This chapter was NOT very easy to write. I've always been a fan of Merle. I have a real soft spot for people like him, as hard as that may be to believe. I grew up around men just like him. And more times than I would like to admit, I have been Merle Dixon, without the racism, but with all that protective hate. Being that person is not as easy as it looks. It is quite painful. He is the one in the show I relate to the most. And I know that he is a hated character for the most part. But I believe that people are shaped by circumstance. Everyone goes through their own private hells at one point in their life and it is usually those darkest hours that have the biggest effect on a person, not only on a psychological level, but on a level that goes much deeper than that. Those darkest times have the biggest impact on who we eventually become as people. So in this chapter, I wanted to show you, in my opinion, why he is the way he is. Hated or not. So, thank you for reading, and I hope that pulling the scabs off of this character will give you a better understanding of MY Merle. I hope I did it justice. Like I said, it was not easy. It was sad and it was frustrating and it was very personal. I really hope you like it. Let me know what you think. I'm really curious.
Chapter Fifty Six
Merle wasn't sure what the hell he was suppose to do. She had stopped all the crying a while ago but she still held onto him tightly and would still let out a small sob every now and then. And god, she was shaking like a leaf. He thought maybe she was in shock. He was pretty shocked himself. As soon as he had heard the gun go off he closed his eyes. Thought maybe that he had died and really hadn't felt it. But the floor had felt pretty solid under his boots and the bench he was leaned against still felt like a bench. Not the fire and brimstone he had been expecting at all. When he heard the second shot he had opened his eyes and there was Shane. Dead as a doornail lying on the floor and Maggie was standing there with a pistol in her hands.
He wasn't sure what to do at that point but then she threw down the gun and just stared at the body for a few long seconds and then walked towards him. Her face had freaked him out a little bit. He wouldn't say it scared him. He wasn't scared of shit. He wasn't even scared while he was looking down the barrel of that gun. But her face had been freaky. Eyes wider than he'd ever seen them and skin as white as a sheet.
Now they were standing just inside the barn. His arm still wrapped around her and her face still buried in his chest. He was damn near soaked through with her tears. He refused to think she may have gotten snot on him. He made a face. "You ready to go in now?" He finally asked.
She shook her head which caused him to sigh. "I just k-killed a man, M-Merle. The l-least you can d-do is stay with me a w-while." She stuttered into his shirt.
"Okay. I guess gittin' my ass saved by another goddamn girl is good enough reason to stand here for while longer." he muttered into her hair without even knowing how his face had made its way to the top of her head without him telling himself to do it. "You didn't have to do that, ya know?" He said quietly, still not lifting his face away, and knowing he should.
His words finally got a reaction out of her. She pulled back and stared up at him, he couldn't make out much of her features in the dark but he didn't need to see to know that she was probably glaring at him. "Why would you s-say that?" She asked angrily.
He shrugged. "You seem pretty tore up over the whole thing. Figured maybe it'd woulda been a bit easier on ya if ya hadn't done it. You didn't have to. I ain't never done nothin' for you."
"Would you have let him shoot me in the head, Merle?" She whispered.
He shifted uncomfortably. "That's different. You're just a girl. Nobody can just let a man shoot a girl." he scoffed.
"I ain't a girl." She said. She was starting to sound more like herself for which he was grateful. The sooner she pulled herself together the sooner he could get his ass to his room and forget today even happened.
"You're a girl." he said stubbornly and then he dropped his arm from around her waist. Maybe that's what he needed to do. Think of her like she was a kid and then he'd stop thinking about her at all which was the best thing for him.
"I'm twenty one." She argued but she unwound her arms from around his waist and then swiped the tears that still stained her cheeks.
He laughed. "Is that right? Well then, all that makes you is an older girl, sugar. Still a girl in my book."
"You go around kissin' on girls often Merle?" She asked hotly.
He smiled in the dark. There she was. This was the Maggie he was used too. "Nope. But today one sure did seem to be havin' fun kissin' on me."
Her hands went to her hips. "Do you wish I hadn't?" She almost sounded hurt and he didn't know what to do with that. He wanted to tell her no because he didn't want to hear that in her voice again but he wasn't going to lie to her. He had liked it, sure. But he wished she had never done it. If she would have ripped her clothes off and jumped all over him then he would have been fine with that. His brain could process that. But what she did was something else and he didn't want nothing to do with it. So he was honest.
"Yeah. I wish you hadn't." He said in a low rasp. There was no mocking tone, no joking hidden away in those words and no sarcasm that could be detected. Truth rang loud and clear in his statement.
She gave him a stiff nod but didn't turn and walk away like he expected her too. Instead she stood there, her breathing returning to normal. "Because you think I'm too young? Or is it because you're scared?"
He didn't have an answer for that so he just stood there silently. He truthfully didn't understand the reason behind it. Couldn't articulate it.
"You ain't nothin' but a big phony, Merle Dixon." She whispered. "You strut around like you're the cock of the walk, bullyin' people and tryin' to convince the whole world that you're this bad ass man that's hard as stone and wont ever change." Her voice kicked up a few notches. "But I know the truth. It ain't the world you're tryin' to convince, Merle, it's yourself. Your a broken man on the inside, either too scared or too scarred to even try to feel anything if it ain't instant gratification. You're an emotional retard because you wanna be." She took a step forward, fists clenched at her sides. "And I tell you this, I might be younger than you. Maybe just a little girl as far as you're concerned, but you're nothin' but a little boy and I ain't gonna waste another second of my time tryin' to dig through that wall of stupid you've built up to shut the world out. I just wanted to help you."
And without another word she turned on her heel and stormed off towards the house. Merle watched her go, too stunned at the moment to even move. That girl didn't know what the hell she was talking about. Who was she to stand there and judge him? Somebody like her didn't have a clue what made him who he was. Growing up in a place like this with that daddy of hers giving her everything she ever wanted, momma doting on her spoiled little ass. Never knowing what it was like to have to fend for herself. Never knowing what it was like to feel real pain. To feel the fists of her own daddy pummeling her face until she couldn't see. Never heard the sound of her own bones being broken under the wrath of a man that was suppose to protect her.
Anger surged, black and ugly, swirling through his mind with something else following that angers heels. Something that froze the blood in his veins. Something that he wasn't able to recognize. He shoved away from the wall and then turned, kicking it over and over until the wood gave way. He backed up until he felt the solid wood behind him and then he slid down slowly, pulling his knees up to his chest and wrapping his arms around them. His breath caught in his throat as he suddenly felt trapped. That rage was still there, the way it always was but that other thing was gaining ground in his mind now. That feeling of helplessness, he recognized it now. That feeling he hadn't let himself feel in decades. He didn't feel like he was in control anymore, like someone else held something over him. He needed that control.
No, that girl didn't know shit. How many times did that little bitch lay in bed at night and pray to a God that wasn't listening that the drunken bastard would just stop breathing? Listening in the dark while her baby brother, who was barely old enough to walk, screamed from a beating that he didn't deserve. Knowing she couldn't stop it. Hoping that he would come back to give her more just so she wouldn't have to hear the cries from the baby in the next room. Knowing that she couldn't get up to help because she was already broken and one more blow may be the one that killed her? How many nights had he lay, curled up, gasping for breath, wondering if it was over for the night? How many?
He dropped his head to his knees, his breath coming out ragged and struggling to pull more air into his lungs, gasping, feeling his head reel as memories long suppressed assaulted his mind. Weakening him. Torturing him. He couldn't let this happen. He had to stop this.
Had she ever woken up on a dirty floor after having her ribs cracked and her head slammed into a wall by her daddy? Had she ever felt the biting sting of a leather strap on her back? Had she ever known what it was like? Blood? Had she ever tasted her own?
Would her momma have stopped it? That was what momma's did, right? They stopped it. Even Carol had put herself between Ed and Sophia. But not his momma. No. Not once. But he knew she had seen. She had heard. The thought of his momma had his gut twisting painfully.
His head snapped up, slamming into the wood behind him. Once, twice, three times. But it wasn't enough. Wasn't enough to draw his attention away from the pain in his chest, like his ribs were being shattered all over again by that long dead piece of shit. He stood up and whirled around, slamming his fist into the wall. He wasn't getting enough air into his lungs. He could hear the sounds slipping out of his mouth as he slammed his fist once more into that unforgiving wood, in his mind it wasn't the wood at all but the drunken face of his dad. He needed to breath. He needed to let this go. He had too.
Had Maggie ever felt like him?
He swiped the back of his bloody hand over his eyes and it came away wet. Salt stinging his busted knuckles. A ragged sob escaped his lips and he kicked the wall again.
Hands around his throat. Knowing he couldn't let the man kill him. Who would be there to protect his baby brother if he died? Even knowing death would be easier he needed to protect the boy. Had to live for the boy.
He punched the wall again, harder this time.
His dad spitting in his face before shoving him to the floor.
He braced his hand against the wall and slammed his knee into the wood until the wood cracked. Another broken sound tore its way out of him.
Nose broken. Lying in the middle of the hallway floor. Choking on the blood. Daryl, maybe three years old, with his finger to his lips so Merle would know to keep quiet as the little boy wiped the blood out of Merle's eyes with his own tiny hands. Trying his hardest to clean up the mess the best way he knew how as Merle lay there unable to move from the pain in his body. The boy tried to sooth him as he groaned there on that floor. Tears in the boys eyes but refusing to let them fall, knowing that the man in the next room would come after him next if he dared to cry. His momma, his own momma, staggering right past both of them. Not giving either of them a second glance. Daryl's hushed voice, hoarse and pathetic, "We'll be okay, Merle. I'll clean you up and we'll be just fine, alright. I'll take care of you now." The memory of those words slashed through him. The force of the pain almost knocking the wind from his lungs.
He dropped to his knees but that made him feel too exposed. If the man came for him now he couldn't be on the ground. He had to protect himself. Had to keep his brother safe. Somewhere in the back of his mind he knew that wasn't going to happen. The man was dead. But it didn't register. He just knew he couldn't let the man find him that way so he pulled himself back up and attacked the wall once more as more of those memories assaulted him.
Daryl on the floor, curled up in the fetal position. Not moving, eye swollen shut, bruises on his face and arms. Merle thought he was dead. Daryl had been five years old then and Merle had crawled over to him, praying that he was still breathing. He hadn't let himself pass out until he felt the shallow rise and fall of the small chest under his hand.
Pain worse than any he had felt since he was a boy coursed through every fiber of his being as over and over those memories flooded through his mind. He had to pull himself together. He had to stop remembering. He felt a touch on his back, light as a feather, and he cringed away, spinning around and stumbling backwards, expecting to see them there. His dad come to finish what he had never had the balls to finish before, his momma standing behind him to see the show.
Why had she not helped them? She was their momma and momma's didn't let their little boys hurt like that. Did they?
He couldn't see who was there. Who had touched him. Would it hurt if this person tried to touch him again? His vision was blurred. His eyes were wet, those broken sounds still tearing through his closing throat. He couldn't see. He couldn't catch his breath. Didn't know who was coming. He stumbled backwards some more and tried again to wipe the tears away.
"Merle?"
He dropped his head and then fell to his knees to the hard ground. He didn't want to hear that voice. She's the one that had done this. Reduced him to nothing but an open wound laid out to be seen by anyone that happened by. Every part of him hurt like he had been skinned. And she was watching. Knowing.
She dropped to her knees in front of him and he tensed. He wanted her to leave. He didn't want this. He never wanted this.
"Merle. I'm sorry." She whispered.
He couldn't lift his head. Didn't want to see pity on her face. He just wanted her to leave him alone. He wanted her to go away. But she didn't. He felt a small hand on the side of his rugged face. And even that hurt. He flinched away, another sob cutting through the silence of the barn. She didn't move her hand, instead her other hand came up to cup the other side of his face, holding him still.
"It's alright." She crooned as she held his head still between her trembling hands.
He shook his head back and forth and then she tried to pull his head closer but he wouldn't budge. He just wanted her gone. He didn't want her to see. No one could see this. But she was stronger than she looked and finally he gave up. He was tired. Much to tired to fight anymore. He let her guide his face to her shoulder and he buried it there.
His chest was still heaving as he tried to take in more air and every time a sob escaped him she would shoosh him and stroke the back of his head or rub his shoulders. His mind felt fractured but still, she held him tightly, mumbling things he couldn't even comprehend at the moment and every once in a while she would press her lips to the side of his face, his temple, his jaw. Eventually he moved his arm around her waist, not sure why but knowing that there was something about this that felt good. Maybe this is what it felt like to actually need someone. Anyone to make the hurt go away. He wanted to be angry. Silently begged for that hateful shield to take root again and guard him from wanting something as pathetic as this.
But begging wasn't doing him any good at the moment. He stayed right there on his knees in front of her as her hands wiped away some of the pain and left humiliation in their wake. He was quiet now, his mind going numb to what had just happened to him. He wasn't even sure what had just happened to him. Whatever it was, he guessed, it had been a long time coming. Now he just waited. Waited for her to decide that this was too much and bolt from the barn, leaving him feeling colder than he had felt before she had showed up to begin with. He took in a steadying breath and let it out slowly. She knew how weak he was. She knew how broken he was inside. She wouldn't stay.
"You're gonna be just fine." She whispered. She kept his head where it was and straightened up, still on her knees, so she could get closer.
He wished then that she was right. But it wasn't true. He wasn't going to be just fine. Not after that. Not after knowing that she seen him like that. It wasn't because it was her. He couldn't stand the thought of anyone seeing him that way. Just like she had said. She saw a scared little boy on the barn floor and it pissed him off. He almost wanted to attack the barn wall once more. But he was too tired and too drained and too weak in spirit and body at the moment to cause any real damage. So he kept his head there and let her hands continue to message away the pain.
He felt her lips on the side of his neck and then on his jaw. What was she still doing here? Why hadn't she gone away yet? Not that he even wanted her too anymore. She'd already seen it. The gaping wound that made up most of who Merle Dixon really was. But she was still here. Warm and willing to make it better, and too damn stupid to know that there wasn't any making him better at all. He tilted his head just slightly, just enough to skim his nose along her throat, stopping when he felt her pulse hammering right under his lips.
His grip tightened around her waist and she was pressed flush against him and it was then that she finally pushed his head away from her shoulder but as soon as he lifted his head, a head that felt too heavy to keep up for long, she pressed her lips to his and then finally pulled back and looked at him. He knew she couldn't see much.
"You okay?" She whispered.
He didn't trust his voice so he slowly shook his head back and forth. What was the sense in lying now? He wasn't okay. He was a mess.
"But you're gonna be." There was a hint of a smile in her voice at that.
Once more he shook his head but had to stop when her lips met his again. He kissed her back, letting the feel of her lips on his fill up his head and push everything else out. Nothing mattered but this, at least for the moment. He had to believe that. So he kissed her back, and even he noticed the desperation in the way his lips moved over hers. Nothing else mattered. None of it.
When he felt the soft tip of her tongue trace his bottom lip he tangled his hand through her hair and kissed her harder, tasting the evidence of his breakdown, salt in her mouth from where she had kissed away the tears that had traveled to his jaw. And for some reason the taste of him in her mouth drove him farther. He wasn't thinking of sex, he was just thinking of her and how it really was good just to feel sometimes. That was the point she had been trying to make earlier. That it was okay. And the relief he felt in knowing that even after all she had seen, she still wanted to be there. She still wanted to help him. She still just simply wanted him, even in this state. And he was grateful. For her strength and for her warmth that was now seeping into his blood, thawing it. Making it easier for him to breath again. And still, nothing else mattered.
"Merle?"
He pulled away when he heard his brothers voice coming from the barn entrance. He still didn't trust his own voice. He didn't want to say anything but he knew if he didn't then Daryl would come looking.
Maggie turned her head then, like she had just read his mind. "Give us a minute." She called.
There was silence for a few long seconds and then he heard his brother's frustrated voice. "God damn you, Merle! You're gonna get us kicked outta here."
He couldn't help but let the ragged humorless laugh escape his lips. That was all that boy ever said to him anymore. His laugh was cut short when she started kissing him again. And that was how they stayed for a long time. Him loosing himself once more in the solace she offered him.