I can't watch them as they lay into Mike. Despite the circumstances, the sound of flesh meeting flesh does nothing to calm me.
I walk past Joe and his men, and I can feel Daryl hot in my heels. Inside of the warehouse I can't hold back my tears.
"Beth." I stop near my makeshift bed, unable to face him.
"I must've fallen asleep, I-" when I realize he's apologizing I whip around.
"I don't blame you." I blink to clear my vision, and his outline takes over my view. He looks hurt. The danger around me sinks in.
"Did he touch you?" His voice is low and thrumming with defiance. I look pointedly at him, trying to answer with sureness.
"No." My voice is shaky, and I move towards him. He looks over me; his hand ghosts over my cheek where Mike had left his mark.
"This his handy-work?" He asks at my flinch.
"I am sure it looks worse than it feels. Are you okay?"
He jerks away as I move to touch him, but I don't let it deter me.
"Just let me look." I say, taking his face into my hands. His skin is hot to the touch, lip busted and eyes already starting to bruise.
"It looks bad." I whisper. He eventually looks back at me, and I search him for a reflection of the person he's been the last two months. Don't shut me out now. He answers my silent plea by running his thumb over my cheek, wiping my tears away with it.
"Looks worse than it feels." He says dryly, and I roll my eyes as he mimics me.
His eyes stay on mine, and open my mouth to speak when Joe enters the warehouse. He doesn't say a word, and only barely pauses at our embrace. He lingers on Daryl, before grabbing his bag.
"We leave in five."
xxx
The next few days are difficult. I try not to dwell on the ominous feeling in chest when I realize Mike doesn't join the group. I decide I don't want to know why.
Daryl hasn't said much to me since we left the warehouse. It's a deafening silence. I've grown accustomed to being the observer, but it doesn't make things any easier for me.
I feel doomed trying to articulate the feeling. His hands are constantly on me; protecting, bracing, stopping, directing. But I miss his touch.
Joe seems to have taken a notable interest in Daryl. Every so often, Daryl will be beckoned over for hunt-talks or whatever else Joe wants to ramble on about. I don't take my eyes off of Daryl, even if I try to pretend I'm not interested in what they are saying.
I'm completely invisible to the group. No one speaks to me or even looks at me. At first I was okay with it, happy even, that the incident with Mike wouldn't re-occur, but it's also unnerving. I don't know what's going on because I'm never included in the discussion and I never feel like there's never a good time to ask Daryl in the brief moments that I could get away with it. My time is largely spent out of their way and within Daryl's sight. It's a small area where those two conflicting requirements are satisfied.
I braid and re-braid my hair. I sit on the forest floor. I walk around the trees. I stare at the sky. I'm a ghost and it leaves me restless.
Our new sleeping arrangement is neither comfortable nor practical. The day we left the warehouse we walked farther than I thought humanly possible. When Joe called it quits, Daryl grasped my wrist, bringing me over to a relatively even surface.
"Claimed!" His voice called out as he threw down our bags between two trees. By the time we secured the area it was dark. I had sat down next to him, wrapping my sweater around me.
His fingers slid over my arm, pulling my sleeve up. I snapped my eyes to him, and saw him bring out a yard of rope.
"What are you doing?"
"Nothing." He looked at the group with heavy eyes, letting me know to keep my questions quiet. He placed his bare arm next to my own and began winding the rope around us.
"Daryl." I whispered to get his attention. He didn't answer, and instead, I watched loop after loop, before the rope found itself in a complicated knot, tight at our wrists.
"Is this necessary?" I whispered again.
"You tell me." He answered in deadpan. My face burned. My lips pursed on their own accord, and I tried to blink away the prick of tears I felt against the back of my eyes. His face softened and he came close to my ear.
"If you feel safer without it, I'll untie it." It's my right hand that's tied, and I couldn't help but think it would make fending off a walker more difficult than usual. I caught his eyes; I was met with raw concern.
"I'll make due." He nodded and leaned back, taking me with him.
Every night since then has been the same. Our wrists are a matching red, like a bizarre and unfinished tattoo. Coiled like a blurred rose - the ghost of a corsage. Today especially, my raw skin itches beneath my sweater and I glance at Daryl's arms. His wrist is uncovered, his skin an angry declaration of commitment. I try to remember this fact as I am ignored day in and day out.
By the time the sun sets tonight, I'm actually looking forward to having human interaction, even if it is achieved by force. I stare off at Daryl, whose keeping watch a few yards away. Another one of Joe's men comes up to Daryl and begins to speak. He glances at me, and I drop my eyes instinctively. When I look up again he is walking towards me - bow in hand against the red-orange sky. I try to look busy, which is impossible, and my pulse quickens.
"Hey." I speak, my voice thick. He nods in my direction and sits next to me.
"Got you something." His voice is quiet as he opens his bag. He pulls out a tied sack and places it in my hands. I feel the fabric, slowly undoing the bow. A large handful of berries meets my eyes. I am sure my mouth slacks.
"I'm starving...thank you." I pop one into my mouth and smile as the juice runs down my throat. Daryl leans back on his arms as I eat, staring out at the group.
"Tomorrow I'm going out to hunt." His voice is soft and his eyes don't leave the forest. "You're coming with me."
"How did you manage that?" I ask, a hope surging through me. Maybe we can talk above a whisper. Maybe I can finally do something with my day. Maybe we can escape.
"I think the bow did most of the talking." He glances at me with a slight smile and it eases me. I hold out a berry.
"Want one?"
He laughs, "No...shit makes your mouth red." My hand flies to my lips.
"Thanks for the heads-up." I keep my mouth covered as I speak.
"It doesn't look half bad on ya." Heat rises on my cheeks and I lower my fingers. The sun has almost set completely and those who aren't on watch are settling in.
Daryl rearranges himself, stretching out behind me. I finish the berries, and lay next to him. Through the trees I can see the bright specks of stars emerging from the night. I feel him dig into his back pocket before pulling out the rolled rope.
He begins to wrap it around us, looping like clock work.
"Here, pull on this piece with your hand." He motions to my free hand and I comply. In a few seconds it's done. Too tight and comfortable all at the same time.
"Think there might be a time in our near future that this won't be necessary?" I can't help but ask. He doesn't answer for awhile, scanning the men through the dark.
"I don't know. I'm not sure an amicable exit is in the cards."
"But we are going hunting tomorrow." I confirm. He takes a deep breath.
"There's a right way to go about it, and tomorrow ain't it." My heart sinks.
I go to pull my hair back, and stop when the weight of Daryl's arm anchors the movement. I can't stop the huff of frustration. Distantly, I can hear the rumble of laughter and voices as Joe and his men unwind.
A harsh wind blows through the trees and I shiver. Daryl tugs at my arm with his own.
"Come 'ere." He moves, encircling me with our bound wrists. When I lean back again it's not the earth I feel, it's his chest. After a second of shuffling I can feel the heat radiating from him. He shifts, our sides against the ground and his body a perfect outline of my own.
I close my eyes and try to focus on anything but his arm around me. Since the river, I haven't so much as dared to think about bringing up the kiss but I'd be lying if I said it was easy right now to forget.
Maybe I can't go that far, but there's hope we can talk like we used to. Night after night, staring at the stars, my mind holds a memory of dozens of conversations. I try to think of something I haven't asked him before.
"Did you ever go to a school dance?" I ask quietly. He pauses.
"No. Ain't my kind of party."
"Did you ever want to?"
"Have you ever been to a dance?" He asks instead of answering. I smile unabashedly in the darkness. At least something hasn't changed.
"Yes. It wasn't a school dance though, it's one the church held every year."
"What's the difference?" He asks.
"Maybe nothing. It's a large room with nervous teenagers wanting to dance with each other but too afraid to ask."
"Sounds about right." His voice is light.
"How would you know? If you've never been?"
"I was outside of a couple." He finally answers.
"What would your kind be then?" The cold air makes me press into him even further.
"My what?"
"Your kind of party." I press.
"No party at all, really. Sad you missed your chance at prom queen?" I huff at the thought.
"No. I don't think I'd make a good candidate anyways." I fiddle with the rope around us and Daryl sucks in a breath.
"Now, that ain't true."
"What on earth makes you think that." I laugh at the thought.
"Girls like you always get prom queen, or whatever." My heart skips a beat.
"Girls like me?"
"You know what I mean." He says gruffly. I'm sure I don't, but I think I may be pushing my luck. I take a deep breath when his voice interrupts me.
"You'd be too good for it anyways." He counters himself, and I'm glad he can't see the blush on my cheeks.
"So I guess that means I can't count on your vote?" I try to keep the smile out of my voice as I ask.
"You wouldn't need it." His voice is low, close to my ear, and I feel the vibration through every nerve.
xxx
AN: I would love to hear what you think!