It was dark now. He lay alone on the bed in the boy's room, staring at the ceiling. He felt stupid going downstairs, but he was hungry. So he got up, went downstairs into the kitchen.
He timidly peeked his head out from the kitchen doorway and looked at Beth in the living room. She was sitting on the sofa, drinking a cup of tea, and reading a book in the candlelight.
"Hungry?" she asked him kindly.
"Yeah, kinda," he replied apologetically.
"Well, there's beef stew in a can, and rice pudding for dessert," Beth offered.
"Aw'right," he said shyly in a heavy southern drawl.
Beth rose from the sofa and went into the kitchen to fix Daryl dinner. He took such good care of her that she felt thankful for the opportunity to do something nice for him in return. They didn't light the fire at night, for fear of attracting attention with the chimney smoke. So he had to eat everything at room temperature. Beth sat beside him quietly at the farm table in the kitchen while he ate.
"Rice puddin's good," he said.
"Thank you. I'm glad you like it," Beth answered sincerely.
After dinner they sat on the sofa in the living room. Beth continued reading her book in the candlelight. Daryl sat in a quiet, contemplative mood.
Beth stretched out on the sofa, her back against the arm, her legs stretched out in front of her. Daryl sat on the opposite side of the sofa, feet on the floor, right arm resting on the arm of the sofa, left arm stretched out toward Beth.
Daryl dozed off in the silence as Beth continued to read. Beth watched him sleep. He looked peaceful. She felt happy he was resting. He worked so hard all the time.
Beth read her chapter. Romance novels were bolder today she thought. In the subcategory, erotica, everything that used to happen off the page, now explicitly happened on the page.
As she read the sex scene, with Daryl sitting so close, she flushed. The heat traveled off the page, and into her bloodstream.
"Erotica right," she thought, "it's a euphemism for porn."
The hero's body was hard and muscular. His lover was soft and frail. As he pounded her in the novel, Beth felt her own heart pounding.
She became aware of a physiological change in her body. She felt hot, aroused. Wetness soaked the crotch of her panties. Her skin flushed with heat. Her heart rate quickened.
She looked at Daryl sleeping across from her on the sofa. Oh, to lay with him she thought, her belly tugging with the want of it. Her unfulfilled sexual desire painfully resided in her lower abdomen. She yearned for him, in her heart and in her body.
But was it Daryl she wanted? Or was it that she needed a man sexually? Was it nature directing her? Was it basic human need? Or did she really have feelings for Daryl?
He was kind to her now. He took care of her. He worked hard to keep them safe, fed, warm, and hydrated.
She knew his anger was a tempest. He meant to push every one away with his bitterness; and he was good at it. When angry, he raised his claws and snarled. She saw it, experienced it, was on the receiving end of it.
But why did he do that? He experienced the most tragic and violent loss of life, their friends, their family members, their community, even the children. He was in deep pain. The prison community was the closest he came to familial love in his life. It was love lost.
Thankfully his armor fissured at the moonshine cabin. He let her in. Now he was slowly growing accustomed to her, importantly for him more so than for her.
He was profoundly lonely, but he repressed it so deeply that he didn't even recognize it himself. He'd probably been lonely most of his life. He didn't know anything different.
Daryl had a tender heart. He felt things deeply, blamed himself for more than his share, experienced nagging feelings of worthlessness.
Daryl was a good guy masquerading as a bad guy.
Carol knew it first. As she got close to him when Sophia was missing, then dead, Carol suffered his wrath and anger as he pushed her away. She recognized it. She understood him because they shared experiences. She was abused too. She understood better than I, what this man was all about.
He concealed his caring nature because it was not acceptable in his house. His mother was tough. She drank, smoked and cussed.
His brother taunted him calling him Darylina, constantly mocking him for a perceived lack of toughness.
His Dad succeeded in making him feel unloved, unwanted and worthless, and in believing that the world was full of hostility and loveless.
Unlike Beth, Daryl had no role models for kindness, nurturing, gentleness or love.
He's not a bad guy. He's wounded.
He discarded some layers of defensiveness with her, letting her in somewhat, allowing himself to be a little vulnerable.
He was an honorable man, who acted to protect others, at times exposing himself to great risk. He was humble, never taking credit for his contributions, not believing in himself or his worth to the group.
She looked at him again. His hair hung in front of his face. His chest rose and fell with each breath. His taut muscular arms with their grooves and definition displayed his great physical strength. She admired his tight, slender body.
Beth rose and went to Daryl, kneeling in front of him. She gently pushed his hair back from his face with her fingers. She gazed upon his face. He slept peacefully. She lightly kissed his cheek.
"Daryl," she spoke softly, "time to go to bed" she said, lightly stroking his forehead.
He was a man. She was a woman. Nature would take its course. She need not force it. Soon he would need her in that way, she thought.
Daryl was exhausted. He climbed into the boy's bed in his boxer shorts, and fell right to sleep.
(Author's note: Please review! I love you all! Thank you! Janessa)