Every Day
He stared at the hole in the wall his fist has created as Beth knelt on the floor in front of him and bandaged it up. He sighed and looked down at her. She could have left; she knew how bad his temper was, just like his old man's. She should have left, should have left well enough alone, but she wouldn't. He was driving himself crazy, trying to figure out what was going on, why she was staying. He made messes everywhere he went, out of everyone he touched, he kept everything so close. Beth was the only one who got him, who understood.
He called her up; it was close to two in the morning. He was half expecting her not to answer, but she did. "Daryl? What's going on?" she asked. He needed to see her. He was outside of her house. When she opened the door she didn't say a word, just took his hand and pulled him inside. They curled up on the couch together and she stroked his hair, kissed his shoulder. She knew what he needed, comfort, just the feel of someone else next to him and she gave it without any questions.
He smiled when she stated to sing, softly, some country song, but he was hanging on to every word. It amazed him, but Beth was the only one who could save his life. Every day, when he was ready to give up, when he'd finally had enough all he had to do was hear her voice or see her picture and he was back to fighting. Every day, she saved him.