"It doesn't feel right
And it doesn't feel fair
When I'm planning to move on
And you're still standing there…
I'll ruin, yeah, I'll ruin you
I've been doing things I shouldn't do."
-Marina & The Diamonds
…
Beth feels… unbalanced.
She's standing in the middle of a town she doesn't belong to anymore, holding a set of keys for a car that isn't really hers, watching as the only person she knows would do anything in the world for her drives back to his own family; a family she's well-aware will never really accept her and the damaged goods she represents.
She doesn't want to go back to the farm yet.
Doesn't want to go back to dealing Maggie's avoidance and Tara's insistence and Glenn's discomfort. Doesn't want to see Patricia's anxiety and Otis' confusion and her Daddy's worried glances. Doesn't want to go back and see for herself how her entire family still firmly believes that she bases her entire happiness on a man's affection and how they hold with baited breath for the moment she'll break down now that Pete's momentarily gone. Doesn't want to go back to feeling like she's lost and numb and seventeen.
But she doesn't want to be completely alone, either.
So she gets into the little black hybrid and drives aimlessly around town, passing by every building and establishment that constituted a side of her childhood she'd tried to keep out of her mind for half a decade.
It's easy to see how many changes have taken place: the park where her momma used to let her and Maggie play after school has been recently renovated and is filled with families enjoying the gorgeous day outside; the hair salon where they used to get all dolled up for special occasions was closed down and in its place is a new burger joint. Her heart lights up when the little café where she'd spent so much time and written so many songs comes into view and it's obvious that the small shop is still thriving, even on a late Monday morning when most people are still at school or work.
There's a huge part of her that wants to stop the car and go in there; wants to sit down in her old booth and order a hot chocolate with extra foam and cinnamon on top. She wonders if the sweet busboy that used to have a silly crush on her still works there and wishes she could just pull out her old journal and write down all her feelings or scribble down the lyrics to a song that flows into her mind like she used to when she was younger. She'd trade the whole world to be able to go back home and find her momma waiting for her, anxious to hear just what her little girl had come up with this time.
Which is exactly why she doesn't go in.
There are some places that are still sacred to her; places that still felt good and pure in her heart and belonged exclusively to the memory of her relationship with her mother. These are the places that she wants to keep that way; keep the hurt out of seeping through the cracks and lock away the joy inside a golden locket in her chest, like a treasure that would always fill her with little dozes of warmth and love whenever she's feeling particularly low and in need of a reassurance.
Beth doesn't stop driving until she hits the ice cream parlor owned by Carol Peletier.
Technically, she knows it's not a bright idea to even consider going in there. The woman was one of Daryl's best friends, essential playing an almost mothering and guiding role in his life, and she was sure once Carol knew she was in town it wouldn't be long before he did, too. Honestly, it was even possible and not too unlikely that the jerk could be inside. Every warning bell in her body is blaring at her to get away from there, to go back to the farm where she knows he would never dare step foot or to drive back to Savannah where she has her friends and life and love to keep her safe and hold her close.
And, she would; really, she would, if that's the kind of girl she was.
Except, she's not a girl anymore; she's a woman, and a strong one at that.
Beth refuses to live her life in fear; hiding from a man who shouldn't have a hold on her anymore.
So she pulls into an empty parking spot, grabs her large leather purse, and walks through those clear glass doors with her shoulders thrown back and her head held high. The high heels of her boots, tucked around one of her favorite pairs of jeans, click on the hardwood floor with every step she takes and the breeze from the air conditioner sends a chill through her when it hits her exposed shoulders. The cashier is a pretty teenage blonde with a "Lizzie" name tag clipped to her apron who compliments her on her outfit and recommends she orders their best sundae and a strawberry milkshake, something the older blonde gladly accepts.
Her nose crinkles when she realizes she can't even remember the last time she was out alone and gave herself a long enough break to just be on her own with her thoughts. Life in Savannah was fast-paced, especially when you had your own obligations to fill along with the expectations that came with dating an influential member of society. There were functions and benefits to go to and people to meet and make nice with and volunteering to help out with aside from the time that had to be invested into the romantic and private side of their relationship.
It could be exhausting and overwhelming, but Pete was more than worth it.
Plus, she reminds herself, he always made sure that they did plenty of things that she enjoyed and that she was feeling as included as possible. He was excellent at remembering little details and surprising her when she least expected it and doing his best to make sure she was always happy.
He was everything any girl could ever ask for.
Beth takes a seat on one of the empty tables near the back of the shop, grateful that there are only three more customers inside and casually studying the framed pictures on the walls and the vintage furniture. It looks like something straight out of the fifties; all charm and character with what she's sure will be delicious food to boost. The bright jukebox in the corner is playing one of her favorite Patsy Cline songs and she'd half tempted to join in. Lizzie's back with her order a few minutes later and Beth smiles and nods her thanks when she notices that the girl added a little heart-shaped brownie with whipped cream a cherry on the top.
She was right; the food was superb. Beth kind of wishes Carol was around so she could tell her as much, and then grins when she realizes the absurdity of the situation.
The bell by the door rings aloud, announcing the arrival of a new customer and she looks up to find an older man, easily in his early fifties but still looking solid and strong, wearing a white wife-beater over a red flannel shirt. His face is all sharp edges and pronounced features. First impressions let her know that he's dangerous and hardened and the gleam in his eyes doesn't settle well with her. There's something about this man that's a little bit too familiar; too close for comfort.
"Hey, which one of you dumbasses owns the black hybrid outside?"
His voice is deep rasp and his accent is southern; heavy from the use of alcohol and cigarettes and who knows what else. "It's mine," Beth pipes up, meeting his hard stare. "What's this about?"
"Car's leaking oil; there's a big ol' puddle underneath it; figured I'd do my good deed of the day and stop one of y'all from blowing it up to kingdom come."
"That's not possible," she shakes her head, lowering her spoon onto the barely-touched bowl and crossing her arms under her chest. She was assured the car was under excellent working conditions and her Otis had taught her enough about engines to know how to look and listen for the signs of a possible malfunction. "I just rented it a couple of hours ago."
"From where? The Governor's? Everyone knows cars from there are a piece of shit; should've just gone straight to Dale's if ya needed anything involving a car."
She flinches into herself, tearing her gaze away from his before she can stop it and Beth's sure it couldn't have lasted more than a second but somehow it's enough for his eagle eyes to zone in on it and a grin pulls at the corner of his lips.
"Less you got yourself a reason to avoid that garage," he suggests, tone smug and dripping sarcasm; like a man who knows he's got the upper hand and nothing she can say will ever change that outcome. He walks until he's right in front of her, dragging back a metal chair and dropping his weight onto it. "I saw that look in them big blue eyes, girl, you look like I just told ya to go 'round the devil's house askin' for a cup of sugar."
"We just stopped at the first place we saw," she retorts, trying her best to appear unaffected and nonchalant. He makes her uncomfortable, like an animal that's been cornered and isn't sure which way to run, but she isn't afraid of him. For all his pomp, it's easy to tell that he wouldn't hurt her or any other woman.
"Maybe," he smiles, wide enough to flash all his teeth. "But I could'a sworn ya just didn't wanna run into my baby brother with your new man, is all."
Oh.
Of course.
Beth'd never had the chance to meet Daryl's only brother but she'd heard enough stories to know he wasn't a very good man. Daryl had always spoken about him with a mixture of love and contempt. She knew he wasn't proud of the things he'd done, hated that his brother couldn't seem to get a grip on life and settle down for once, but at the end of the day Merle was still his kin and blood and he'd do anything to help him out.
She wasn't stupid either; Beth knew Daryl'd only given her glimpses of the very top layer of the complicated relationship the brothers shared but back then the small anecdotes and revelations felt more precious than gold to her. It'd meant that he was on his way to really trusting her and opening up about his past so they could build a future together. She'd taken it as an affirmation that he'd loved her.
Stupid, stupid, stupid.
She'll be damned if she lets another Dixon laugh in her face.
"You seem to know an awful lot about me, Merle; didn't know old men were into gossiping."
"Ouch!" he laughs, knocking twice on the table before holding both his hands up to his heart in mock hurt. "You wound me, Blondie. Actually, don't know much at all; Darla wasn't exactly forthcoming with information about your little romance, but I do know you left him heartbroken."
Beth scoffs, rolling her eyes and pushing her now ruined ice cream away. "Pretty hard to break something he doesn't have."
All that earns her is another loud laugh from Merle, who seems to be having the time of his life bothering her. "You're a feisty one, ain't ya? No wonder you had him so whipped, had no balls left when I found him, that boy."
"Whatever he was upset about, I can assure it wasn't me."
He arches an eyebrow, as if trying to decipher whether she was telling the truth or lying, jutting out his chin as he makes his decision. "Ya really don't know, do ya?"
"Know what?" Beth snaps, tired of his games.
"Why you think he sent ya away?"
It's an odd question, and the phrasing is even more confusing. Daryl hadn't sent her anywhere; he'd thrown her away like she was worthless, an old toy that could no longer entertain him. There'd been nothing cordial in his dismissal of her. "He made is perfectly clear he was done with me."
"Of course he did," Merle readily agrees, mockingly nodding his head in understanding before giving her a humorless grin. She's not sure why, but she thinks this might the first honest expression she's seen from him since he decided to barge into her life. "He's always been the sweet one, my baby brother. Never could stop himself from falling for a sob story."
"What are you talking about?" Beth demands, done with this conversation and the feelings of inaptitude that it reignited inside of her. "Can somebody, just for once, tell me what the hell is going on? Say whatever you have to say and then leave me alone."
"I know that someone from your family sought him out and told him to let ya go."
She shakes her head, shutting her eyes for a moment to clear her mind. "Please," she scoffs, releasing a sigh she hadn't even been aware was clogged up in her throat. "Daryl would never let anyone tell him what to do."
Merle just stares at her.
"Sweetheart, let me tell ya a lil'bit 'bout what he'd do for his little 'songbird.'"
…
Beth is livid.
Merle's words resonate in her brain and all she can feel is blinding anger and the piercing sting of betrayal.
She'd known; of course she'd know that her family would try and meddle. They loved her and they'd seen her as a baby and she'd expected their disapproval, but she would have never imagined they'd go so far. Not to the point in which they'd used everything they could against her; diminished the personal growth she'd been so proud of to that of a child that needed to be coddled and protected at all costs, even her own happiness.
Not in a way that could hurt her so much.
It takes her less than fifteen minutes to get to the farm and when she does the first thing she notices is that her father's truck is missing, which means he's more than likely out with Otis. That's to her benefit, and she's so thankful for it because she really doesn't want her Daddy to see or hear all the things that have been plaguing her for years; she won't be the one to break his heart.
The few steps from the yard into the house feel like a never-ending journey but once she's inside she finds her target sitting in the kitchen, casually flipping through the pages of one of her mother's old recipe books as she waits for whatever she has in the oven to be done. The house is silent, so Beth guesses that Michael is either asleep or out with Glenn and the rest of the men, and it gives her peace to know her nephew won't be a witness to what's sure to be an undignified breakdown from an aunt he barely ever sees. She never wants that little boy to find out just what a big mess his family really is.
"How could you?" she asks the moment Maggie looks up at her standing in the kitchen entrance, voice just above a whisper, clenching her fists together and allowing all her pent up resentment to flourish. It's liberating and intoxicating at the same time. "What gave you the right to go and ruin the only thing that used to make me happy?"
"What the heck are you talking about?" her sister questions back, scrunching her eyebrows together in confusion. She closes the book on the table, pushing it away from her until its resting safely in the middle of the table.
"I know you were the one who filled Daryl's head with ideas so he'd break up with me," Beth accuses her, taking another step forward and daring the older Greene girl to deny it.
Her sister looks appalled, eyes shooting open and standing up from her seat with so much force that the edges of her pretty purple blouse flash a strip of her stomach as the wind gets caught beneath the material. "I did no such thing!"
Beth wishes she could believe her, and she'll admit that she looks convincing, but her gut tells her that oldest Dixon wasn't lying and the only person who could have interfered was standing right in front of her. "His brother told me it was someone from my family and I know it wasn't Daddy so it had to be you."
"Merle?" Maggie questions, huffing in disbelief and she stabs her fingernails into the wooden surface of the dining room's chairs. "Your ex-boyfriend's deadbeat, criminal brother? You're gonna stand there and tell me you're believing Merle Dixon over me?"
"He doesn't have a reason to lie to me."
"Neither do I, and I'm telling you it wasn't me."
"And I'm telling you I don't believe you," she shoots back, dropping her shoulders in exhaustion and taking a deep breath, feeling as the corners of her eyes begin to glisten. "Just admit it, Maggie."
"Bethy," she starts off, voice wavering as she stares at her younger sister's broken and bitter expression and attempting to move closer to her until she watches Beth take a step back and away from her.
"You couldn't just let things be," Beth tells her, wiping the back of her hand across her eyes and sniffling. "You couldn't accept that I wouldn't need you anymore and that I could have a life that didn't involve you butting into my decisions. You couldn't stand me being my own person and losing control over me."
"That's enough, Beth."
Both sisters look up to find Patricia staring at them, disappointment clearly painted on her face as she watches the two young women she considers her daughters tearing each other down; one obviously much more in control of her emotions than the other. The smart move would be to keep her mouth shut. She only has to play nice and make it to the end of the week before her duty will be finished and she can return home. All her logic and reason demand that she apologizes for making a scene and keeps to herself and soon everything could be forgotten. Things could go back to the way they've always been.
But Beth's been quiet for too long, and she refuses to bow down any longer. "It's not enough!"
"She's always done whatever she wanted and never had to deal with the consequences," she reminds Patricia, silently begging the older woman to understand and then redirects her anger back to her sister. "I stood by you through everything. I loved you and I lied for you and I never once judged you. Even when you left I tried to understand because I wanted you to be happy but the moment I did something that you didn't approve of you went behind my back and ruined it."
Maggie looks shaken, but something about her accusations must have resonated with her because her calm façade snaps and Beth can see the fury bubbling up in her sister's green eyes. "I'm telling you I didn't do it! And I'm not gonna apologize for the things I've done because they got me to where I am today and I wouldn't trade that for the world."
"Of course you wouldn't," she scoffs, ignoring the imploring looks Patricia sends her way. "I would never expect the most selfish person I've ever met to feel the need to apologize for causing others hurt."
Her sister recoils as if she'd been slapped, taking a step back and leaning against the kitchen sink. Maggie's fingers clench onto the marble countertop until the skin turns white from the extortion and the nubs begin to go numb. "You're one to talk about being selfish," she hisses in response. "At least when I left I came back. I stayed in touch. I wasn't the one who refused to come home and had her family worried sick over her. I wasn't the one who traded the farm life for another man's money and family."
Low blows; low blows all around.
It's a Greene Family specialty.
"Both of you shut up!"
Patricia's voice is louder this time, demanding attention, and both girls immediately quiet down.
"You two are sisters and your mother would be ashamed of how you're bickering right now," she scolds them, and Beth feels like she's six and Maggie's thirteen and they've just gotten caught fighting over who gets to eat the last piece of peach pie all over again. "You are not little girls fighting over a doll anymore; you're both adults who should know better."
The sisters look down at the floor, dutifully reprimanded, both tucking a stray strand of hair behind their right ear before crossing their arms under their chest. They were so different, yet exactly the same: fierce and passionate and caring but with tempers that could rage at the drop of a hat and it would make the matriarch smile if it didn't break her heart so much.
Beth watches as Patricia moves towards her, grasping both her hands in her palms and staring her right in the eyes. "Maggie said it wasn't her and she's telling you the truth, Bethy."
"You don't know that," the younger blonde tries to argue but Patricia only shakes her head and closes her eyes before giving her fingers a soft squeeze.
"It wasn't her who talked to Daryl, sweetheart; it was me."
…
The next hour is kind of like a blur.
Patricia cries a lot as she tries to explain her reasons and motives and how she just had her best interest at heart. She talks a lot about what her momma always wanted for her and how she'd been so young and feelings changed and she didn't want her to miss out on a wonderful opportunity over a man. She tells her how she was scared she'd end up stuck there or living a mediocre life or being a teen mom.
Granted, they're all valid.
Really, she can see the legitimacy behind them, but that doesn't mean she accepts them.
She doesn't know what she feels; whether it's too much or not enough at all.
All Beth knows is that she doesn't want to hear any more stories or explanations.
She doesn't want to stand there and listen to the long list of excuses Patricia has to offer or the worried looks Maggie keeps sending her as she stands behind the woman's decisions. She doesn't want to wait for the rest of her family to get home and for them to stare at her with pity in their eyes over her blindness and stupidity. She's using everything she has to keep her mouth shut before she opens it and all the hurt and anger she feels comes tumbling out into a mess that she'll never be able to fix.
Instead, she turns around and slowly walks up the stairs and towards her room, locking the door behind her and lowering herself onto her bed. She closes her eyes and hopes for sleep to overcome her, which it does for a few blissful hours. When she wakes up the clock strikes a quarter past nine, and the rumblings from the lower floor inform her that everyone's awake and back. There's so many things flashing in and out of her mind; so many possibilities and circumstances to judge and reasons to weigh and she doesn't want to deal with it yet.
What she needs is a drink.
Actually, she needs a lot of drinks.
So she grabs a leather jacket from her closet and the keys from her vanity and heads outside. She waves away their concerns and questions with a quick 'I'm going out' when her father and sister try and ask where she's headed and she does her absolute best to avoid Patricia's tear-stained eyes and apologetic expression.
The moment she steps outsides she realizes that she has a choice whether to take the shiny new car Pete rented for her earlier or her old beaten-up truck. The keys to both vehicles are in her hands and while reason tells her to just take the damn car her boyfriend paid a small fortune for, a rebellious side of her whispers that she can do whatever the heck she wants and that said boyfriend should have listened to her when she told him she didn't need a car. She was more than capable enough of making her own decisions.
Making her choice, she climbs into the blue monstrosity and smiles as the ridiculously loud engine roars to life and causes the entire cab to tremble softly. And then she's driving away, following the interstate that bypasses Senoia and heads straight to the little bar she remembers right on the edge of town. The music is loud and the parking lot is filled with trucks and motorcycles and people drinking outside, which means it's a busy night. She's sure more than a couple of people inside will recognize her, and the gossip will run rampant overnight.
It's perfect.
Let everyone know that Beth Greene doesn't hide from anyone.
She's only been inside for a couple of minutes and is still looking for a place to sit down when a familiar voice causes her to halt as it calls out for her.
"Pajarita," Martinez greets her, obviously surprised at her unexpected presence but still pulling her into a quick hug. "It's been a long time since I've seen you around here; missed your pretty face."
Beth willingly returns the embrace, remembering how her few encounters with this man had always been pleasant and comfortable. Martinez never once judged her or belittled her for dating his best friend, welcoming her into their make-shift family with open arms, and a part of her used to believe it was because he could see that all she wanted was to love the stubborn man. "I've missed you, too, Caesar."
"Where you been, girl?" he asks, and bless his heart for knowing better than to mention the past. "Or better yet, how long are you in town for?"
"I live in Savannah now," Beth answers, choosing to keep the bigger details to herself; there's no point in trying to explain things to him that she doesn't even understand. "And I was supposed to stay until the middle of next week, but I ain't so sure about that anymore."
"Oh, no," he playfully notes, complete with a little wince and a kind smile. "You sound like you could use a drink."
"You have no idea."
Martinez grins at her surly attitude, lifting his right hand to reassuringly squeeze her shoulder. "Alright, I've gotta make a run to the store for a couple of minutes but sit at the bar and Alisha will take of you. Tell her I said anything you want is on the house tonight."
"You don't have to do that," Beth tries to decline, but he's having none of it.
"Don't even worry about it," he insist, before leaning in closer to whisper in her ear in mock conspiracy, "I'll just charge them on some other poor drunk's tab when they ain't looking. Try not to leave before I get back, Birdy," he grins, giving her a wink before excusing himself and continuing his path out the door.
She takes him up on his offer, and when she sits at the bar and the pretty bartender asks her what she wants to drink, Beth finds herself ordering a bottle of Jack before she can think twice about it. The girl, Alisha, nods in understanding and pulls out a brand new bottle from a top shelf with a shot glass and places them right in front of her, reminding her to holler if she needs anything else.
She's half tempted to stand up and publicly toast to the man who stole all her dreams. May he suddenly appear and drop to his knees as he watches what he missed out on and everything they could have been.
Beth's barely pouring her third shot when she feels a tap on her shoulder. She turns on her stool to find a man in a thick black vest and a gray long-sleeved shirt staring at her expectantly. He's got dark brown eyes and dirty black hair that falls to his shoulders. Everything about him makes her uncomfortable. It's easy to tell that this man is not one she should even consider talking to.
"Ya look like someone who can use a lil' company," he opens his mouth to speak, and the reek of cheap wine is dominant on his breath, causing her nose to scrunch up and her stomach to church a little bit. "Name's Len."
"Look," Beth tries to dissuade him, already knowing it'd be pointless. "I'm sure you're a nice guy and everything but I'd really just like to be alone right now."
"Aww, come on, Blondie," he insists, leaning against the counter and forcing her to straighten up in her own stool to avoid their bodies touching. "Ain't no point in both of us being lonely when we can spend the night together."
"No."
"At least let me know yer name."
"My name's Beth," she concedes, looking around and hoping to spot Alisha or Martinez or any other familiar face but it's all to no avail. It's a busy night and everyone is busy working and mingling. "And I'm not interested."
"Beth," he repeats, completely ignoring her obvious discomfort and the way he rolls her name around on his tongue is enough to make her feel nauseous again. His red-rimmed eyes light up with recognition and the leer that suddenly appears on his face makes her pull her jacket on tighter, discreetly covering as much of her body as possible.
"Hey, ain't ya the lil' one that Dixon used to fuck around with a couple years ago?"
Beth freezes, and even though this whole damn day has been filled with more reminders of him than she ever wanted, the mention of his name is still enough to make her turn cold and for her skin to turn paler than should be possible. Still, she will not coward in front of this stranger, nor will she let his crude comments get to her. "I can't see how that's any of your business."
"You are!" he laughs, taking a drink from a beer resting on the counter that didn't belong to him and slamming the glass back down after he was done. "Damn, girl, way you had him all messed up; walking 'round here like a dead man, you must be one fine piece of ass in the sack."
She bristles, and she did not spend years building herself back up for a random, sexist drunk to come over and try and tear her down. "Okay, you need to go away and leave me alone right now."
If only things were ever that simple in her life.
"What? You're telling me Dixon dick is good enough for ya but a Wiseman one ain't? I reckon that's just plain rude right there."
His hand wraps around her slim wrist, physically trying to assert some bizarre and non-existent level of control over her. Beth's eyes snap up to his, narrowing into two thin slits and curling her top lip back in disgust. In the calmest tone she can muster, she warns him "you have two seconds to let me go before you really regret even looking my way."
Len responds by tightening his hold on her wrist, forceful enough to shoot little bolts of pain up her arm and onto her shoulder. Smiling, he leans forwards enough for her to feel his breath fan across her cheek and if she wasn't such a fan of hygiene Beth would have no qualms over spitting on his face.
"What you gonna do, girly?"
The fingers of her free hand are curled up into a fist, thumb placed just the way he'd taught her all those years ago. Her legs have discreetly shifted so that she's got a clear path for her knee to slam into his crotch and she's just about to let the asshole have it when the last thing she'd ever expected happens. Someone from somewhere behind her speaks.
"Get your fucking hands off her."
The voice is low and feral and it sends a shiver shooting straight down her spine. Beth doesn't even have to turn around to know who its owner is.
But she does, and the sight she's met with leaves her feeling breathless and suffocated in ways she doesn't even want to consider; like a double punch to the gut when you're already down.
There stands Daryl Dixon…and he's seriously pissed the fuck off.
Well, so is she.
…
AN: Hope you guys liked this one!
Thanks to everyone for the super lovely reviews for the last chapter. Personally, it wasn't one of my favorites but it had to be done. I think I got review replies back to everyone except for the anons, but those are just as appreciated.
There were two of you who guessed it was Patricia who was behind the breakup and I was really excited that y'all figured it out. And, look! I finally found the Dixons!