I don't think I've ever cried more in my life.
After what happened with Jimmy that morning, and after Daryl held me, to say I was confused would have been the understatement of the century. In the matter of a few minutes, my life had completely changed. I had devoted five years of my life to my relationship with Jimmy. I had put up with the yelling, the drunken come on's, and millions of other things that I never imagined myself tolerating. But the second I felt his hand whip across my cheek, I just couldn't do it anymore. That was one thing I refused to tolerate.
When Daryl pulled me into his arms, it was like I melted into him. My sobs were uncontrollable and the tears didn't stop flowing for what felt like an eternity. I expected him to leave, but he just sat there holding me, running his fingers through my hair, telling me I was safe. Suddenly, he placed one arm against my back and the other beneath my knees and carried me to the couch, placing me on it gingerly as if he were afraid to break me even more than I already was. Taking the blanket from where he had folded it only an hour earlier, he draped it over me before getting up and going to my kitchen, only returning once he had a glass of sweet tea in hand.
I was amazed at how delicate he was with me, a girl he'd only just started to get to know. He acted like taking care of me was second nature, almost like breathing. Daryl sat next to me as I laid on the couch and moved so my head was in his lap. All he did was let me cry as he continued to stroke my hair, telling me everything was going to be alright. While the situation seemed far from 'alright', I took solace in his words. I felt safe with him there which was what I needed. I couldn't help but think that Jimmy would be back at any moment to finish what he'd started, but I felt better knowing that Daryl was there. If how he was acting was any indication, he wouldn't let Jimmy near me if that were to happen.
However, I couldn't help but wonder why. Why was Daryl being so nurturing to me? It was far from what I had expected of him, especially if I was going off of first impressions. I thought back to the day I met him, realizing it had only been a couple of weeks since then. He had seemed so cold, so guarded. Why was he taking care of me? I was sure he had other things to do, why did this matter so much to him?
When I was finally able to stop crying long enough to talk, I asked him just that. Why? I looked up from his lap and looked into his eyes, knowing mine must have been red and swollen from the crying fit I was still trying to get over. I couldn't tell what I saw in his eyes. It was some unknown, masked emotion that I never had encountered in him before. It was almost as if he'd done this before, like this was nothing new, but there was something else in his gaze that I couldn't read.
Still stroking my hair, Daryl breathed in deeply and held his breath for a moment. It took him a second, but he finally spoke and what he said was something I'd never forget. "When I was a kid, my dad used'ta beat my mom" he said softly, as if just the words themselves were like daggers in his heart. "Used'ta beat 'er black and blue, just 'cause he felt like it. I was always too small to stop 'im." His hand stilled with his palm on my forehead and he looked like he was deciding on whether or not to continue. My heart broke for him in an instant. All I could see was child-Daryl, hiding in some corner while he watched his father abuse his mother, his bright blue eyes full of fear and tears. I could feel the tears welling up again in my own eyes, but he quickly brushed them away with the pad of his thumb.
"After, when he'd leave'ta go drink with the fellas, I'd go and try ta take care of her. Merle always stayed away, but I couldn't. She was my momma, ya know?" Searching his eyes again, I could pinpoint the emotion that I wasn't able to name before. It was pain, pure pain, as if he were reliving every second of his past by being near me. "All I was ever able'ta do was patch 'er up with a bandaid or two and hug her, tellin' her that one day everythin'd be ok."
Gently, I sat up but remained as close to him as I could. He had a conflicted expression set onto his face, like he was debating something within himself. He took another deep breath and dropped his head onto the couch so he was staring at my ceiling. In an act of consolation, I placed my hand on his forearm, only to have him tense but relax soon after. "What happened to her?" I asked timidly, afraid of both upsetting him and his answer.
He didn't look at me, but after he took yet another deep breath, he closed his eyes and continued. "One day I was comin' home from school and there were firetrucks and ambulances racin' past me. Took me a moment to see that they were goin' to my house. My mom had fallen asleep in bed smokin. Half the house caught before the trucks were able to put it out. Merle said she was probably drunk, but I never found out for sure." My free hand covered my mouth in shock. Not only had Daryl opened up to me, but he had told me something so personal, and so sad, I couldn't help but feel bad. While my dad had been pretty hard my me, he'd never been violent to anyone let alone my mom. I couldn't imagine growing up and seeing that everyday.
Daryl pulled his arm from underneath my hand and crossed his arms over his chest. He looked...angry. "I don' need you to feel sorry fer me" he said gruffly, his voice dripping in painful memories. "I don' need yer pity. Never needed anyone for tha' matter." He went to get up put I gripped him tight, my eyes begging him not to leave. There was this quiet moment between us, our eyes locked on the other's and my hand still holding onto his arm. I felt this almost electric current pulsing through the small physical connection, and was happy to see him regain his seat next to me.
"I don't pity you, Daryl" I spoke softly, my hand remaining where it was. "I just wish you hadn't experienced something like that. No one deserves that."
He didn't say anything in reply, just sat there with my hand on his arm. That moment of calm was something we both needed. I couldn't help but wonder what was going through his mind when he found me. Did he flashback and see his mother on the floor? Is that why his ability to care for me and nurture me was so innate? He'd gone into autopilot and now I knew why.
Before I knew what I was doing, my hand moved from his arm and cradled the side of his face, turning his head so he would face me. I breathed in deeply and moved, closing what little gap had been between us and pressed my lips to his softly. When he didn't pull away, I kept massaging his lips with mine, feeling him slowly begin to return my small display of affection. With every movement of our lips, I tried to absorb his pain, like I was trying to cure him from the inside. When he finally pulled away, he sat there staring into my eyes for what seemed like eons. The pain in his eyes seemed to disappear almost instantly, the brightness returning from what had resembled pale steel.
He had come to my rescue on more than one occasion, and it was finally my turn to save him.