"I'm just saying that—we don't really talk about all the important things like we used to," Carol said.
Daryl groaned into his pillow.
It was codeine. The doctor knew what happened when Carol had codeine, but since her reactions weren't genuinely life-threatening, it seemed that these things got overlooked.
It stopped her coughing, surely enough, but it absolutely did not knock her ass out. In fact, things were quite the opposite. She had been through enough rounds of "99 Bottles of Beer" that she'd lost count five or six times, and now she was slipping down the rabbit hole into some personal philosophy that just didn't make sense.
"We talk about important things all the time, Carol," Daryl said.
"Not like we used to," she insisted. She had no idea what she was really saying. She'd have no recollection of it in the morning, either, if Daryl ever got her to sleep—much like someone coming off a black-out drunk.
Daryl sighed.
"Fine," he said. "What important things do you wanna talk about?" He asked, leaning up on his elbow to face her. Her nose was red from all the blowing. The cold had been wicked. She might be driving him nuts, but at least the cough syrup did make her feel better. He could do without sleep to let her have a little rest, even if it was just rest from coughing.
She smiled sincerely, pleased that he was playing along with her. She slipped down, next to him, and rested on her elbow facing him.
"Oh—I don't know," Carol said. "Something like – what keeps you up at night?"
Daryl laughed and touched her cheek with his fingertip.
"Right now, your sloppy ass," he said. "But I wouldn't change it for the fuckin' world."
