"I triumphed in the face of adversity, And became the man I never thought I'd be. And now my biggest challenge, a thing called love, I guess I'm not as tough as I thought I was."
The quote in the self-help book reminded him he had to go get her. He had to rally the group. Realization that he loved her- or rather, just how much he loved her- was hitting him like a sack of bricks. He wanted to be independent, but when it came to her, his knees went weak at the sight of her. The redneck asshole was reduced to a complete blubbering mess on the inside when he saw her. That's just how it was. She could make him melt with just a plea of his name, like she had when he had just about left that stupid kid under the bookshelf for walker bait.
He knew getting her out wasn't even as much of a fight as saying his feelings. He had to get his shit together. This time, there would be no dancing around, no more avoiding how they felt. He would rip his beating heart out for her if that was what it took for him to finally say those three words he had felt since the prison; "I love you."
He was a survivor of many misfortunes. Just like he said, he was tired of people dying. He would never say it out loud but the quote reminded him of himself… Especially now that his wings had unfolded under the touch of pure love and trust. He had never thought anyone could do it, could unravel him so well and make him better himself, but somehow she had.
He was reminded of these adversities as he began to read the book he had taken from her temporary housing; Treating Survivors of Childhood Abuse. Before all this, he never would have thought about touching a self-help book, but here he was… Because of her. He chewed his pencil as he read, his eyebrows furrowed in deep concentration, removing it after a moment and biting his lip. He couldn't stop glancing at the quote about love, chewing at his lip a little before boxing it in with his pencil and highlighting it, putting a bracket near it and scrawling in surprisingly neat handwriting, "Let's start over."
He stared at it for a moment before returning to his reading, carefully analyzing the pages and underlining things that seemed important to look back on, highlighting tips he could use to start healing. He scribbled notes in brackets, making it look neat and tidy, each page thoroughly broken down under his gaze, hoping to absorb every bit.
The more he read the book, the more the misfortunes came back to him. Merle was always in and out of jail and juvie, always getting into trouble after their mother burned to ash. His father beat him with his belt, dug into him with broken glass, reminding him every day still that he was a mistake. The words repeated every time he saw his back, to remind him his father had told him he was a mistake, that their mother hadn't wanted another child after Merle. Merle got beaten badly too, but due to his record of disappearing and reappearing whenever he pleased from being in trouble all the time, that his hardly scarred. In fact, his older brother had been oblivious to his abuse until this hell they now called home.
Still, despite everything, he couldn't help but love his father and his mother, even though they had had bad habits he might never forgive. He was always the sweet one, despite how strong and tough as he pretended to be. The one that had trouble expressing himself for his stunted emotional growth due to the "sheltering" of his older brother. He was just as devastated when his father was taken from him viciously as when his mother was burned away to nothing like she had never existed, and looked the other way with a weak stomach when his uncle had put him out of his misery.
Merle was a completely different story. His brother was a drug addict, but with no one else to turn to, he followed him around like a lost dog. Nothing. Nobody. He had just been a traveler, some redneck asshole, nowhere to call home. His older brother had been a bad influence, held him back, made him feel unworthy, unaccepted. He didn't feel like a part of society, just a third wheel, especially when he first joined the group. An outcast they'd leave for dead. It still hurt him so badly when he had to put his own kin down, though, but he had to remind himself this was a different world.
He wouldn't dare put her down. Not even entertain the thought. He would make sure she stayed…
His thoughts wandered in a loop, recounting all they had lost in his head, among the notable ones Dale, like a fatherly figure to him enough he had done what his uncle had to his father when he was in misery. Doctors were hard to find anymore. Supplies were even worse, and the extent of Dale's injuries had been mortal. He felt responsible for a lot of their deaths, like Beth's second boyfriend. So sick of losing people and letting himself get hurt more and more and having to be okay.
The book helped much more than he thought it would. Hell, it helped a lot. He realized things he hasn't previously been conscious of, reminded himself to take little steps to make it better. He was mending himself. By the time they were reunited, he could be whole for her… And he could fix her. He could support her, for she was so lost and he wanted to be found, completely found, so that he could do the same for her. He told himself she was still alive, that she had to be. She couldn't die just like that…