All I Ever Will Be
Chapter Sixteen - Seven Days
It had been seven days. Seven days, but Daryl was still alive. He shouldn't be alive, but he was and Beth wasn't going to spend her time wondering why. She'd done enough wondering the past few months - wondering why she kept caring, wondering why the world was the way it was, wondering why she started having feelings for Daryl and she was done. Done thinking. Done wondering. It made her weak and hesitant and she needed to be anything but those things right now.
On the first day, once she was sure Daryl wasn't dead, Beth had raided the bathrooms for supplies to help patch him up. Just as the kitchen had been stocked with food, the bathrooms were stocked full with gauze and bandages, even cream to help his burns heal faster, but she could tell it had been rifled through before. Surprised to find no medication of any kind, Beth remembered the bunker and the empty pill bottles that had been scattered about.
In her moment of brilliance she'd checked on Daryl once more, ran through the house, out through the garage, down the spiral staircase and into the bunker quickly and quietly, listening intently for any noises. It was silent, but smelled of death and decay, so she held her arm over her nose to shield herself from the smell. They'd been away from it for a few days now and the odor was nauseating. The house had been a breath of fresh air and stepping back into the dirty, decaying world was worse than she'd remembered.
Beth searched the messy, makeshift kitchen first, examining the empty pill bottles - but they were mostly empty. She gathered what she could and checked the rooms next, but they were even more bare. Frustrated, Beth had stepped back into the kitchen and picked up one of the glass bottles, throwing it at the concrete wall, watching it shatter into little tiny pieces across the floor. The noise echoed loudly in the empty room but it didn't make her feel any better.
Her haul from the bunker consisted of fourteen painkillers and twenty ibuprofen. Pathetic, but it would have to do for now. Beth had crushed one the painkillers up, dissolving it in water so that she could get them into Daryl's system easily. They would help him sleep and heal properly. She knew he'd have a fit once he woke up, but she needed him to get better. The thought of losing him was suffocating her.
The second day, Daryl was showing some signs of life and she was able to get him to open his eyes and drink the water with the crushed painkillers in just a few gulps - a massive success from the struggle she'd endured with him the first day. They knocked him out immediately, so she went downstairs and sat in front of the piano for what seemed like hours, just staring at the ivory keys, sliding her fingers over them, but not playing.
On the third day her stomach growled so fiercely it woke her out of her sleep. She'd been sleeping in the bed next to Daryl each night, watching him, listening to him breathe but never touching him. She'd realized she'd been so consumed that she hadn't even eaten. She settled for some raisins, eating them one by one at the end of the bed, her knees up to her chin, staring at Daryl - so still and calm under the influence of the opioids.
By the fourth day, Beth was going out of her mind. She had stopped checking on Daryl every twenty minutes, although she had to actively fight the urge to do so. She'd decided to explore the study to see if there was a book to read - something to keep her busy beyond sitting in bed and watching Daryl sleep. Instead she'd stumbled upon a cupboard which featured a broken lock. Inside she found a few guns, extra ammo and cases that held brand new bolts. She smiled to herself, thinking she would keep them as a surprise to show Daryl once he'd healed up.
Though she kept his wounds clean, by the fifth day she could see his back becoming more red and more angry. Beth knew there was a chance he could develop an infection. She checked the bathrooms again, tearing apart medicine cabinets, raiding through the closets, but finding nothing. She had exploded into tears and lay miserably in the bed next to Daryl praying that he would wake up and tell her it was all a dream.
He didn't.
By the sixth day she decided she needed to get out of the house, so she left Daryl a note that she was going to explore the property. The land was massive, as Daryl had said it would be and it took her most of the day to walk around the perimeter. She first returned to where Daryl had set off the land mine and followed the limp wire to another taut one. She carefully examined it, not really knowing exactly what she was looking for, but as the day moved onward Beth discovered the explosives seemed to surround the entire property.
On the seventh day, Beth had finally taken a real, long shower and ate enough to fill her belly. She examined the blueprint from the downstairs maze, memorizing it with determination and then headed out through the bunker to cover the hole she'd first fell into. When she reached the end she found the man they'd encountered in the tunnel's body with a hole in the back of his head from Daryl's arrow. Feeling numb, she carefully pulled the machine gun from him, draping it across her back.
She was able to use the tree branch to get enough leverage to hoist herself out. Once she'd reached the top she carefully scattered branches and long grass over the top of the hole, hiding it, as Daryl had told her he'd planned to do before he'd gotten hurt. She stepped back, proud of herself with a triumphant sigh and returned to the house on foot, skirting the land mines she'd examined the day before.
With the sun getting low, Beth fixed Daryl his last dose of pain medicine with a big sigh, along with some food if he'd be up for it. She had placed it on a tray she'd found in the kitchen, climbed the stairs with it, her heart feeling heavy as she opened the door. And there was Daryl, sitting up straight, staring at her.
After they'd had their conversation, Beth tended to Daryl's wounds. The pain medication hadn't set in yet, so it was different this time, touching him. He winced when her fingers met the bloodied bandages she'd used to wrap across his back. She peeled them off as gently as she could, one by one. Once she was done, she left his wound open to the air. "Stay like that," she said. "We'll let your skin breathe for a bit."
He nodded, not making a sound, so she wandered to the other end of the bed to face him. He lay with his wounded arm across his belly and the other spread out beside him towards her. His dark hair was getting shaggier now, falling into his face in clumps. His bright blue eyes were visible beneath, watching her as she climbed onto the bed.
He moved the covers away from himself, asking her to come beneath them, close to him. She was apprehensive, knowing he was still wounded, more so than he probably realized, but she craved being close enough to touch him after not having him for so long. Gently, she curled up to his body, laying her fingers on his bare chest. He was warm, the fever threatening its onset.
She reached up to his face, using her fingers to fix his hair which seemed completely untamable, but she sort of liked it that way. It was pure Daryl. He gave her a half-smile as he looked at her. "What?" she asked, wishing she knew what he was thinking.
He reached out his one hand, wincing slightly and touched her face gently, letting his fingers slide down her cheek and over her lips. She closed her eyes, enjoying his touch. "I don't want you to go," he said, almost too quietly for her to hear.
"I don't want to leave you," she said, lifting her eyelids to look at him. He looked sad and pained at the same time. She leaned forward to kiss him, their lips touching, fitting perfectly together. It was still confusing for Beth, kissing him. But she wanted him and he had no problem wanting her. It wasn't something she'd planned or seen coming or necessarily even wanted to happen but he was so good that she couldn't help herself.
It suddenly dawned on her that they were kissing, in a bed and if it hadn't been for Daryl's wounded body and the fact that the world had practically ended, the situation might have almost been normal. Two people in bed. The bed brought to light endless possibilities that made her blush. The possibility, of being with Daryl, like that - it was there and it was real and it made her want him in ways she hadn't known were possible.
She wanted to hold him and climb all over him, get lost in his body, but he was too fragile and she knew better. Heat was radiating off of him, so she broke away, noticing that his eyelids were fluttering. The medicine was kicking in. She planted another kiss on his forehead and took one last good look at him before she climbed back out of the bed.
It was a routine now, bandaging Daryl's back so she did it quickly with her nimble fingers, impressed by her own work. She tugged his shoulder to lay him flat and he responded to her touch sleepily. He turned his face towards her, on the brink of sleep. She laid her head next to him on the mattress, combing her fingers through his hair, just breathing him in as he drifted off.
"Beth," he whispered dreamily.
"Yeah?" she said, closing her eyes, fingers intertwined in his long locks.
"I think I love you," he said.
She inhaled and her eyes shot open widely as she took in his handsome face, chiseled jaw and his whispered words. She wasn't sure what to say. "Daryl?" she asked. His breathing was deep and steady and she realized immediately that he'd fallen asleep. Had he really said what she thought he'd said? That he loved her?
He was softly snoring now and she pulled the blankets up to his chest, covering him, unsure what to think. She watched him. Daryl. Like no one she had ever met before in her life. He was confusing and intense and lovely all at once. Did he really love her? Did she love him? What was love now in this cruel world they'd been surviving in for so long?
Could you really, truly, love someone knowing you could lose them at any moment? The thought angered Beth, having always been so fond of the thought of love. Was she so far removed form her humanity that she couldn't recognize what love was, or was it this confusing for everyone? She'd always thought she'd be able to recognize that feeling. But she'd been just a girl then, daydreaming of college guys and writing love songs in her journal. She was different now. She'd killed. She'd survived. Could she recognize it now?