6
He lay back on the mattress with his elbows supporting him as Sadie writhed around on top of him. Every few seconds their mouths would manage to meet for enthusiastic wild kisses. In the angle that he positioned himself in, he almost forgot how much pain he was actually in. They had been talking about their childhoods, they talked about how they would live fast, love hard, and not be a thing like their parents. He kissed her first, leaning down over her, and got delightfully lost and tangled in her hair. She ripped off her shirt over her head and Daryl was greeted with a sinfully risqué pink bra with frilly assorted bows and ribbons. She slid out of her jeans and straddled him.
His brain was all over the place, as was his heart and his blood flow. He did not know what to do next. He had never gotten this far ever, actually. But it seemed like she'd been here before. He kissed her back hard and ran his hands all over her skin. His hands were rough and a bit cut up, and Sadie let out a moan. She tugged at his belt buckle, undid it, and snapped it out of its belt loops in a swift motion. It made a sharp 'crack' sound that made Daryl's muscles tense, and as the buckle clattered to the floor his adrenaline buzzed in. He held her upper arms firmly in place, and eased her off of him. "I can't do this right now," he mumbled hoarsely.
Her hair billowed around her shoulders. She looked down at him, reached out a hand, and gently traced the edge of his black eye. "Sure you can, Daryl," she almost whined. "It's healthy to let all this out…"
Daryl got up off the bed, and shakily put his belt back on. "You should get dressed," he said curtly, looking around for her scattered clothes. He didn't notice her come up from behind him, to give him a hug. She pushed his new scars deeper into his skin and he shook her off. "Don't."
"What did I do? Is it me? Did I come on too strong?" Sadie began breaking herself down into hysterics.
"Of course it's not fucking you, you're beautiful!" he yelled. He threw back his head ran his fingers through his dirty brown hair. "You're beautiful," he repeated in a lower voice. "You don't need me. Fuck, no one needs me. You deserve beautiful things, nice things, unscarred people!" He returned to the mattress, and sat hunched over with his head cradled in his hands.
She knelt down on the floor gazed at him at eye level. "Just because you can't see the scars, it don't mean they're not there," she philosophized with a wisdom far beyond her years.
At these words Daryl found himself collapsing into her arms. He knew he was acting like a little bitch. He knew he was carrying on, but the gates had been opened. He let her hold him as his body shook from the frustration and as his mismanaged breathing gave way to choking guttural sobs. He hadn't really had a chance to even grieve for his mom. Since that fateful Saturday, he had wound himself up so tight that he could barely breathe. Always on edge. He took a deep breath, finally picked his head up, and saw that Sadie was crying too.
They didn't leave the car. The afternoon gave way to the evening and when the stars came out Daryl and Sadie lay beneath it in the boxcar, staring up into the stars. They talked about everything under the sun, they talked about everything under the moon. When they got hungry they ate the various bits of junk food left in the scavenging back pack. He told her about the time that he was certain he saw a chupacabra in the woods. He asked her if she wanted to stay there with him for the night. She asked dreamily if she could stay forever, and Daryl knew he was in love.