The story of how I ended up wasted and sleeping on the roof of a fraternity house has a name. Daryl Dixon, or as I very eloquently called him a few hours before, Daryl Dick-son.
How I wound up waking up the next day in a bed while he slept loudly on the floor beside it is an entirely different story, one I'm not fully aware of due to my drunken state from the night before.
My name is Beth Greene, and I'm a freshman music student at Atlanta University. My dorm roommate, a sophomore student called Rosita Espinosa, dragged me to this party on my first Friday at the University. She wanted me to meet her gang, as she called the diverse group of friends she introduced me to at the party.
I'm not really the party type. I grew up on a farm in a very religious family. The party girl is my older sister, Maggie. The only parties I ever attended to before this one were either high school balls or family gatherings. If I'm frank, this is all new to me, and I know it is apparent from how everyone here looks at me.
I spent the first part of the night trying to get to know everyone. Rosita has a lot of friends, and it's challenging to keep up. First, we have Sasha and Abraham. Sasha has perfect features, and she highlights them by braiding her curly hair backwards. Abraham is half dressed in camouflage and has a football jersey on, he looks like he was the muscle of his football team in high school and probably here as well. They are clearly together since they haven't been more than a few inches apart all night.
Then we have Aaron and Paul, or as everyone calls him, Jesus, I can see why they call him that. He has better long hair than all the girls here together and a perfectly groomed beard. Aaron looks at him as if he is ready to throw a prayer his way any second. They look cute together.
Tara and Denise are next. Tara offered me her fist to bump, and Denise introduced herself as a psychology major. I can't tell much about their relationship, but they have been holding hands since I arrived.
Sitting across them, we have Rick and Michone. Rick also has a football jersey on and looks exactly like the quarterback of my hometown high-school team when I graduated. Michonne looks like the kind of girl that could order this quarterback around with a move of her little finger anytime.
Sitting beside them are Carol and Ezequiel. Carol rocks a pixie haircut bleached to the most perfect shade of white, and her boyfriend Ezekiel, who insisted that I call him Zeke, rocks the same bleached hair fashioned in long dreadlocks.
Then there are Glenn and Rosita, the only couple here that seems to be only good friends.
And last but not least, there is Daryl Dixon, the only one besides Rosita, Glenn and myself that seems to be alone in this crowd of happy couples. He hasn't said a word to me since I was introduced to the group, but to be fair, he hasn't said anything to anyone else in the same amount of time. He just intriguingly stares at me from his spot on the couch. Weirdly enough, it is a familiar feeling for me to be watched by him this way. I don't remember why or when I felt this way, but it feels like déjà vu, a pleasant one too.
I spent the second part of the night rejecting Rosita's attempts to make me drink alcohol, saying I never drink because I really don't. It's not that I have a thing against alcohol; it's more that I haven't consumed any in my entire life and want to keep myself under control, at least for as long as this first fraternity party lasts.
My plans go south by midnight when they decide to play seven minutes in Heaven, or at least their version of it, where there is no random choosing of the couples that go into the closet. They only allow the girls to choose whoever they want to bring there.
Glenn is adamant that he won't play because he is only here to deliver pizzas, even though I can't see any pizza boxes around. On the other hand, I am not allowed to refuse the invite to play and find myself forced to participate.
After a few rounds, including one with Jesus proclaiming he has the right to enter Heaven whenever he pleases, I notice that all of them choose their partners when it is their turn, except for Tara and Denise, who pick Rosita at the same time and spend seven minutes doing god knows what in that closet with her. And now it's my turn to choose.
I spend a minute considering the possibility that maybe I should pick Rosita as well. I've always felt attracted to men, but since she dragged me into this mess—. At least by choosing her, I won't have to meddle in the sea of apparently happy couples surrounding me.
Tara seems to read my mind because she drags Rosita closer to herself with her arm around her shoulders, and she does the same with Denise with her other arm, shaking her head to let me know I have to think again.
"Come on, Beth, you can choose whoever you want," Rosita assures as if she hadn't just witnessed Tara claiming her and her girlfriend Denise as her property five seconds ago, "none of us will bite you unless you ask us to," she says flirtatiously, winking in my direction. I take one long look around the room before I make my pick. "Never mind what I just said. He'll definitely bite without permission," Rosita adds, when I take a deep breath and walk across the room to the couch where Daryl Dixon sits.
I feel drawn to him for some reason, so I grab his hand and drag him into the closet with me. Everyone looks at me with eyes like plates, as if they all expected me to choose literally anyone other than him.
Daryl willingly follows me into the closet after shrugging at my choice. Once there, I notice the closet is more like a mid-sized storage room than a simple closet, so I walk to the end of the room, still holding his hand.
Feeling anxious, I let go of him when we are far enough for anyone outside to hear anything we talk about or do in here. Daryl looks intently at me, then leans on the wall behind him, waiting for me to say or do anything. I feel my anxiety scale at the sight of his flexing muscular arms crossed over his chest.
"I only chose you because you were the only single person in there, and I didn't want to meddle in anyone's relationship," I say, even though that is not entirely true. If I had a green card to choose anyone in that room to make out with without facing any consequences, I would still make the same choice.
Daryl grunts in response to my words, then pushes himself away from the wall and takes me by the hips. In a fraction of a second, he pins me against the wall, towering over my trembling figure and leaving little to no room between our bodies.
I'm unsure if my trembling body and racing heart are signs of fear or excitement.
"What?" he asks, seeing my lack of response to his actions and my trembling hands hanging at my sides. "If you wanted someone to talk to, you should have chosen anyone but me. I assure you I didn't walk all the way here to gossip," he says, and I feel him press himself even closer to my body.
"I—" I make an attempt to say anything at all while trying to understand if I'm making an effort to find the words to stop him or instead to encourage him to go on. Still, I come up empty-handed and cannot say a coherent word before he talks again.
"Oh, you can stop trembling like a deer caught in headlights. If I had to choose, I would also pick anyone else before you," Daryl grunts and his words are bitter. I don't understand why he is being so rude when he pushes himself away from me. The only thing that comes to mind is that he felt rejected by my words and clearly didn't take them well.
"That's not what I said—" I start to explain myself, but he stops me and starts talking again.
"No need for excuses. I can see right through you, Bethany," he says.
"My name is Beth," I correct him instantly, more as a habit than anything else because I am used to people believing Beth is short for something else.
"Well, I know who you are, Beth," he drops again, his words sharp as knives, and I start feeling annoyed.
"Who am I, Daryl?" I ask him. If he doesn't want to hear me, I can only listen to him instead.
"You are a daddy's girl leaving home for the very first time into the big city, pretending to be a grown-up, but you are nothing more than his precious little girl," he says in a demeaning way almost as if the fact that I have a father who love me that much bothered him profoundly.
I breathe in, not wanting to argue with his somewhat factual statements, even if they are not of his fucking business.
"And who are you, Daryl?"
"I'm certainly nothing like you. I'm not a religious type, pretending to be morally superior to everyone else here," his hand runs down the collar of my dress and he springs out my golden chain from underneath as of to make a point, and almost as if the cross burnt his fingers he drops it on my chest almost immediately. "But more importantly, I'm not a daddy's girl with nothing better to do than cutting my wrists looking for his attention," he says, taking my left hand in his and lifting it up until my scar is in both our sights, barely lit by the moonlight coming from the little window in the corner.
And there it was, the final straw before my patience went out the window. He was no one to judge me without knowing me. He certainly had no right to say all this shit about me for the sole reason of feeling rejected by me or whatever was his fucking problem, and I wouldn't stand by it, so I immediately force him to let go of my hand and I start walking to the door.
"The time isn't up yet, Bethany," he strolls behind me, and I don't stop for one second.
"Yes, it is Daryl," I say pulling the door open, "I'm sorry I didn't quite catch your last name, Dick-son. Yes, I think that was it, have a great rest of the night."
I would like to think no one else in the living room heard what I said, but the silence that comes after I leave the closet screams loudly that they did. I walk directly towards the kitchen after that, grabbing the first bottle of booze I run across. I empty the bottle of Absolut Vodka on my own while sitting out on the frat's roof to observe the stars. I find out I'm too drunk when I try to return inside a few hours later and can't make it.