"Promises I made to you went down the sink

Really hope I haven't harmed your self-esteem

I'm not a virgin but I'm not the whore you think

And I don't always smell like strawberries & cream."

-Shakira

…

Beth's like a melody inside his head.

She's beautiful and captivating and so fucking bright and warm that sometimes he has trouble believing she's real. In all his thirty-six years he'd never met another person who was just so obviously good, who didn't let the shitty facts of life stop her from looking for the best in people; finding beauty where others only saw waste. There are days when he still wakes up thinking she'll disappear, like a fantasy that turns into wisps of smoke the moment you open your eyes, but Beth never does. She's always there, waiting for him to catch up and offering her hand for him to hold on.

He never wants to let her go.

Daryl thinks about their last encounter three days ago; remembers the way she'd curled her tiny self into his hold while they sat on the sofa after an evening of blow jobs and rough sex followed by ice cream and gentle reassurances. He thinks about her whispered words of love and trust and how they made his heart speed up and warmth spread throughout his chest and limbs. He thinks about how fucking perfect it'd be to be able to hold her in his arms every night and have her be there every morning.

It's time.

He knows it's time for him to man up and tell Beth he loves her. The girl had opened up and risked her heart when she told him as much weeks ago. She'd done it because she wanted him to know it but she'd never expected him to reciprocate his words immediately. She'd been patient and loving and reassuring and she'd given him all the time he needed to make sure he was well-aware of how deep he was and what he felt for her. She knew her own mind and went after what she wanted without looking back. Little Beth Greene had more fucking balls than he did, and he'd admit that any day of the week.

But that's not everything.

Nowhere near it.

He always wants her close, and when she's not his mind would wander until her image was the only thing that filled his thoughts.

Sometimes he'd be out talking a walk through the woods or riding his bike down some empty highway and he'd pass by a little meadow or an old willow tree and he'd think about how Beth would like it, too. Or maybe he'd spot a little trinket hanging from the window of a shop in town and he'd remember the way her gorgeous smile would light up once he shared his discoveries with her. He's never been one for much music but he swears her singing brings him peace, and he always feels his heart skip a beat when he finds little pieces of paper with lyrics scattered throughout his home; perfect insights into the mind of a girl he never thinks he'll fully understand.

Even her little quirks, (like the way she eats all the red and yellow gummy bears first and leaves the yellow ones at the bottom of the bag for him, can't sleep and will toss and turn all night if there's not a window opened, and organizes his kitchen cabinets when she thinks he isn't looking), which would just annoy and piss him off if done by anyone else, have him thinking she's endearing.

He's not even gonna think about everything he feels when she's naked and wrapped around him, moaning his name and kissing his neck as her fingernails dig into the skin of his shoulders and chest, always mindful of the scars on his back but never intimidated or disgusted by them. Out of everything that she could do, that unconditional acceptance had to be what tore at his heart until it bled out all the poison and replaced it with her care and tenderness.

So, yeah; if she could do all those things for him without missing a beat, you best believe he was gonna man the fuck up and tell his girl he loves her.

…

It's a Wednesday evening when it all turns to shit.

He pulls his bike into the driveway, exhausted from a long day at the garage and two extra hours of overtime, only to find a blonde woman who looked to be in her early forties sitting on the brown wooden steps of his front porch, hands folded neatly on her lap. She's got her hair pulled back into a loose French braid and her clothes are clean but well-worn. She looks like one of the ladies from town, the ones that are always in church and wear golden crosses around their necks while they gossip all day, but her face is tired and it's obvious that her life's been filled with hard work.

This is a person who means business.

"Can I help ya with something?"

The woman looks up from her lap, already aware of his presence. "My name is Patricia," she introduces herself, standing up and shaking the dirt off her long tan skirt. She doesn't offer her hand and Daryl senses it's not meant to spite him, but instead as a warning that she's not here under false pretenses. "I work with the Greene family, and I'm here to talk to you about Beth."

Recognition flashes across his mind, and suddenly the strange woman standing there makes a whole lot of sense. To be frank, he's kind of surprised she hadn't shown up sooner. "I know who you are," he admits, stuffing his hands into his pockets and digging out his house keys. "Beth talks about you a lot; you mean the world to her."

"Her momma, Annette, was my best friend," Patricia sighs quietly, stepping aside for him to open the door and following him inside when he nods his head in that direction. "I love those girls as if they were my own. I helped raise them and there's not a thing I wouldn't do for either one of them."

There's something about how soft her voice is that has Daryl on edge.

His mind is telling him that he's a paranoid bastard; Beth spent hours gushing about how much she loved this woman and how she was on their side. It was only a couple of days ago that she'd been smiling and talking about how she was gonna help her talk to her Daddy so that he'd understand and accept them together. There is no reason for him to be on the defensive already when all she's done is introduce herself and verify how much she cares for the same girl he does, and if he keeps it up he's just gonna end up looking like an ass.

Except, the sting on the back of his shoulder blades and the tension in his neck is still there; the same one that warns him when something is about to go wrong, and that natural survival instinct has never failed him before. Every time he's ignored he'd wished he'd taken the fucking hint and bailed out before he got fucked over.

It's probably the only thing that's kept him alive so long.

He's about to open his mouth and ask her to sit down (because it's the polite thing to do and a part of him is acutely aware that making a good impression can only serve to his benefit, but a larger part just wants Beth to be happy and if him playing nice with this woman gets him that, so be it), when she turns around and stares at him, brown eyes wide and voice clear and loud. "You need to break up with her."

He knew it was too fucking good to be true.

It doesn't stop the sting, though.

"Look," Daryl begins, taking a breath to control his anger and a step back and away from this practical stranger. "I know I ain't no catch; anyone with eyes can see that Beth can do better than some nobody redneck that's twice her age with a shit family history. I get that."

And really, he does.

He's known that all along, and he doesn't doubt that this woman is looking around his home and calculating just how little he really has to offer the girl she sees as her daughter. The place is small and in need of repairs and still half-bare except for the splashes of color Beth had been slowly adding. He'd never understood the need for much more than a place to eat and sleep but she was determined to turn this place into a proper home, filled with photographs and memories that spoke of comfort and familiarity.

Of course he could see the many changes, but Patricia would not.

She wouldn't have the first clue what to look for.

Instead, she'd focus on what was presented to her.

It wasn't a much better package; not ever, and definitely not as he stood this moment, with his torn work jeans and his grease-stained shirts and dirty, over-grown hair.

"It's not about that."

Daryl snorts in disbelief. "You tellin' me you wouldn't be here right now, asking me to let go of that girl if I wasn't younger or richer? If people didn't take one look at me without gossipin' or wonderin' when I'm gonna rob 'em? If being with me didn't ruin or stain the Greene's reputation?"

He pauses, and his last question feels like acid and burns his mouth before he can spit it out.

"If I wasn't a fucking Dixon?"

Because, really, he could change everything else.

Maybe he couldn't get any younger but he sure as hell could find a way to get richer. Money talks, so much more than a reputation or character ever could, and he doesn't doubt that a couple of acts of selfless benevolence in the form of large checks to the city council could buy him all the acceptance and respect he'd ever need in this or any other town. People don't give a single shit if you're an asshole as long as you're willing to show up for church on Sundays and cough up a lengthy donation during mass.

They'll even smile and thank you as they remind you that God loves you, and bless your heart.

But no amount of money could ever change the fact that he's a Dixon. It doesn't change that his family is full of drunks and criminals. Doesn't change Will Dixon from being the meanest drunk to ever step foot in this town or his momma from being remembered as that broad that used to get beat all the time until one day she got so lit that she burned down the house with herself still inside. It doesn't change that his brother is a drug addict that's always pushing pills and locked up jail more often than not.

It doesn't change his legacy from being one that was always meant to rot and wither out.

"I couldn't care less how old you are or what your last name is," Patricia answers back, lifting her hands so they rest on her hips in open defiance and honesty. "If she was with another boy her same age and it was the same situation you can bet I'd be at their home instead. This is about someone with a clear head stepping in and stopping that girl from making a huge mistake."

"This ain't a mistake," he growls back, running a hand through his hair to push back the long strands covering his eyes. Daryl exhales, reminding himself that he has to keep a cool head and that he'd always known he'd have to fight for Beth. There was no way he was giving up now that they were so close to having everything together. "I know it ain't exactly conventional, but we're happy. I'm takin' care of her, and I ain't ever gonna let anyone hurt her."

She only stares at him, as if silently weighing the worth of his words, and the pity that pools in her big eyes is more than Daryl's prepared to deal with.

"This is not what her mother wanted for her."

"Her momma would have wanted her to be happy," he counters, clenching his fist and looking away from her.

"Yes," she quickly agrees, granting him at least that acknowledgement, and then diving in for another blow. "But Annette also wanted her to be free. She wanted more for her girls than the small-town life that we've all lived."

"I ain't never forced her to do anything or try and trapped her," Daryl scowls at her, voice steeling with the silent accusation. "Everything we've done has been because we both wanted it."

"What can you offer her?" She tries again, looking for a different approach to get through to him and finally zeroing in on the elephant in the room. "What can anybody in this town offer her that she can't find somewhere else? What is she supposed to do with her life? Marry you? Have a couple of kids and stay home to be a housewife? Clean and cook and raise your children, or maybe take a couple of classes at the community college so she can get a minimum wage job where she'll never be fully appreciated?"

He hates that she doesn't even sound angry or judgmental; hates that she's making him question his decision and feel like he's being a selfish bastard for ignoring all those factors and getting wrapped up in all the love and bliss that she brought into his life. Hates that deep down a part of him has always know Patricia's right; knows that Beth deserves more than he could ever give her, more than a small town could give a person as bright as she.

Hates that he's always known she needed more.

"She has a scholarship, Daryl," she informs him, and his mouth hangs open at the declaration. Beth had never mentioned anything about it, and he thinks that maybe it's because a part of her knew that she needed more, too, and just didn't want to admit it. "A free ride to an excellent university in New York where she can study to be anything she sets her mind to; where she can really learn to be happy and independent and live out her dreams."

She waits for him to look up at her again, and then goes in for the kill. "Don't be the one who stands in the way and steals that from her."

It's like she's sticking a damn knife in his gut, twisting it inside at the same time that she apologizes for the hurt she's causing him.

"What the hell do you want from me?"

For the first time since she walked into his home, Patricia hesitates. She closes her eyes, drops her shoulders and murmurs something that sounds suspiciously close to a 'Lord, forgive me,' and then turns back to him full of determination. "I need you to break her heart."

Daryl would laugh at the absurdity of this entire conversation if he wasn't so fucking enraged.

"Nah, no way am I doing that shit," he immediately denies, wound up and pacing the room, like a wild animal that's been taunted too much and is getting ready to attack. "I can try and talk to her and ask her if she wants to go, but I ain't 'bout to try and break that girl more than she's already been broken."

"Look, I know you love her," she sighs, trying to pacify him, but her mention of 'love' has Daryl crossing the room until he's standing right in front of her, leaning down so they're at the same eye-level and glaring at her with all the hatred he feels brewing inside.

"Don't try and give me some bullshit story 'bout how 'if I love her, I'll let her go' or some other shit like that," he yells, done listening to this woman who pressed all the right buttons and had him feeling like a piece of trash without once using a proper insult. "She's here and she's happy with me and we were doing just fine 'til you showed up just now. If you don't like it, get the fuck out of our lives and leave us alone."

Apparently, she doesn't take very well to being yelled at, because she comes back at him with the same force he's using.

"How long do you think that'll last?" she sneers, furrowing her brows and breathing deeply through her nose. "For God's sake, she just turned eighteen years old; up until a few months ago she was a shell of a girl who wouldn't let herself feel a thing, wouldn't let anyone get too close. I know you helped her; I know she trusts and loves you but it doesn't change the fact that she hasn't had the chance to experience or learn anything on her own. She thinks that all she needs is you in this world."

Patricia doesn't stop there.

"Do you understand how dangerous that is? How incredibly wrong it is? She doesn't know how to be happy on her own; God, I don't think she even thinks she can. She's young and confused and then you come in and all she sees is a man who is solid and sure of himself and she clung onto you like a lifeline but she can't do that. Nobody can live their life that way; depending on another person for their happiness. Don't make her stay here just because you're afraid of being without her."

It's like she's looking straight into his mind, pulling apart every doubt and insecurity he's had about this relationship one by one.

And fuck him if she doesn't make a whole bunch of sense.

"It ain't like that," Daryl shakes his head, voice down to a barely audible whisper. "I love her."

It's the truth.

The truth he's known all along and the one he should've told Beth the moment the emotion first fluttered in his heart. The one thing she deserved to have heard from him a thousand times. The words he should have kissed along her skin until they were branded into her soul and gifted back to him every time she smiled.

The confession that belonged only to Beth, not to this stranger asking him to throw it all away.

"Everybody who's ever met her has," Patricia offers him a kind and sympathetic smile, no doubt aware that her motives for being here would be fulfilled. "But you need to do this. She will never leave or give you up on her own. If her Daddy or me try and make her see reason she'll just hold onto you even more. She's stubborn and she won't change her mind until it's too late and it all crashes down. You need to be the one who pushes her out of this town."

"She's gonna hate me."

"She will," the older blonde admits, reaching out to grasp his hand and not taking offence when he cringes away from her touch. "She'll hate you right now, but when she gets older and looks back at her life and all she's achieved because she had the courage to chase her dreams I swear to you that I will tell her the truth and she will understand and she will thank you for it."

"That's a lie," he scoffs, a reflex reaction, voice bitter but with no bite.

"Maybe, but she deserves a shot."

In hindsight, he should have known it couldn't last forever.

Nothing good in his life ever did.

…

See, this is why she'd put off coming back to Senoia for so long.

Beth knows that if she was back in Savannah she would have never found herself in anything close to this situation.

Right now she'd probably be sitting at home, curled up with a blanket and her favorite fuzzy socks, relaxing on their cozy black leather sofas while binge watching shows on Netflix, armed with an endless supply of hot chocolates and blueberry muffins. Or maybe she'd be out with one of her girlfriends, window shopping in the honestly fabulous fashion district or browsing through a new art gallery or trying out a chic new restaurant. More realistically, she'd probably be getting ready for another event where her presence was required by Pete or she'd be filling out paperwork and catching up on new material for her own job.

She would not, under any circumstances, be sitting in the middle of a dingy bar on the outskirts of town with a bottle of Jack Daniels while some random drunk asshole tries to manhandle her.

She wouldn't be less than ten feet away from her ex-lover, who seems to have suddenly developed a need to protect her honor.

In case nobody noticed, she can take care of herself.

Which is why she doesn't let her momentum evaporate and instead lets the adrenaline humming in her vein run free and wild enough for her fist to lash out and connect with Len's face, relishing in the satisfaction of feeling her rings scrape against tender skin that cracks underneath the strength of her thin fingers.

She gets him right in the nose.

"You fucking bitch!" Len screeches, letting go of her wrist to bring both hands up to his face, cupping his nose as a small stream of blood trickles down his face and over his chin.

"I told you to let me go," Beth snaps back, feeling furious and bold as she stands her ground but also being smart enough to know better than to let her guard down. Men like Len have a way of never knowing how to take 'no' for an answer, and she'd bet her soul that he wouldn't think twice about hitting her back for putting him in his place.

Her intuition is proven right when he lifts his palm up, pulling it back to gain all the force he wanted to slap her with, but she doesn't even have a chance defend herself when there's this mass of leather and smoke pushing its way in front of her and decking her accoster so hard that the sorry excuse for a man lands on his ass on the floor.

"What's your fucking problem, Dixon?" Len laughs from the floor, wiping the back of his hand across his face to stop the blood from entering his mouth. "Everyone here knows ya ain't got no claim on that sweet little piece of ass no more."

"Watch your fucking mouth," Daryl warns him, already lifting his arms and getting ready to let another punch go. Len only laughs harder, gracelessly standing up from the floor and grinning like a madman at the threat, the alcohol on his breath and the redness of his eyes granting him that intimidating touch of insanity.

"So sensitive!" Len taunts him, maintaining his distance and leaning back against an empty stool for balance. "Maybe I'm wrong, then," he keeps on, eyeing the crowd that's quickly began to surround them to watch their little spectacle and basking in the attention. "Maybe she's back 'cause she missed some dirty ass redneck fucking her like an animal while she's been off pretending to be little Miss Prim an' Proper."

Daryl pounces.

For a moment Beth can only stand there, frozen in place as she watches both men trade hits and fall into a heap on the floor. The crowd that'd gathered is doing their best to pull them apart, but there's very little that can stand in the way of that much violence and adrenaline once a fight actually breaks out. It's like rationality takes flight and all that's left is a basic instinct to cause as much harm to the person in front of you as you possibly can.

It's not until one of other women bumps into her that she snaps out of her haze, and then she's rushing forward to pull Daryl back. The moment her hands make contact with the leather of his jacket he shrugs her off, knocking her off balance and causing her to gasp as she stumbles on her heels. The noise must have registered somewhere in the corner of his mind, because Daryl immediately angles his face away to look at her and Len takes the opportunity to strike against his jaw.

And then a new person speaks up.

"That's enough."

It's not the unyielding voice that causes everyone to listen.

No. What makes everyone stop in their tracks is the unmistakable sound of a gun's safety being clicked off, followed by the soft thud of heavy boots as they cut through the circle of people, demanding respect with every confident step.

The man is tall; taller than Daryl, even, with broad shoulders and a sharply defined jaw covered in light stubble. He's built with sinewy muscle and on his face are a set of hardened blue eyes that speak volumes of the chaos he's seen in life. His hair is dark, short and wavy, and if it weren't for the sheriff's uniform and badge he's wearing Beth would never guess he belonged to law enforcement.

He seems a little bit too… disheveled to fit the cut.

"Now," he speaks again, voice low and raspy with a southern accent, refusing to lower his gun. "Both of you are gonna break it up and leave, right now, or we're all going to be heading down to the station in the next five minutes."

"Yeah, right," Len scoffs once both men stand up, stepping away from each other and Beth wants to sigh in relief when Daryl moves to stand in front of her but makes no attempt to try and touch her. "Like you an' Dixon ain't thick as thieves; to get me you'd have to arrest your bitch, too."

The man finally lowers his gun, securely holstering it on his hip again, and he's got his hands wrapped around the material of Len's jacket before anyone can blink. "Ain't gonna say it again, Wiseman," he warns him, and Beth doesn't miss the fear that crosses the jerk's face under this strange man's scrutiny before he releases his hold. "Leave, or I'll make sure you rot in jail for the rest of your life."

Len grunts, murmuring under his breath and cursing them all to hell, but those as he's told.

"I think it'd be best if you went and headed on home now, too, Miss."

Beth's almost embarrassed of how long it takes her to realize he's talking to her. "Who are you?" she asks once she manages to clear her head, stepping out from behind the makeshift wall that Daryl's body consciously made and doing her absolute best to ignore him for as long as she possibly can.

Out of sight, out of mind.

"My name is Rick Grimes," he introduces himself, nodding his head in greeting. "I've been the sheriff in this town for the last three years and I'm politely asking you to go home for the night."

Maybe it's the whiskey.

Maybe it's being back in this town and the heightened emotions and the exhaustion from how high her feelings have been running all day. Maybe it's all the disappointment she feels about Pete leaving her alone or the betrayal she feels towards Patricia or the resentment against Maggie or the anger and worry that washed over her in the last couple of minutes for Daryl.

Or maybe it's just that she's sick and tired of having everyone feel like they know what's best for her. Maybe she's just done allowing people, even this man who actually does have legal authority and should probably be the last person she challenges, to dictate her decisions. Maybe she just wants them to understand that she is twenty-three years old and she's an adult and she has every right to stay here, in this dirty bar, and get drunk until she can't think straight and everything feels alright.

She found out long ago that she's a happy drunk.

She needs that right now.

"Well, I'm Beth Greene," she sasses back, imitating his introduction and arching a brow for added defiance. "I grew up here, I'm friends with the owner, and I haven't done anything wrong for you to try and kick me out."

Both men turn to stare at her, one with surprise clearly painted on his face at hearing her talk back and the other with strange mix of nostalgia and prideful familiarity as he recognizes the stubborn streak in her personality shining through.

"You were just involved in a bar fight," he states, completely proper and matter-of-fact.

"No," Beth clarifies, forcing a tight smile on her face and letting her voice turn sugary-sweet. "I was trying to have a drink when an asshole started to bother me. It ain't my fault if somebody else decided to get involved in my disagreement."

Rick's stance doesn't falter, but the arch of his eyebrow gives away his quiet appraisal. Somehow, she's sure that she's managed to impress him. "I saw you throw the first punch."

"It was self-defense."

"It's assault and battery."

"I told him to let go of me," she defends herself , straightening her jacket and losing the tough and bitchy front. She will not go down for standing up for herself. "He kept trying to push himself onto me even though I told him I wasn't interested."

"I know," Rick agrees, shooting a glare to the crowd around them and Beth watches in disbelief as they quickly begin to disperse, leaving them and Daryl in the closest thing to privacy they could ask for. "Which is why nobody got arrested tonight."

Beth is honestly confused now. "Then what's the problem?"

"The problem is that you've had a couple of drinks," he murmurs, glancing over at the abandoned bottle of Jack by her side. Beth curses her luck, fighting back a flush when Daryl's stare intensifies and burns against her back once he realizes her current drink of choice.

His drink of choice.

"And I think it'd be best if you let Daryl take you home," he finishes.

No fucking way.

She must have said it out loud, because Rick's eyebrow arches again, eyes slanting as he studies her balance and prepares himself to bargain. "You can let him, who I trust and I know hasn't had a drink tonight, or you can call somebody else to come pick you up and drive you home," he declares, giving no indication that he's going to budge. "Either way, you aren't getting behind the wheel of a car on your own without me pulling you over for a DUI."

And, really, who was she supposed to call?

Her Daddy? Maggie? Patricia?

Was she supposed to swallow her pride, bow her head, and call the farm; hoping one of them drives across town and picks her up because some asshole was hitting on her and Officer Friendly refuses to let her drive home, like a teenager caught out after curfew? Is that how her little stand was going to end? With her being treated more like a child than she ever has in her life.

No.

It's not even an option.

"Fine," she snaps, turning back to Daryl and staring into his deep blue eyes for the first time in over five years. "But I'm not going back to the farm tonight."

"Where am I supposed to take ya, then?" he asks, obviously confused at her open acts of defiance and at her unwillingness to cooperate or communicate with her family.

"You're gonna take me home."

…

It's the principle of the matter, really.

Does she want to go back to his home?

No.

Does she want to be anywhere near him?

No

Does she wish she was anywhere besides here, in the passenger's seat of her old truck while Daryl sits at the wheels and drives them across town?

Of course.

Does she regret not calling the farm and asking someone to pick her up?

Hell no.

Because out of every messed up revelation and conversation that has happened on this honestly horrible day, her deciding to spend the night in Daryl's home when nobody even thought to suggest it is somehow the only choice she's managed to make on her own in who knows how long.

Was it the wrong choice?

Probably.

But it was still hers to make and whatever came out of it (which will be nothing) is only on her. On this particular moment nothing else factors in except that she's taking matters into her own hands and consequences be damned. Nobody knows where she is or what she's up to and nobody's watching her and it feels like the closest thing to absolute freedom a person like her could ever achieve.

It may be a lie, but at least it's a good one, and that's all you could ask for sometimes.

…

They're about ten minutes from his house when he decides to start talking to her.

Well, that's nice and all, but it don't mean she wants to talk to him.

"You sure you don't want me to take ya to the farm?"

"Yup."

"Your family's gonna be worried."

"Probably."

"You gonna call 'em?"

"Nope."

"Plannin' on sayin' more than a word tonight?"

"You ain't gonna get laid tonight," she replies, not missing a beat.

He grunts, apparently not appreciating her sense of humor. His fingers tap against the steering wheel, a nervous habit from him she recognizes on the spot. His brows furrow and his jaw tightens, almost as if he was debating with himself whether to ask her what was bothering him. He groans, giving in, and continues to look straightforward when he finally caves.

"Why are you back, Beth?"

"I'm not," she immediately denies, shuddering at the thought of staying in this place for a second longer than necessary. "I'm here for a couple of days and then I'm going back to where I belong."

Absolute silence.

Then, "Good," he replies, still refusing to look at her as he continues driving.

She doesn't know why that hurts her so much.

It's not like she's expecting him to drop to his knees and ask her to stay. He didn't do it then, and he's surely not going to do it now. It's not that he's not suddenly confessing his never-ending love for her, because he didn't do that either. It's not that she's waiting for him to open his mouth and reveal his reasons for breaking her heart, because she promised herself long ago that no amount of excuses would earn her forgiveness.

It's not like any of that still matters.

And it's not like she still loves him.

It's just that he's so indifferent to it.

Like her being back in town and sitting next to him as he drives them to his home is just another every-day thing. Like his last words to her have been long-forgotten, along with all the heartbreak. Like her getting on a plane and leaving tomorrow would make absolutely no difference to him.

Like everything they went through still doesn't matter; like she doesn't matter.

It's not like her, and Beth has never let herself turn vengeful, but God, does she want to hurt him.

Just a little; just a taste of everything he made her feel.

So she starts talking; framing every word with poison and aiming every shot straight below the belt. She'll make Daryl Dixon feel something tonight, even if it's the last damn thing she does.

"I live with my boyfriend, you know? His name is Pete Dolgen and I've been dating him for a while now; over three years."

No reaction.

"He's a good man, a bit older than me but don't worry, you're still the oldest man I've let into my pants."

His jaw twitches, and Beth knows she's getting to him when she watches him bite the inside of his cheek.

She's nowhere near done.

"He was in the military; came back home a hero and a Lieutenant. His family's got money, and I mean, like, a lot of it. He takes me to fancy restaurants and buys me expensive jewelry and shows me off to all his friends and family like I'm the best thing he's ever had."

"I think he's gonna ask me to marry him," she confides, lowering her voice to a whisper, as if she was letting in an old friend on a big secret. "I caught him pocketing one of my rings and heard him talking on the phone with his best friend about sizes and styles when he thought I was sleeping." She increases her pitch, letting in all the false excitement until she's sure she sounds like a bimbo gushing over her sugar daddy. "Can you just imagine it? Little ol' me, farm-girl extraordinaire, suddenly being Mrs. Beth Dolgen; the center of attention in Savannah's elite society?"

Then she freezes.

Because her next thought hurts her more than it could ever hurt him.

She remembers, just briefly (because anything more is dangerous), how she felt in that dorm bathroom. Remembers being alone and in mid-panic and fantasizing about a little boy that looked just like his daddy. Remembers the emptiness and the inexplicable sadness that had followed her around since that day and still continued to haunt her and appear when she least expected it.

And if he feels nothing else, she wants him to at least feel that.

She wants him to know what it feels like to mourn for someone you never had; miss and search for someone you never knew.

Learn what it's like to live incomplete.

"Maybe I'll have a baby soon," she divulges, losing all traces of humor. "A cute little girl with black hair and brown eyes, just like her daddy. Pete's great with kids, ya know? All the kids at the orphanage where we volunteer absolutely adore him and we've talked about how we want to have one or two of our own and adopt a couple of others."

Fury is radiating off of him, like a heater turned to full blast in the middle of a storm.

But he still won't look at her.

"And I guess I have you to thank for all of that," she finishes, looking out the window as his home comes into view. They'll be there in a few more seconds, and then she'll be free to lock herself in his spare bedroom and sleep until her problems don't feel quite so overwhelming. "I mean, Patricia told me, you know? How she talked to you and convinced you to let me go. So really, thanks. Maybe when I have my kids I'll tell them all about the kind man who showed their momma the way when she was just a lost and stupid girl who couldn't be trusted to make a choice on her own."

He stops the truck.

Beth's got her hand on the door handle and she's just about to pull it open when she feels her arm being hauled back. She snaps her head back to glare at him but before she can even begin to form a complaint Daryl's dragged her body tight against his and his mouth is slanted over hers and he tastes like smoke and diet coke and he smells like leather and something's that's just so undeniably Daryl and she's lost in it all.

God damn it.

…

AN: Hey guys!

Sorry for the delay, but I hope it was worth the wait. Work and school have been keeping me ridiculously occupied but I've been squeezing time in to write whenever I can.

You guys blew me away with the reviews for the last chapter and I'm so happy you all liked it so much! Sorry I couldn't get back to you with Review Replies but I've been majorly pressed for time. I'll try and catch up!

Anyways, I've finally got the ball rolling with these two and things are about to speed up because, you know, in small towns rumors fly.

Let me know what you think is gonna happen!

-Ashley