Daryl's return from the recruiting mission finds Carol in a dark place.

Trigger Warnings: mentions of abuse and self-harm coping behavior; sexual situations.

Self-Harm

Her kisses were desperate, urgent, more demanding than they had been before. She pressed herself against him, grinding into the jutting hardness under the soft flannel of the sleep pants he wore. The fingers of her right hand gripped his hair at the nape, her left dragging his hand up under her tank top to cup the softness of her breast bumping against the solid wall of his chest.

"Stop. Stop." Daryl groaned, resting his forehead on hers, trying to catch his breath. She'd come to bed aloof and agitated but refused to say why, refused to talk about what had happened to her, what had gone wrong while he'd been out with Aaron this time.

The whole Zone was uneasy; the run to the solar panel company had gone bad with both Aidan and Noah lost and Tara hurt. Then closer to home, there had been some incident between Rick and Jessie's husband Pete, forcing Deanna to consider banishment, the decision complicated by the fact he was their only doctor.

Daryl had moved to hold Carol, silently offering a comforting embrace by spooning in behind, but she'd turned in his arms and stared into his eyes with a look of such despair that he'd felt helpless. She reached up and pushed his hair back behind his ear; letting her fingers linger then to brush across his cheekbone, caress his cheek, rubbing her thumb across his lips. He answered her silent question by leaning close and kissing her tenderly.

It was how they'd been before he'd left, taking comfort, but tentative, almost shy with one another. Their sleep clothes remained on, touches confined to faces, arms, shoulders, backs. They were romantic kisses, but somehow carefully innocent. Neither had pushed the unspoken boundary until tonight.

He'd gotten hard as soon as her tongue pushed in to find his, the spearmint of her toothpaste biting and cool, her mouth hot.

"Make me." Carol breathed, capturing his mouth again, pushing him to go further than before. She pulled on his hair, yanking it painfully and her fingernails dug into his forearm, holding his hand to her chest and arching into him.

He'd had a plan. He had. Daryl was going to bring out the book, remind her he had it; show her he was working it, working on healing...

But her small soft, rounded breast with bullet hard nipple digging into his palm, her wet heat barely covered by her boy shorts pulsing against his dick, that smart ass mouth plundering his with unfettered desire clouded his brain.

Daryl brought his other hand up under her shirt, running it across her taut belly, finding her other breast, worrying the nipples of both between thumbs and fingers, pinching down, making her moan into his mouth.

"Harder." she urged, writhing against him.

"Don' wanna hurt you." he said softly, kissing her brow soothingly.

"Hurt me." she begged hoarsely, a sob catching in her throat.

Daryl froze.

"What?" he choked out, wincing, looking at her broken expression; her eyes pools of misery. He reached up to pull her shirt back down and took her upper arms instead, holding her still.

"You're too gentle with me...I can't stand it...I don't deserve it..." Carol whispered, tears spilling over, turning her face to the side to avoid the expected disapprobation in his eyes.

That was so fucked up that at first Daryl didn't know what to say in response. She had never wanted to talk about what it had been like for her—the specifics of that part of her life with Ed—but this made him feel like it must have been as cruel and unforgiving a time as his had been with his father.

"Bullshit." Daryl growled, resisting the urge to just shake her, instead trying to think of something to ask, something to say to help her. She was in a dark place, had been since the prison and the choices she'd made there that had resulted in her banishment. Whatever had happened on the road with the girls...he'd seen it in her after Terminus, had tried to pull her back from the edge all the way up till Atlanta when his own darkness took hold...

"You don't deserve to be hurt." Daryl rasped. "You don't deserve no more pain."

Carol struggled against his hold then.

"Let me go." the plea was torn from her. She meant more than the tight grip he had on her arms and he knew it. He was her tether to this life; their love and their family all that kept her going.

Instead he pulled her closer, enveloping her in his arms.

"Won't." Daryl assured her, trying to let her know that she was safe, that he understood.

"I can't...I can't...I can't..." she chanted over and over, sobbing into his chest, her emotions like thin ice underfoot, cracking under the weight of his care.

...if I'm going to hell, I'm making damn sure I'm holding it off as long as I can...

Daryl was haunted by what she'd said in Atlanta. He thought she needed to let go of whatever it was she felt had damned her, to feel it, to break, but he was terrified he didn't know how to put her back together again if she did.

"Whatever happened? It don't matter." Daryl said, leaning his scruffy cheek on the top of her head. He felt her try to control her breathing, try to listen to him. "Whatever you had to do, you did it to protect the ones needed protectin'. Just like you always do. Whatever you need...I'm here..."

Carol's fingers worried at the ridges of ropey scar tissue on his back through his t-shirt. He felt her chest rise and fall, synching his own breaths with hers, trying to help ease the pain and regret she still held on to. He rubbed his hands up and down her back, soothing her.

"You deserve gentle." Daryl murmured, kissing the top of her head and then gave a long low sigh, "So do I. For all the shit we been through. All the times we been hurt? That ain't how it's s'posed to be."

Carol leaned her head back so she could look at him and he saw a flicker of something, disbelief? in her luminous eyes.

Daryl's gaze went to her lips; swollen from the punishing kisses she had been giving him and then back up to her eyes.

Could he do this? Show her he was the man she believed he'd become? Strong, caring...gentle? Daryl leaned closer, their breath mingling.

"Not gonna hurt you." he said, "Never hurt you." his lips brushed hers, his tongue lightly tracing the seam between them.

Carol's hands stilled on his back, gripping his shirt, trembling as he softly kissed her. He felt the resistance in her, her unbending strength fighting against letting him in, letting herself really feel what he was trying to give her.

Carol knew she could handle pain, rough punishing fucking without feeling would bring her welcome numbing, take her back to her marriage bed, hiding in plain sight, letting her husband use her body to sate his lust with no care for her feelings or satisfaction. Sex was just another bargaining chip—fuck me, beat me, rape me—and not our daughter, not your own innocent child. Destroy me, but let my child live. Never gentle, never caring, never mattered. Screams of pain, cries of agony, whimpers begging for it to be over... and then she learned to just go away, into the numbness; leave her body to him, returning only when he was done to mend it, tend the broken or twisted parts, ice the bruises, and wipe away the blood.

She thought after he was gone (the satisfaction of pounding his head into a bloody pulp was her declaration of independence) there would be time to reclaim her true self from the numbness. But all there had been were more losses, her daughter, friends, more daughters, more friends, piling up like the kindling for the bonfire that was burning the world to a cinder. The dead were her constant companions now.

Daryl was her light in the dark, her tiny candle burning, reminding her that she was still alive, still had hope. He was the most dangerous thing she'd ever tried. He could destroy her with his promises: We're still here; We get to start over, with each other; We ain't ashes...but then why could she taste them, dry and bitter on her tongue?

He didn't know. She couldn't tell him. No one living knew. What she'd done. There amongst the pecan trees. The dead were her secret keepers.

Daryl murmured her name against her lips and she let him kiss her more deeply, suddenly wanting that, wanting drugging mindless passion, believing that could be enough to trigger the numbness. She tried pushing him, nipping, pulling, scratching at him, but he slowed her, gentled her, used his hands, smoothing across her flesh in whisper light touches, his tongue tasting and exploring, adoring her body.

She shattered.

He didn't use her. He made it about her. Her body, her pleasure; her screams were ecstasy, her cries delight, her whimpers for more...

She shattered.

When his face was buried, tongue deep inside her, giving her the most intense orgasm she'd ever felt...

She shattered.

When he asked, didn't tell, didn't force or grab and then wept when he saw her fear and stopped until she was ready...

She shattered.

When she stared into his eyes as he lay beside her, feeling each other's heart beating where they were still joined and told him...

Daryl held her, all her broken pieces, in his arms and listened.

AN: Carol is at a place where she cannot let herself feel-she experienced a dissociative episode flashbacks when talking to Tobin & Eric in the previous chapter. Trying to handle the possible abuse of Sam & Jessie; Noah's death piled on top of Beth & Ty as well as everything she'd been holding in since The Grove has pushed her into a place where she's having trouble coping.

Wanting Daryl to "hurt" her to send her into more numbness is a form of self harm, but sadly, one she became habituated to in her marriage; in my head canon, it used to come when she was being abused by Ed. She experienced the feeling that she was leaving her body behind and her mind went to a safe "numb" place, something that abuse survivors may use as a coping mechanism.

Daryl counters this with the exact opposite of how Ed treated her; loving her, and it breaks her, releasing her emotions and giving her the freedom to finally tell him what happened to Mika & Lizzy.

"There is an association between traumatic events and the process of dissociation. It may be that dissociation is a way the mind/brain contends with overwhelming stimuli. ... For example, many people who have experienced a traumatic event, such as physical or sexual abuse, may have some aspect of dissociation during the event itself and will be unable to recall details regarding their victimization. For many people diagnosed with post traumatic stress disorder (PTSD), dissociative episodes may be a very troubling symptom of their illness."

Read more here: NAMI, the National Association on Mental Disorders

Thanks for reading. Let me know what you think if you have time.