Daryl was feeling especially vindictive when he woke up. He was up early and hadn't slept worth a shit the entire night, so he thought that Merle should join him for breakfast. He really didn't want to cook, but he wanted to get the pans out and make lots of noise with them, so he decided he'd suffer through cooking just to make Merle suffer through the banging and clanging he was doing with a great deal of enthusiasm.
"Knock that fuckin' shit off, Andrea!" Merle growled from the bedroom.
"Nope, guess again," Daryl growled back at his brother. "Ya run Andrea off, her ass is 'cross the fuckin' hall where I oughta fuckin' be."
Daryl clanged two of the pans together then just for good measure and not because he needed them for anything. He felt like cooking breakfast with every single noisy thing they had in the kitchen.
Merle stumbled to the kitchen then, looking like he'd been in a fight already. His eyes were bloodshot and he looked terrible, frankly. Daryl stared at him, sure he was making a face.
"Fuck, Merle," Daryl said. "Ya look like hammered shit!"
"What tha fuck ya doin' makin' so much damn noise for?" Merle growled. "Fuck!"
He slumped down into one of the chairs at the card table that he'd relocated slightly across the kitchen floor the night before.
"I hope ya fuckin' feel twice as bad as ya fuckin' look," Daryl said.
"Ain't ya just a peach, ya fuckhead," Merle retorted.
"Ya done this fuckin' shit ta yaself, Merle," Daryl said, getting eggs out of the refrigerator and cracking them into a bowl to beat for a while as noisily as he possibly could. "Shit's 'bout ta fuckin' change 'round here, though, big brother. Got some fuckin' news for ya."
"What the fuck crawled in your panties this mornin', Derlina?" Merle asked. "Ya fuckin' on tha rag or some shit like that?"
"Go look at your ugly ass mug in the mirror if ya wanta know what's got me fired up this mornin'," Daryl responded. "I'm sick a' takin' care a' ya worthless ass. I coulda had a right damn good night last night but ya fucked that shit up just like ya been fuckin' up everythin' for as long as I can fuckin' remember. Is this what the fuck ya want'cha life ta be like? Damn it, Merle!"
Merle didn't respond for a moment and Daryl turned around. Merle was looking around the kitchen, half dazed from the confusion of his hangover and the unexpected attack. Daryl knew that this was how this was going to go down. Merle wouldn't be even half human until at least lunch time and that was assuming he ate two meals before then to soak up what was left of his rendezvous with oblivion from the night before.
"Ya drug my ass down ta that fuckin' shit hole ya so damn fond of," Daryl snarled, not ready to stop, whether or not Merle was in the right mind to fend off the attack. "Had ta get fuckin' Carol an' Andrea ta go down there an' drag ya sorry ass out. But'cha don't fuckin' 'member none a' that, do ya? Shoulda let'cha fuckin' sleep with the damn tire ya was so damn fond of."
"Fuckin' hell, Daryl!" Merle spat. "Can't'cha shut ya fuckin' mouth? Damn I don't wanta hear all this bitchin' this fuckin' early in tha mornin'!"
"Ya gon' hear it," Daryl said. "Ya gon' hear every damn word of it an' I hope it sounds like a fuckin' brass band is playin' in ya head right now."
Daryl scraped the eggs onto a place, dragging the spatula he had against the bottom of the pan as hard as he could.
"Yer a bigger fuckin' bitch than Andrea is, ya know that?" Merle said.
"Well, ya coulda had Andrea here," Daryl said. "She coulda fuckin' made ya breakfast an' maybe even done somethin' else for ya, but'cha fucked it up 'cause ya'd rather put'cha damn lips on a bottle than ya woman any fuckin' day. Ya know what, Merle? For all the shit ya say a Dixon does, I tell ya what the hell ya prove ta me a Dixon does…ya prove ta me a fuckin' Dixon gets shit faced an' acts like a jackass. Makes me fuckin' ashamed ta be one."
"I ain't listenin' ta this shit no more," Merle mumbled, pushing up from the table. Daryl threw the pan he had at the stove and turned around, meaning to shove Merle back into the chair, but in actuality he shoved him over the chair and Merle spilled onto the floor, slamming his head on the cabinets. "Fuckin' hell, Daryl!" He snarled, his hand going to the back of his head.
Daryl was sorry that he'd slammed Merle into the cabinets, but that was all he was sorry for and at this moment all that he was pissed off about far outweighed what he was sorry for. He stepped forward, now being in a position to tower over his brother.
He looked down at Merle, thinking that it was pathetic what his brother looked like right now. He looked like fucking road kill and still he didn't see a damn thing wrong with it. He couldn't remember the night before, and it was just one of a hundred other nights that had been erased from his memory. Voluntarily Merle deprived himself of a chunk of his existence.
Daryl softened his voice a little.
"Tell me somethin', Merle, real honest like right now…do ya fuckin' hate ta be alive? Do ya fuckin' hate livin' so damn bad that ya'd rather not be doin' it?" Daryl asked.
Merle looked up at him, blinking his blood shot eyes, confusion and suffering from the hangover and now the added headache spread over his face.
"Fuck ya, Derlina," Merle said, with less venom than before. "I don't know what the hell has crawled up ya ass, but I hope ta hell it burrows its fuckin' way back out soon."
Daryl stepped over his brother, pulling open the cabinet door and wrestling the trashcan full of glass bottles out from under the sink. He pulled one out and sat it on the floor next to Merle.
"This," Daryl said. "This is what the hell has crawled up my ass."
Merle picked up the bottle, looking confused. Daryl hated that look almost as much as he hate the alcohol. He picked up the trash can and dumped the bottles on top of Merle. They clanked and rolled across the floor as they slid off of him. He held his arms up, protecting his face and looking at Daryl like he honestly had no idea what to expect of him.
"Ya fuckin' happy now, Merle? Ya wanted ta be a damn Dixon, well ya got'cha fuckin' wish. Ya just like our fuckin' old man!" Daryl spat.
Merle started to wrestle himself up, then, almost falling over the bottles everywhere. When he finally made it to his feet he poked Daryl hard in the chest.
"Ya fuckin' take that back, Daryl," Merle snarled. Daryl squared himself off.
"Ain't gon' take it back 'cause it's fuckin' true," Daryl said. "Ya know what else? Ya treat Andrea 'bout tha fuck like he treated our mama. Ya ain't hit her yet, but it's sure as shit comin' ya keep lettin' yaself get fucked up like ya do 'bout every damn night. An' ya know what? Sorry damn thing is she'll fuckin' stay with ya ass 'cause it ain't the first fuckin' time she's seen this shit. Ya wouldn't know that, though, 'cause ya too fuckin' busy cryin' in ya fuckin' glass 'bout shit ya ain't got the balls ta admit."
Merle swung then, and Daryl saw it coming, dodging all but the last bit of it, which was barely even a clip.
"That's right," Daryl snarled. "Hit me over ya fuckin' precious drink, just like our old man. Only damn thing that man ever cared about an' ya right fuckin' there with him. Hit me again, Merle. Protect ya damn Dixon honor an' ya fuckin' liquid pride."
Merle didn't swing that time. He narrowed his eyes at Daryl and sucked his teeth. Daryl thought, for at least a split second that he saw some kind of recognition behind his brother's eyes. Maybe something that he said struck home and maybe Merle could see that what he was doing was only hurting himself, and hurting everyone around him. He'd been looking for answers in the bottom of bottles for years…most of his life really, and he hadn't found it yet. Maybe that wasn't the place to go looking for it.
Merle shoved Daryl, and Daryl caught himself with the hand he had resting on the counter. Daryl waited to see what Merle would do and whether or not he was going to lash out. Merle surprised him, though, by turning around and stumbling around the glass bottles on the floor, heading back to the bedroom.
"Ain't gonna be no damn more liquor in this house," Daryl called. "Not a damn drop more. An' if ya take ya fuckin' ass down there an' ya get plowed again, ain't nobody comin' for ya. Not me an' not Andrea. Ya gonna fuckin' stay there or go ta jail. I'm done fuckin' helpin' ya if ya can't fuckin' help yaself!"
"Fuck you!" Merle responded. He slammed the door. Daryl shook his head and crossed the kitchen, switching off the eye of the stove. He started picking up the bottles and shoving them back into the trash can.
He might get through to Merle, and he might not. Daryl knew that Merle knew, deep down, that he was right. He had to know that he was doing the same damn thing their old man had done. He had to know that he was on the fast track to fucking up his life permanently. The problem was that, like their old man, Merle was about as hard headed as a brick wall. Daryl could only hope, though, that he was right and Merle's well buried fear of being alone was stronger than his desire to be a hard headed son of a bitch and do everything except what anyone wanted him to do.
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"I'm really going to do it," Andrea said. "You should do it too, Carol. We could do it together. It would be easier on both of us if we did it together."
"I don't know," Carol said, scraping her own serving of scrambled eggs into her plate and moving to the table where Andrea was already eating. "I've never done that kind of thing."
"That's the point," Andrea said. "If you'd done it then it wouldn't make much sense to be doing it again. Think about it, Carol. We'd both get our cosmetology licenses. Even part time we'd be done in less than two years. We could work up there at Yvonne's hair place until we made some money and buy our own salon! Hell, if your little dollhouse has as garage we could turn that into a salon! You'd work practically from home, Carol."
Carol considered what Andrea was saying. She'd love to have a degree and do some job that was better than being a waitress. Working for real money instead of small pay and sorry tips could be nice.
"Where are we going to get clients from?" Carol asked.
"We work our way up," Andrea said. "Yvonne's about three hundred years old. She'll croak soon enough anyway and the old ladies of Sweet Junction can't stand to go too long without getting their hair done. They drive to other places too, if they don't like Yvonne. We could get good at this Carol, snag those old bitches up and make a decent life out of it."
Carol wasn't sure about the whole plan, but it did sound somewhat inviting. Andrea had been looking into it apparently and already found a place to take the classes. She'd gone and talked to the guy the day before after she found her new job. She was serious about this, and Carol was considering getting on board with her.
"Less than two years, Carol, quicker if we do this extra credit shit that he was talking about," Andrea said. "Think about it. No more Watering Hole. No more ass grabbing drunks. We work as little or as much as we want to and we get paid decent money for every hour we put in. No more vomit and no more stopping assholes from pissing in corners and in potted plants. Our own business."
If the money ever came through from Ed, investing in a salon could be a good idea. If they really did this, and they got their licenses, then having their own place could pay off. It could be a job that was respectable and fun instead of the shit they just had to grin and bear.
"You really think that we'd make enough to get by?" Carol asked.
"Get by? Carol we could do better than get by," Andrea said. "If we put in the time there that we put in for the shit pay that we get now, we'd be doing a hell of a lot better than we are now. What's it going to hurt to try? If I can afford the classes on what I get paid picking up this second job then you can afford it with both of yours. We try it out at Yvonne's for a while if you want. Worst case scenario we end up finding out we just can't live without the shitty ass Watering Hole and we go back there. We won't really lose a damn thing."
"What's Merle had to say about it?" Carol asked.
Andrea stabbed the egg on her plate and then ate it thoughtfully.
"He doesn't know that I'm going to do it," Andrea said. "I was going to tell him last night, but you saw how that ended up."
"Do you think he's going to think it's a good idea?" Carol asked.
"I don't really care," Andrea said. "I was kind of worried at first, you know? The whole idea of me going to school for something? Might hurt his ego or something. You know how sensitive men can be. Then I thought about it, and I don't really care. I mean I deserve some kind of decent ass job. I don't want to end up like Loretta and be close to sixty years old pushing alcohol on drunks. And I want a decent job…maybe a half ass reputation…you know, not to be like it is now and not be able to hold my head up when I go to the A and P because every snotty bitch who drives a minivan thinks she's better than me and thinks I'm fucking her husband when she's not looking."
Carol shook her head.
"It's not that bad, Andrea," she said.
"Carol, I know how people talk. I have ears and they're not exactly quiet around here," Andrea said.
Carol nodded a little.
"OK then, so you're going to do this," Carol said. "I think it's great. If you want to do this then I'm behind you. Go and get your license."
"Are you gonna do it with me?" Andrea asked.
Carol hesitated. She wasn't sure why she was hesitating, it just seemed like a pretty big leap. So much was changing in her life. Granted it was changing for the better, but that much change just seemed like a lot to digest, whether it was good or bad.
"Come on, Carol. Stop being afraid. You got out from under Ed, didn't you?" Andrea said.
Carol nodded.
"And you're here, doing what the hell you want to do, aren't you?" Andrea said.
Carol nodded.
"You're paying your bills, living your life, right?" Andrea said. She was grinning now and Carol couldn't help but smile at her.
"Yes, Andrea, I'm living my own life," Carol said.
"Then do this with me. Let's do this together. Hell we won't be big shot lawyers like Michonne, but we'll have respectable jobs, Carol, and we'll be making more money than we are now. There's no reason whatsoever for you not to do this unless you're just being a pussy, and you don't want Lincoln thinking his mom's a pussy and didn't have the guts to make a decent life for the two of you, now do you?" Andrea asked.
"Did you just call me a pussy?" Carol responded, stifling a laugh. "In front of Lincoln?"
Andrea nodded.
"I'll take it back if you'll sign up for the classes with me," Andrea said. "We'll give it a try. If we hate it, we don't do it."
Carol smiled and nodded finally.
"Deal," she said. "We'll give it a try. It can't hurt to try, right?"
Andrea squealed.
"Yes! It can't hurt to try!" Andrea said. "Before you know it, we're going to be running our own place."
"Don't start picking out names just yet," Carol said.
Andrea snickered.
"Oh come on, something catchy," Andrea said. "We've got start thinking about it now. It's probably going to take us a couple of years to think of it."
"Fine," Carol said. "You think about the name then. I'll focus on getting the license."
"Spoil sport," Andrea said.
Carol did think it might be a good idea, though, and she could kind of see herself working as a hairdresser. She liked people and she thought that if she was going to be trapped in a room working with someone all day long, she could probably work well with Andrea.
"You know," Andrea said, flicking a piece of sausage over the side of the table, "if we run our own place, you could bring Lincoln to work with you. He could be like our mascot."
Carol looked over the table at the puppy who was happily eating the bite of sausage that Andrea had given him.
"Our mascot, huh?" Carol said. She smiled at the thought. "Let's just see about these classes first. We're going to have plenty of time for the details." Carol was quiet for a minute, focusing on her breakfast and really considering the idea of this possible new career. "I wonder what Daryl is going to say about it," she said.
"He'll get used to the idea," Andrea said. "He'd probably like the idea of you not working at the Watering Hole anymore."
Carol blushed a little.
"I don't think he cares," Carol said.
Andrea huffed.
"Think again. I've seen the way he watches you there. He tolerates it, but he'd rather you didn't have all those men looking at you," Andrea said.
Carol rolled her eyes.
"What do you think of him, anyway? I mean now that we're on the subject," Andrea said.
Carol smiled. She thought Daryl was about the sweetest man alive. The sweetest man imaginable perhaps. He was fumbling at times, and he could pout over things, but she thought everything that he did was adorable. When she was around him it was sometimes all she could do not to reach over and kiss him for everything that he said or did. She wouldn't let herself do it half the time for fear that she'd run him off. She didn't want to seem too enthusiastic or too over the top. She was afraid that if she told him how much she liked him, how much she wanted to be around him all the time, that he might turn around and run from being overwhelmed by it.
"I like him," Carol said.
"You like him?" Andrea asked.
"Yeah," Carol said, "I like him."
"Carol," Andrea said, "do you mean you like him in grown up terms as in he's nice and I wouldn't stomp on his toe for no reason or do you mean you like him in junior high terms as in you'd hang a poster of him on your wall and imagine marrying him when your mommy and daddy tell you that you're old enough to kiss boys?"
Andrea was making a face at Carol now and Carol couldn't help but laugh.
"I mean that I like being with him," Carol said. "I don't know what to say. I like Daryl. I don't think I know anything about him that I don't like. He's easy to be around."
Andrea made another face. Then she smiled.
"So you like him junior high style," Andrea said. She smirked.
It was Carol's turn to roll her eyes, but she felt herself blush. She didn't even want to admit to Andrea how she felt about Daryl. She felt like if she admitted it to anyone it would get back to him and he'd run. She didn't want him to run. She liked him enough that she'd rather stay right where she was, wondering where they were going or maybe not going anywhere at all, than know she ran him off. She still had her dream, but right now she wasn't sure that Daryl would ever want to be part of something like that, and she was beginning to wonder if she might be willing to tweak the dream, just a little, to find something that might suit him. It might not be everything she ever wanted, but it might be good.
"Sure, Andrea," Carol said. "I guess I like him junior high style."
Andrea leaned on the table, pulling her legs up under her in her chair.
"So is he good in bed?" She asked, smirking.
"Andrea!" Carol spat.
Andrea laughed.
"What? Come on," Andrea said. "I'll tell you mine if you tell me yours."
"I'm not talking about that with you," Carol said.
"Ah you stick in the mud," Andrea said. "You're no fun."
Carol got up and took her plate to the sink.
"I'm plenty of fun, for your information," Carol said. "I'm just not spilling my fun to you."
"That's alright then," Andrea said with a sigh. "I guess I'll just have to wait and hear about it in study hall."
Carol snickered.
"You want to talk about it so bad," Carol said, "then call Michonne. I'm sure she'll be happy to sit and compare notes with you about her bug man."
"I know all about the bug man," Andrea said. "I had lunch with Michonne yesterday, between my two appointments. I'm not spilling the beans on Mr. Bugs, though, unless you're willing to dish right along with us. You don't get everybody else's bedroom stories if you're not woman enough to share your own."
"I'll just get Michonne to tell me then," Carol said.
"Oh no you don't," Andrea said. "She's not spilling either. We both agreed, it's an eye for an eye here…quid pro quo. You gotta give to get."
Carol turned and looked over at shoulder at Andrea.
"Fine," she said. "I don't need to know that badly. I'm obviously not as starved as you two are. I'm too busy doing it to worry so much about talking about it."
Andrea whistled at her. Carol laughed. She'd never had a relationship that she could joke about before or sex that was worth talking about. It had never been that way with Ed. She'd never had girlfriends, either, that she could do that with. Ed had always kept her isolated. He viewed contacts with other people as bad things, and she knew it was because he didn't want people talking about her, and talking about what he did to her.
Now, though, it felt exciting to have something to talk about, and someone to talk about it with. She was sure she'd eventually be moved to spill a little, just to hear what they had to say, but for now the teasing was even more exciting.
Carol was really beginning to think that her new life was shaping up. It might not be what she'd dreamed it would be once upon a time, but it was a lot better than the nightmare she'd called home before.