A/N: Thanks for all your positive comments and kudos, everyone! I truly, truly appreciate them. :)

I'll be updating the summary once I write one I like; I hate those stupid things! ;)

It was just a normal night out; it had become a weekly ritual that Beth would join her sister and soon to be brother-in-law for dinner. And she almost lived for those nights because they were the only family she had nearby. Beth wasn't stupid, she knew that she had been drifting apart from Maggie for months now, but she had been reassured by friends that it was because of the engagement. Couples get caught up in all the planning and excitement and sometimes the people they love get shuffled off to the side for a little bit. It didn't mean she was any less loved or needed by her sister, it's just how things were. And Beth was painfully aware of the distance between them. But those dinners together brightened her mood every time.

Beth had never been involved in a fight before that night. Sure, she had seen some happen at school (and even on her family's farm; Shawn was always a bit of a hot-head), but it was weird seeing it so up close and personal, the people she cared about most being attacked. Being a part of violence. It flipped a switch inside of her.

The threesome had just left dinner, Maggie and Glenn strolling hand in hand and Beth on the other side of her sister. It was nearly 10 o'clock and Beth was growing tired but refused to admit the smallest bit of exhaustion. She wanted to treasure every moment of their time together. It was interrupted though, Glenn having stopped mid-joke, his face falling as he whispered something into his fiancee's ear.

"Beth," was all her sister breathed, suddenly dropping Glenn's hand to take Beth's. Confused, Beth opened her mouth to speak but was distracted by the realization that they were no longer alone.

An older man she didn't recognize stepped out of the street and stopped to exchange words with Glenn; both he and Maggie looked painfully uncomfortable and the only thing that kept Beth from speaking out was Maggie's intent stare. Keep your mouth shut.

Beth had gotten no sleep that night. Her mind was impossible to shut off and there seemed to be an endless supply of adrenaline pumping through her veins. Maggie was conked out on the couch finally (thankfully); the eldest Greene looked worse than Beth had ever seen her, presumably because of the emotional turmoil of the previous evening. And she knew her sister had spent most of the night wide awake too; her pacing was anything but subtle.

It was tempting to stay holed up until she was certain Maggie was able to function, but being cooped up in her apartment meant she was cooped up in her head. She had work in a few hours anyway, so if nothing else, that was her excuse for heading out.

The palms of her hands ached when she grabbed a door handle or pulled on the straps of her backpack, but she didn't let it show. The scrapes would fade and so would the pain. At least hers would. Thinking of Glenn in the ER made her heart ache and she didn't understand why he wouldn't stay with Maggie last night.

It would be easier if she could just force herself to forget everything, but Beth knew that's not how she was programmed. Her curiosity grew every second and her mind devised so many possible explanations that she couldn't keep anything straight. A long bus ride with her Walkman and journal was just what she needed.

Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no. It had to be somewhere, she must have misplaced it on accident or maybe someone at the library mistook her journal for a book and it was at the bottom of some monstrous return-to-shelf pile.

The man Beth had shared a table with was different enough. If it had been anyone else in the room, she had thought they'd be kind enough to carry on a conversation with her. And that was all she wanted, really. She'd hardly thought about anything except the incident a few days ago and she just needed some normalcy. She wanted to connect with someone and maybe make somebody's day by being the friendly stranger they chatted idly with for a few minutes. But this guy hadn't seemed interested.

He was scruffy looking and Beth would've guessed he hadn't showered in a day or two. His ill-fitting flannel and ripped jeans made him seem younger than she initially thought, but she highly doubted he was a student. Not that she would know, given she hadn't attended a day of college in her life. But that was besides the point. Maybe he knew what had happened to her journal. She had no way of finding him though; all that was left of him when she returned back to their table from the bathroom was the newspaper he was so fiercely protective of and his stupid English-Danish dictionary. And she wasn't about to put up signs all over the city looking for a scruffy, (wannabe) Danish speaking jerk.

While it would've hurt to lose the journal at any point, she wondered why it had to be now. Before a few days ago, it had been filled with random musings and thoughts, about pointless things (at least things that seemed pointless in retrospect). But after the night from hell she endured with Maggie and Glenn, it had taken on a new purpose. She couldn't call it collecting evidence because she had little to begin with. Maggie's lips were sealed tighter than some nun's knees and she hadn't felt comfortable approaching Glenn about the incident yet. His face was still so discolored that she could barely meet his eyes. So all she wrote about was what had happened and she sporadically deliberated on what was being hidden from her, since the two closest people in her life insisted on keeping her in the dark.

On the bus ride to work, she took out her worry on her thumb nail, dramatically concocting a scenario where her stupid words landed in the wrong hands. Someone who knew what she was vaguely ranting about and decided to take it out on her or Maggie or Glenn, worse than before. She forced herself to laugh it off because really, what were the chances of that happening?

It had been a day since Daryl had swiped the stupid diary from some stupid girl at the stupid library and what he wouldn't give to turn back time and just leave the damn thing alone. He didn't know what had gotten into him, what had it accomplished? All he did was invade a girl's personal thoughts and probably upset her. Maybe made her cry. He cringed at the mental picture.

He hadn't read anything more of it; it simply sat on his workbench in his garage, covered in a layer of sawdust.

It was lunchtime and he had planned to grab a burger but the lack of hunger he possessed kept him glued to his stool. And there was that journal, staring up at him with its bright blue cover. The words he had read in it the other day had stuck with him, much to his unhappiness, and he didn't even know why. He didn't know the context in which they were written and he didn't care, really. But like an itch he couldn't scratch, he wanted to read more. And what hurt could it really do? So he kicked his feet up and flipped it open to a random page.

I no longer have the fear of God. I used to fear the consequences I'd face if I did something that might upset him or go against his "word". Stupid things, like how angry would he be that I didn't capitalize his pronouns just now? I can only imagine daddy's face of disproval but that's the point. Would God really care? Would he hold it against me and shun me from heaven (if there is such a place?) if I wasn't sorry for doing such an insignificant thing? I don't think so. But people are different. They take the notion of God and use him as a tool for themselves, to wield power and lead with fear. And God isn't someone we should be afraid of, if he even exists at all. He should be a source of comfort, because that's what the world is lacking these days. That's what I would want in my God.

Who the hell was this girl? Had he not seen her writing in it himself, he wouldn't have pegged her to be the one behind the pen. It seemed heavier than she did, what, with all her chipper attempts to have a conversation with him and her prettily braided blonde hair.

He knew he should just give the thing back but he didn't know how. He didn't know who she was or how to find her. Maybe there was an address somewhere in it; she was dumb enough to leave her stuff alone at the library, he mused. He opened the front cover.

This journal belongs to: B. Greene

B. Becky? Brenda? Barbie? Daryl snorted.

"What's so funny?" He all but jumped out of his skin at the voice, feet flying off his desk and the journal quickly shut. Carl stood in the side doorway of the garage, all moppy-headed and freckled, hopping down the steps one by one.

"What are you doin' here? Ain't you got school?" Avoiding the question, Daryl shoved the book into his desk drawer, eyes glued on Carl as the boy examined a scrap piece of wood on the workbench. B. Greene would have to wait.

"Half day today, it's the start of spring break!" Daryl groaned outwardly which only made the kid grin up at him. He really didn't mind Carl's company one bit; in fact, it was kind of nice having someone around who seemed to look up at him in one way or another. Plus, Carl seemed to have an interest in building stuff too. And if there was only one thing in the world Daryl was okay at, it was building things.

"So I'm gonna have to deal with your ugly mug every day for the next week, aren't I?"

"Yep, so get used to it." Carl moved to Daryl's boombox stashed in the corner, putting in a CD and turning the volume up. "If my dad knew you introduced me to this stuff..." he called out over the Butthole Surfers song. Daryl simply shook his head and nudged his elbow into the boy's shoulder before tossing him a slip of sandpaper.

"Get to work, boy."