly but didn't remove his hand from hers.