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Chapter Twelve

"I can't," I said, pulling my arms from Darly's grip. "I can't." My feet began to walk towards the house, but I wasn't consciously doing it. My body was in flight or fight mode and apparently my self preservation was strong.

"Who is that?" He asked, walking next to me, not understanding the situation. Of course he didn't, hell, I didn't. I had no idea how this could possibly be happening. It didn't make sense that he would be in this state, much less in this town. For fuck's sake, people were literally eating people and this asshole somehow showed up to my doorstep. "Ya gotta' try, Charlie."

"Willa and Hershel will be back soon," I said coolly, but kept walking.

"Cherry, stop," he said grabbing my wrists. "Who is that'?" He asked again. I could tell he was trying to put the pieces together, but I couldn't bring myself to explain. I barely managed to tell Hershel and Willa when I ran away for the last time, and I didn't even tell them the worst of it.

I finally came to a halt, about ten feet from the SUV. Rick and Shane were next to us, both trying to figure out what was going on. By this time, T and Patricia had returned with supplies.

Patricia looked at me, confused. She could tell by the look on my face that something was terribly wrong. "What do you need me to do?"

Nothing. I didn't want her to do anything. I wanted to walk away and let him deal with it himself. I didn't want to put my hands on him to save him. If anything, I wanted to speed up the process of infection and watch him turn septic.

I shook my head, trying to push those thoughts away. I was better than that, wasn't I? I couldn't let him make me a monster; he had already influenced so many things in my life. I didn't want to give him the power to influence this- to make this choice for me to become a murderer. Pretend you don't know him, I told myself. Pretend you've never seen him before until now. Pretend he's a random patient and you're giving a nurse direction. Patricia is more than capable of splinting his leg. Before anything else needs to be done, Hershel and Willa will be back and they can handle the situation. "Splint… his leg. Keep the pole from moving."

"Lola!" He yelled out, and I swear I could feel my eardrums bleeding. How could he even say my name after what he had done to me? How dare he.

I looked to the ground, one hand to my lips as I bit my thumb nail and the other tracing the small, three round scars under my shirt, along the left side of my lower back. The moment I looked up, I saw Daryl's eyes on me. He noticed my movements, just like he noticed almost everything else.

"Fuck," I cursed up my breath turning around, going back to the SUV.

Patricia was looking at me, wide eyed. "I got it, honey," she said softly, knowing the situation enough to know how devastating seeing him was.

I shook my head. "Will you set up the office? It looks like the pole went through leg muscles and there are several moderate hematomas

surrounding the pole," I said. "And find me a cervical collar, he has the potential of an occult cervical spine injury due to the mechanism of the injury." She stayed with her feet planted firmly on the ground beside me, too concerned to leave my side. "Go!" I yelled. She crossed her arms, still unswayed. "Please," I said this time, more softly and squeezed her hand in mine.

"Lola," he said for the third time.

She nodded, reluctantly. As she passed Daryl, she told him not to let me out of his sight. I felt his eyes on me as I bit the inside of my cheek. I'll never complain about a slow day again.

"Jerry," I said, finally addressing my childhood abuser, my tongue feeling like it would catch on fire by just uttering his name. "Don't call me that."

Stabilizing his leg was easy enough once I viewed him as just any other patient. My hands stopped shaking and my sweating subsided- even under the Georgia sun, I was cool as a cucumber in my element. Patricia rolled out the same metal slab that we had used to operate on Carl. I stepped back to let Rick and Shane transfer Jerry to the slab. I didn't suspect any significant vascular injury, so I decided to go ahead and remove the pole. I scrubbed my hands, singing "Jolene" by Dolly Parton in my head, a habit I had formed my first year in med school. Patricia put the surgical gloves on for me as I walked into the office. I looked at Shane, Rick, and Daryl. "We're good here," I said.

Shane was the first to leave, seemingly relieved to be tagged out. Rick lingered only for a second, but followed Shane's lead. Daryl, on the other hand, stood with his arms crossed.

"I'm good here."

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Patricia gave him enough tranquilizer for him to be out for hours. I'm good here," I repeated. It was endearing that he took Patricia's words so seriously, but his protection was needed, despite how much it made me want to drop my panties right there.

He grunted, said something under his breath that I didn't catch and turned on his heels.

"Alright, can I get some light?" I asked Patricia.

The entire procedure took no longer than forty-five minutes. I worked quickly, efficiently, and didn't think about killing him once- well not seriously. I had come a long way, both as a surgeon, but more importantly as a trauma survivor.

As I was stitching Jerry up, Hershel nearly took down the door frame as he threw open the heavy oak structure. "My god," he said as he looked at Jerry, who was still knocked out and would be for the next several hours.

Willa was right behind Hershel and she slapped her hands over her mouth. "Lottie," she said softly looking at me. Her voice sounded so pained that it made a breath hitch in my chest. She was always the backbone I had leaned on, and hearing her sounding so distraught because of me was enough to make a Viking cry.

"I'm okay," I said as I stepped back, completed with the surgery.

"How did this happen?" Willa demanded.

I shrugged as I removed the gloves and tossed them in the trash. I started to chuckle, not believing my luck. "Kind of fucked, though, right?"

I could tell Hershel didn't approve of the language, but even he had to agree with the sentiment. "You went above and beyond, my dear. No one would expect you to do this."

Except for some reason I couldn't not. I shrugged and walked out of the office. "At least with him sedated, I didn't have to listen to him talk."

I turned to see Daryl propped against the wall, and when he saw me, he pushed himself off, making eye contact instantly. It took me my surprise that he had waited for me here. It was such an open gesture of concern, something I knew Daryl was uncomfortable with demonstrating, and that paired with the fact that being inside had been known to make him uncomfortable. I looked to Beth, who closed the photo album and by her guilty expression, I knew she had been showing him pictures of the family.

I turned to look at Hershel and Willa. "I was able to remove the necrotic tissue, evacuate the hematomas, and initiate negative pressure wound therapy. He should be good for a while. I'll make a chart so that we can all be on the same page." I paused. "His recovery time is looking from six to eight days?"

"I'll jot some things down," Patricia said. "I was there, it'll be easy for me to do it."

I nodded, letting out a deep breath. So many memories started to flood back, making a tight sensation begin to develop in my chest. Having another anxiety attack wasn't on my agenda today; one was already embarrassing enough. "Okay, he's a lifelong smoker, drinker, and recreational drug user, mainly prescription pain pills."

Hershel put his hand on my shoulder. "We got it from here."

"Thanks," I said with a small smile. "I'm going to... go," I said as I pointed out the front door.

Before I could move, Willa suddenly wrapped me in her arms and squeezed. "Lottie, I am so so sorry."

I fought back tears as her hands rubbed circles along my back. This was in no way her fault, just like what he did to me wasn't her fault. She had always carried a part of that idea with her, festering her soul with guilt.

I pulled back from her embrace before it made me just as emotional. "Hey," I said in a soothing voice. "No harm done."

She nodded. "No harm done."

I squeezed her hand one more time before looking back at Daryl. I nodded my head towards the door and he followed me outside. My feet felt heavy as I walked down the front steps. I didn't know what I wanted- if I thought baring my soul to Daryl would bring me some kind of closure or peace or if talking about it would bring me back to the first mental stages of being a victim. I hadn't spoken about Jerry to anyone but a handful of therapists after telling Willa and Hershel thirteen years ago, this is until Daryl.

"Cherry?" Daryl's voice said behind me.

I turned to face him and leaned against a tree to support my body weight, just to feel lighter. I couldn't maintain eye contact, so I quickly looked to my hands, pretending to pick a hangnail. "I don't... know… I…" Words were failing me, now that I had performed the surgery and could no longer rely on medical jargon or pretend that he was just a patient. Once I removed those surgical gloves, I was back to reality where, if I was being honest with myself, I felt utterly and completely helpless.

"Ya don't gotta say a thang," he assured me. "Unless you wanna."

I looked at him, appreciating the words that he managed to say. Suddenly, using complete sentences was above my skill level. I slid down the trunk of the tree, plopping down on my ass and pulled my knees to my chest. Daryl followed suit, sitting next to me, resting his elbows on his knees as he leaned his head against the tree. "That was… rough," I said, honestly.

"Ya did it, though. Ya saved that asshole and you didn't have to, Cherry."

I put my chin on top of one of my knees and I wrapped my arms around my legs. "I didn't want to." I let out a small chuckle. "It's funny… I had imagined what would happen if I saw him again, and never once did those fantasies ended with me saving his life." I turned my head to the side to look at Daryl, who was already looking so intently at me that it nearly took my breath away. "You know who he is to me?"

Daryl nodded. "I kinda figured it out."

"Yeah, transparency is apparently my forte today." I leaned my head back to look at the cloudless sky. "The cigarette burns weren't even the worst of it, but that's all Willa could focus on when it came to him. The physicality of it, the permanence of it… it terrified her."

"That why ya made her feel better in there?"

I hadn't realized what he meant until I thought about it. The first thing I did was reassure her I was completely fine and made a shitty joke. I scoffed, coming to that realization. "Yeah, must have been." I paused. "Might as well wear a sign on my back, letting everyone know just how fucked up I am."

"Don't think ya've been obvious, Cherry," he said, slowly. "I know what it looks like, 'cause..."

Looking back at him, I saw that his eyes were fixated on the sky. Without looking at me, he turned his arm over to reveal thin, but long scars. "Birch tree switches hurt like a bitch." He closed his eyes. "Got 'em all down my back, too." He shrugged. "And a burn here and there."

I swallowed hard as I traced one of the longer scars down his forearm. Seeing these on him, it changed my perspective of my own not only my own scars, but how I perceived them. Daryl and I were both survivors. It didn't matter that we had been through hell and back, it mattered that we were here now and we were better than our abusers.

"If I'd known who he was..."

I squeezed his hand and leaned my head on his shoulder. "I know… but you know, I'm glad I did it… for me, not for him, I mean."

To my surprise, Daryl put the side of his head against mine. "Proud of ya," he said softly. "Fur what that means to ya."

"A lot," I answered truthfully. "It means a lot to me." I felt his arm snake around my shoulders and I turned towards him so that my head was resting under his chin. For the first time since I heard Jerry's voice, I felt safe. I knew the feeling wouldn't last, it couldn't, but for the moment it was what I needed.

Luckily, everyone was so concerned with our new only slightly demonic house guest to take notice of where Daryl and I were, giving us privacy, but more importantly, giving me time to regain myself. I found myself going through the stages of acceptance that my favorite therapist had helped me through the first time. My mind was racing beyond recognition and when I thought it was too much, I felt Daryl's skin on mine and somehow his warmth grounded me, pulling me back to reality. I knew I would have to talk to Willa about Jerry's sudden appearance, but I also knew I didn't have to until I was ready.

That night, as I laid in bed, I couldn't stomach the idea of being under the same roof as Jerry. The screen door slammed behind me, hitting the sleeping bag that I had rolled up under my arm before I realized what I was doing. I walked down the front porch before I looked up, watching the candle light flicker from our old bedroom. Willa knew to keep Addy close, making sure that son of a bitch didn't even lay eyes on her. I knew better than to think I was over what he had done to me, but the grudge I carried was something that Hatfields and Mccoys would be proud of.

Despite the gesture of giving up a warm bed on this unusually chilly night during the middle of the apocalypse, I didn't want to come across as dramatic. I made my way quietly and discreetly to the edge of Rick's camp, a good ten feet from Daryl's tent, who had his area set up the furthest from the house and everyone else. My ninja skills left a lot to be desired or maybe Daryl had elephant ears, either way, the redneck stood with his arms crossed outside his tent the moment I started to roll out my sleeping bag.

"What ya doin', Cherry?"

I bit my lower lip as I crawled into my sleeping bag. "It's nice out here. Thought I'd do a little star gazing."

"On da coldest night of the season? 'Fore fall hits?"

Really? Fuck me. I adjusted my pony tail, loosening the base as I rolled my eyes at myself. "I'm warm blooded." Lie. That was a total and complete lie. I get cold when the temperature drops below 72. I could go back inside, but the idea of being under the same roof again as that man wasn't in my future. I'd made a promise, and I'll be damned if I broke a promise to my thirteen year old self.

Daryl grunted. We stood in silence for what seemed like an hour in the cooler temperature, but it was probably only a few minutes. I heard him crawl back into his tent and plop down on a padded sleeping bag. I knew he was waiting for me to ask him to share his tent, but for whatever reason, it wasn't in me to ask.

I slid down into the sleeping bag and looked up at the stars. It was truly a beautiful night, so maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. I could manage a little cold weather.

Within the first thirty minutes, I felt my hands and feet start to lose body temperature, followed by my nose and ears. Pulling the hood of my sweat shirt over my head, I curled up into a ball, putting my hands in between my thighs. Surprisingly, that seemed to help. I was able to keep my heavy eyelids closed, only shivering slightly, and find peace in sleep.

Dreams are such a bazaar string of images, emotions, and sensations. I'd never been one to wake from nightmares, despite how much I wanted to when my subconscious came to the realization that I was in fact dreaming. Vivid dreaming had always been a part of my childhood, and something that I carried on into my adult life. As a child, my nightmares ranged from two to five terrors a week. Other times, there would be weeks that I couldn't recall a moment of a dream, but then one night, I'd wake up to find myself more tired than I had been prior to going to sleep. Really vivid dreams drain you emotionally, and therefore can wreak havoc on your physical, waking self.

Years of therapy taught me about treatments of PTSD, in hopes to relieve the nightmaric symptoms. My favorite therapist, Dr. Helen Mcmillian, helped me walk through waking visualizations where I mentally replayed the moments of trauma in a safe space. We would sit on the floor and she would ask me to describe the events as if I was telling her the plot of a movie. The process was deemed successful, as it activated and integrated emotional memories while she was able to keep my stress levels safely low. However, the constant talking and remembering repressed moments wasn't helping me the way I needed it to. Still, she taught me a lot about dreams and how to manage the nightmares that plagued my subconscious frequently.

Like most survivors of trauma, my nightmares changed over time. Sometimes, this new adaptation would result in my escape before experiencing the horrors of my childhood traumas, while other times, when I was sporting a decreased psychological well-being, the nightmare transcended the darkness that I was able to recall of my waking moments and burned the repressed memories into my subconscious.

This dream, in particular, was one that I was well accustomed to having. I was nine, and I knew this for sure because of the red sneakers I was wearing. I had lost them at the creek shortly before turning ten, and my replacement sneakers weren't nearly as dope. My Aunt Christine, my mother's younger sister and my new legal guardian, had to work late so my Uncle Jerry had the task of picking me up from school. He had forgotten, losing the memory of his responsibilities when he found the bottom of a bottle of Jameson.

The tread home wasn't as intimidating as one might think for an elementary school kid. I kept my nose buried diligently in a copy of "Life of Pi" and hoped Christine would be home before I. It was past dinner time when I made it to the small two bedroom cottage that desperately needed fresh paint, a new roof, and functioning kitchen lights that didn't flicker every time you used the coffee maker, blender, or ice maker. No sign of Christine, so I made myself as small as I could as I went through the back door.

The creaking kitchen floors gave me away instantly. I paused, frozen mid step when I saw that Jerry had passed out in his lazy-boy, the fifth of a bottle of whiskey still in his hand. Holding my breath, I removed my shoes, hoping that the sounds of socks against the wood floor would be less noticeable. Clutching my shoes and the tattered copy of "Life of Pi" in my arms, I embarked on the journey across the living room to my bedroom. Really, it was a storage room that Christine had put a twin sized bed and a small dresser for my belongings. It was nothing like the space theme room I had in my parents' house, but it was somewhere I could be out of sight, and thus out of mind.

I was almost in the clear, but the door handle was jammed and when I pushed on the door, it swung open with such force, I was worried the knob would knock a hole into the wall. I heard Jerry's bottle fall to the floor, followed by a string of curses.

"Hey!" He yelled at me. "Where you been?"

I turned to face him, sweat already starting to form along my neck. "School."

"Shit, not this late." Before I knew it, he was on his feet and walking towards me. I could smell the booze coming from his pores before I could see how angry he looked. "Your fucking fifthly."

I looked down at my blue t-shirt and jeans. My jeans had a small tear on the knees, but that wasn't new. Instead of arguing, I told him I would change.

"Nah, get a bath."

Again, I was frozen in fear. I hadn't bathed with him being home since the last time he insisted on watching me, claiming I didn't know how to properly wash myself. I didn't want this to be a replay, but then again, I didn't know I had another option. I sat my things down and slowly walked to the bathroom, hoping he would lose interest. I tried to close the bathroom door without looking behind me, but his hand stopped the big wooden door. I swallowed hard, fighting back tears as I slowly undressed. I bit my left cheek, a nervous habit I had developed since losing my parents. It was raw and stung when my tongue touched it, and some mornings I woke up with blood on my pillow case, my mouth tasting of iron.

I avoided the mirror, not wanting to catch a glimpse of Jerry watching me. It was a small tub, so the water filled it quickly. I sat down in the water and immediately began to scrub myself. I was going to wash quickly and efficiently so I wouldn't have a reason to be in here any longer.

"You missed a spot," Jerry said as he leaned forward and touched the back of my neck.

My entire body went rigid with fear. I did as I was told, finally letting out a breath I didn't know I was holding when he removed his hand from my body. I could feel his stares roaming over me as he sat on the toilet seat, his body fidgeting. I needed this to end; being there like this made my stomach hurt and sent shivers of fear down my spine every time I heard him shift his weight. I tried to reach for a towel, but he told me that I needed to wash my hair too. I hated washing my hair while he was in the bathroom with me. The shampoo stung my eyes and I was too scared to close my eyes fully, always keeping track of his movement in my peripherals.

I leaned back, ducking the back of my head into the water, but when I sat up, Jerry wasn't there. This had never happened in my dream before, and I was thankful. When I tried to get out of the tub, I had invisible chains keeping me in place. The water started to turn cool and then cold. I could see my breath as I tried to scream, but no sound came from my mouth, other than the noise of my teeth chattering. Before I could process what was happening, Jerry reappeared, this time with a bucket of ice. I begged him not to, but he poured the ice into the already freezing tub. My entire body began to shake uncontrollably, my legs cramping and feeling as if they were somehow on fire, despite how cold it was.

The shivering didn't subside, but grew worse the longer I stayed put. I whimpered, tears falling down my face as I begged Jerry to stop putting ice in the tub and to please let me get out of the bathtub. He turned out the light and walked out of the bathroom, leaving me alone in the freezing water. I tried to stop my body from shaking so fiercely, but without removing myself from the cold, it was no use.

As fast as the shivers started, I felt parts of my body begin to warm. It was almost as if my body had been lifted from the tub and into a warm cocoon of sorts. My back started to lose the feeling of numbness as the warmth returned to my core. I could feel the rest of my body start to relax, starting from my stomach and going in opposite directions to my chest and thighs. The excessive shaking turned into minor twitches as my body's temperature rose.

Without the cold tingles invading the skin on my face, I slowly opened my eyes. I was laying on my side on something soft and warm. The same darkness I experienced moments ago was starting to turn into objects as my eyes adjusted to the dim light. I was able to make out a handful of canned foods, a pile of clothing, and the shadow of a crossbow. I could feel heat coming from behind me and as my body's temperature continued to adjust, I felt arms wrapped around my core.

My eyes flung open quickly and I turned around, my body completely stiff.

"Yur safe," the familiar southern twang said.

I was able to make out Daryl's face the moment he spoke, my memory of his features filling in what my eyes couldn't make out in the darkness.

"I heard yur teeth chatterin' from here. Walkers could hear it, too."

I brought my hands under my chin and closer to my chest, still shaking slightly. "Couldn't have that," I said, my voice hoarse from the cold.

He wrapped his arms around me, tighter, and pulled me closer. "Ya okay with this?"

I nodded. Truth be told, I'd be more than okay with this in the middle of summer, but at this moment, his body heat was the only thing making me feel my toes. Sure, I haven't gotten a pedicure in ages, but I'm pretty partial to those little piggies.

I could feel his breath on the top of my head and I rested my head in the crook of his neck. I felt his body tense beside me and even more so when I brought my hands to his chest. Being this close to him was an act of intimacy I hadn't expected, and from his reaction, he hadn't either. I considered us friends, and I think he did too. While our chats either consisted of logical, survival talk or his grunting in response to some random conversation I was having with him, we had a mutual respect for one another.

"Goodnight, tiger."

"G'night, Cherry."

...

Slowly, my eyelids opened, a small moan escaping my lips as my eyes adjusted to the light coming through the tent.

"Mornin', sunshine," Daryl greeted with a smirk.

I turned to face Daryl, who was sitting on a small wooden stump that he was using as a chair. He had a partially burnt cigarette behind his ear and was scooping a spoonful of baked beans from a can. He titled the can in my direction, offering me a helping, but I shook my head. He shrugged and placed the canned good on another little stump that he was using as a table.

I pushed myself to sit up and wrapped my arms around myself. "What time is it?"

"Early 'nough," he said.

"And that's redneck for?"

"Seven-thirty," he replied, not missing a beat. He did, however, look over me, through his bangs that he swept to the side with the back of his hand.

"You know," I said. "I'm pretty good with scissors. I could give you a haircut."

He shrugged. "Ain't that bad."

I sat on my knees to get a better look at him. I leaned over to brush a few strands of hair out of his face. When my fingers grazed his skin, I felt his own fingers wrap along my wrist.

"Ya gonna' tell me why I found ya outside my tent?"

"As opposed to inside your tent? Gotta' buy a girl a drink first."

He didn't seem as entertained at my joke as he normally was. "Cherry."

I dropped my hand to my side and plopped back down on my ass. "I'm going to acknowledge that Jerry is sleeping in the same house that offered me sanctuary as a kid, I am. I just need a little bit of time." My honesty and directness surprised me and for a second, I'd say it was a shock to Daryl as well, though he hid it almost immediately.

He nodded. "Whate'er ya need."

"It's you who needs a haircut," I said, this time with a smile as I watched him squint through the strands of hair that trailed below his eyebrows.

He let out a deep breath, but didn't fight it. I was pleasantly surprised to see him plop down next to me. He leaned across me to a bag and pulled out a pair of scissors and a comb. I smiled, slightly exaggeratedly at the gesture, but entirely genuine with how happy I was in the moment. I sat on my knees and brushed through the small tangles of his hair with my fingers. I let my hands linger on his scalp and while I was touching him, my mind was nowhere else. I could forget all about Jerry and his abuse and the years of scars that I had been trying to heal. In that moment, I wasn't a trauma survivor; I was a woman who had a crush on a pretty incredible man.

With a towel around Daryl's shoulders, I began to slowly trim away the longer strands of hair. I had learned to cut hair when Addy was four and suddenly terrified of strangers. The stage only lasted the better part of the year, but it was long enough for her to need several haircuts.

"Thanks for last night," I said softly.

Daryl's shoulders stiffened slightly under my words and he replied with an intangible gruffying sound. I brushed the hair off his neck, letting my fingers move gently along his skin. "I was thinking…" I said, choosing my words carefully. "You can use a second hand out there today… tracking deer and stuff." The idea of staying even in the proximity of the house was too much for me at that moment.

"An' stuff?" He asked, not able to hide his amusement.

I shrugged, although he couldn't see me, as I trimmed the last bit of his ends. "Yeah, stuff," I repeated, removing the towel from his shoulders.

Daryl shook out his hair before looking at me with one of his notorious blank expressions. "A'right," he finally said. "Better not slow me down."

"Looks who you're talking to; you better not slow me down."

"Yeah, yeah," he said. "We leave in half an hour, Cherry."

"Okay," I said and plopped back down on the sleeping bag. Daryl raised an eyebrow as he looked me over. "What?" I asked.

He shrugged. "Ain't ya worried ya'll scare the deer away with yur lion slippers?"

I looked down at my feet, completing forgetting I had worn these out here last night. I cleared my throat and pushed myself up. "I'll meet you by the field."

"Thirty minutes," Daryl called after me as I pushed my way out of his tent.

Almost immediately I was greeted by Carol, who was sporting a smug look on her face. "Thirty minutes?"

I crossed my arms, eyeing her suspiciously. "I'm going tracking with Daryl."

"Is that what you kids call it these days?"

My eyes widened as I dropped my mouth slightly. "Carol," I said sternly.

She threw her hands up. "I won't say a word."

"There's nothing to tell," I insisted as she joined me on the walk to the house.

"You spent the night with him."

"Just in his tent. We… nothing happened." I stopped short of the house to take Carol by her arm, gently nudging her to stop walking as well. "But, there is something I want to talk to you about."

Carol's concern mirrored my own as she watched my expression closely. "So you know that man… Jerry?"

She nodded.

"He is… he was… he's from my past." I swallowed hard. "Don't let Sophia anywhere near him." I don't know if it was my unwavering tone or cold eyes, but Carol only responded with a nod. I replied with a court nod and finished the walk to the house alone.

I had to focus on keeping my hands from shaking as I turned the doorknob, trying to prepare myself for being under the same roof as my childhood abuser. The moment I walked through the doorway, Hershel stopped in the foyer.

"Interesting choice of attire to feed the chickens," he said as he stood with his arms crossed.

I looked over his shoulder at Maggie, who was sporting wide eyes and raised eyebrows. "Oh, uh, yeah, I suppose."

Hershel didn't linger to talk, heading to his study quickly, obviously to check on Jerry.

"What were you thinking," Maggie asked in a harsh whisper as she pulled me into the kitchen.

"Why is everyone dogging on my slippers?"

"No, not that," she said as she leaned against the kitchen counter. "Staying in Darly's tent."

It took all I had not to scream. Did no one in this village have anything else better to do? "I don't think you have any room to talk on this one, Mags."

She crossed her arms. "You can't be so obvious."

"Well nothing happened."

"It doesn't matter. What matters is what people think happened."

Spoken like a true Southern woman, and she was not wrong. "Point taken."

"What knowledge is Maggie spreading now?" Willa asked as she walked into the kitchen. "And don't give me that same story about feeding the chickens." I could tell Willa was curious, but also a little annoyed that I hadn't disclosed my whereabouts to her earlier.

"I spent the night with Daryl AND," I added quickly. "He just let me stay in his tent instead of on the ground outside."

Willa nodded. "I'm glad you had somewhere to go and he made you feel safe."

I looked away, feeling my cheeks start to flush. "Yeah…"

"I'm trying to get Jerry out of here sooner than later," Willa said as she poured a cup of coffee. "I don't want him here."

I nodded as she gave me the mug. "I rather not talk about it, if that's okay." She bit her bottom lip, but nodded. Boundaries were not something the Greene girls did, but here she was, trying. "I need to change. I'll be out tracking with Daryl." Normally, I would have attended something along the lines unless I was needed there, but again, boundaries. I needed to get away from the farm and to not think about what was here.

I quickly changed and packed a bag, successfully avoiding everyone else. When I met Daryl, he had only nodded and I knew that was my cue to follow his lead, whether that was his movements or words. I was in his domain now, and I could tell he liked it a certain way. So, I would do as he did.

We had taken a short break for lunch after tracking an invisible deer for nearly three hours. Those few hours were spent in near silence; I was taking Daryl's lead and not talking in case he was one of those "you'll scare off the deer with noise" type. It was comfortable and honestly soothing not having to talk. So when he asked this question, I was taken off guard.

"Why did ya come out?" Daryl asked as looked at me, over his shoulder. He was still sitting next to me, but avoided looking at me directly. I could tell he was ready to get back to tracking. I looked at Daryl, who had already finished his sandwich, bit my bottom lip. There was no good, straight to the point answer here. I could be honest, at the risk of sounding slightly insane, or I could make something up and hope Daryl's redneck ninja instincts didn't pick up on it. Before I let a lie slip off my lips, I asked myself why did I feel the need to lie to him? He has proven himself to be trustworthy time and time again. When I stopped to think, I knew that I trusted Daryl. I more than knew it- I felt it. I didn't need to sugar coat things for him.

"Willa… she's been looking at me like I may break. I think she thought that Jerry was the final straw, ya know? That I would snap." I paused. "She's probably not wrong on the matter… but I don't need to watch her watch me." My voice got quiet, almost as if I was telling a secret. "I don't know if I can be around Addy right now. She's so much how I was when I was a kid… it's… difficult to see her." I paused to pick at the crust on my sandwich. "I feel horrible for admitting that, but it's true."

"Ya ain't wrong, Cherry."

I turned to look at him again, to find his eyes already scanning my face. "What do you mean?"

"How ya feelin' 'bout it all. It ain't wrong."

A small smile spread across my lips and I nodded. "This is easy," I admitted. "Being here with you."

Daryl pushed himself off the ground. "It is, ain't it?" He extended his hand to mine and pulled me to my feet. "Gotta' eat that on the road. Gonna check a mile or two north an' head back 'fore it gets dark."

I nodded and rewrapped the leftover PB&J. I felt relieved and I wasn't sure why. Being away from the farm and with someone who I felt like I could be my entire self with was self-care. I realized that I couldn't stay at the farm all day with Jerry in the house and having my past trauma dangled in front of me.

"Ya know," Daryl said, abruptly. "He ain't gonna' lay a finger on ya."

I nodded. "Yeah, he can barely walk. I'm not worried about it."

Daryl shook his head. "That ain't da only reason."

I didn't ask Daryl to elaborate, but his words were a kind gesture and I knew there was truth to it. It wasn't because maybe Daryl Dixon had developed feelings for me, but rather that was his character. He wasn't going to let someone take advantage of another person if he could help it. His moral compass pointed north, despite what he may have thought about himself.

I smiled at Daryl and placed my hand gently on his arm. My response didn't need words. Daryl understood this much more than anything else I could have said.

We were able to get in those two miles before turning back. Daryl was frustrated that we hadn't located the deer he was sure was out there. Like the walk north, our hike back towards the farm was pretty quiet. Daryl would stop and point out certain aspects of tracking to me, like the difference in shapes of prints and how heavy you can estimate an animal is based on the density of the leaves that the animal had walked on. In another life, he would have made an excellent teacher. He was patient, even though I could tell he was getting annoyed at some of my responses, not being the exact answer he wanted to hear about said tracks or vegetation density.

"We'll find a deer soon," I said once we were out of the wooded area.

Daryl grunted in response, apparently all out of words.

Still, I was at peace. I hoped that my feeling of serenity would last once we arrived back home. Almost instantly, my concern was answered. As the farm came into view, I stopped. The feeling of despair rushed through me as I thought about Jerry. But it wasn't just about Jerry. Outside the farm, I was more myself. I wasn't confined to a certain role. And to be the person I felt like I needed to be to just to be okay. I watched Daryl in front of me and then it dawned on me. Maybe it was Daryl. I felt as if I was kicked in the stomach. It was Daryl. This entire time I had been drawn to him for that reason.

"Ya comin'?" Daryl asked as he turned around.

With wide eyes, I looked down at my hands. "I wasn't entirely honest with you earlier… when you asked why I came along," I said suddenly.

"Hm?"

"I wanted to get away from here," I said. "But I needed to be with you." My glance moved from my hands to his face. Of course, I couldn't read his expression, but that was nothing new.

"Cherry," he said, softly.

"No, let me finish. Please." He gave me a curt nod, encouraging me to continue. "I don't have to pretend to be something that I'm not when I'm with you. I don't have to play all these parts, a sister, an aunt, a cousin, a niece, a doctor, a friend. I can just be me and I think that's enough because you… you see through all that other stuff. You see me."

"Yur all them things," he said.

I bit my lower lip harder. "Yeah… maybe, but I'm also just me." I paused. "I' don't feel like a victim, a trauma survivor, or anything like that when I'm with you."

"How do ya feel?"

"Safe." The word came out so quickly, I felt my cheeks start to turn red. "Amongst other things," I admitted quickly.

Daryl stepped closer so that our faces were only inches from each other. "Ya don't need me fur that."

"I know, I mean I know that, but it doesn't change how I feel." I paused. "I know that's not something you don't want to hear."

"I didn't say that." He paused. "I ain't always gonna' be right here to keep ya safe. I want ya to know how to do that fur yurself."

I nodded.

"'Cause I don't wanna' be without ya." I didn't have time to react before he pulled me into his arms. I wrapped my arms around his waist, my heart pounding into my ears as I rested the side of my face on his chest. "I don't know what ya want from me."

"Nothing," I replied. "I just want you." My breath hitched in my throat, but I continued. "I'm a mess," I admitted. "If you aren't sure if this is something that you want-"

"It ain't."

I was taken back by his honesty, and although I was surprised, I wasn't offended.

"But I want ya, Cherry. I don't know nothin' else."