Fall to Piece
He glared at the meth sitting on the table in front of him. It was from Merle's stash. He'd never used before but he was considering it. He'd seen her with someone else earlier that night at the bar they used to hang out at. As soon as he'd seen her, he'd left, anger, jealousy, rage consuming him. He had really fucked up when he'd broken up with her. He missed her like hell every day; he was always falling to pieces. He was always falling. He grabbed the biggest rock he could find and melted it out, soaking all of the liquid up into one of Merle's needles and tied his belt around his arm, popping the veins out. He didn't think twice about sticking the needle in. He needed to forget.
Merle found him a few hours later, half dead on the couch. "Fuck, Daryl, you fuckin' idiot." Daryl didn't feel Merle dragging him to the shower, didn't feel the ice cold water cascading over his body. Didn't feel Merle drag him into the bedroom, throwing him against the wall. "How much you take?" he demanded. Daryl just shook his head. He knew Merle called someone, but didn't hear who, didn't care. He couldn't feel anything anymore. He wasn't falling to pieces anymore.
When he woke from his high, everything came back. All the pain and anger and he shattered all over again. He rubbed his eyes and sat up slowly, hanging off the edge of the bed. "Daryl?" he looked up, his heart stopping when he heard her voice calling out to him softly. He looked up as she slowly walked into the room. So that was who Merle had called. She walked over to him slowly and he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him, nuzzling her belly. She ran her fingers through his hair as he held her. As long as she didn't leave him again, ever, he wouldn't fall to pieces.