Part One
Take My Hand
It had been four months since Beth moved in when Daryl started to notice that Bob, his next-door neighbor who worked graveyard shifts, was giving him odd looks as they passed in the hallway. After three separate mornings of the same occurrence, Daryl decided to confront the older man.
"Hey, man, everythin' alright?"
Bob was paused in front of his door, key in the lock. He shrugged and gave Daryl a side-eye. "Yeah. Why?"
Daryl furrowed his brow. "'S it just my imagination or ya been givin' me the stink eye fer the last week?"
Bob scoffed and resumed unlocking his front door. "No, it's not your imagination. I was just tryin' to figure out why you're foolin' around with that pretty blonde down the hall. She's a little young, don'tcha think?"
Daryl reeled. He blinked and stammered out, "Wait—what? Y'mean Beth?"
"Who else?" Bob snapped. He shook his head, sneering. "Thought you were better'an that, Daryl. Guess I was wrong."
"I ain't done a damn thing with her," Daryl insisted, baffled. "I haven't even—"
"Save it for her daddy," Bob interrupted brusquely.
And before Daryl could even get a chance to defend himself or explain the situation, Bob was slipping inside his own apartment and slamming the door shut behind him.
Daryl was left standing bewildered in the hall, glancing back and forth from Bob's closed door to Beth's. Anger broiled up in his gut.
What the fuck was his new neighbor telling people?
Another month passed without any word from Beth. Thankfully, Daryl had managed to avoid Bob since their last encounter. Though the false accusations had plagued him relentlessly, eating away at him any time he happened to think about it.
But whatever. Nothing else had come from it, so he assumed it must've been some sort of miscommunication or maybe a misinterpreted sighting. Bob wasn't exactly the most mentally well of the residents on the third floor, even compared to the two old women. He didn't have any family or friends, and whatever hobbies he had kept him inside all day whenever he wasn't sleeping. There were days that Daryl was startled by screaming at 3 in the afternoon—when Bob was sleeping—but he never said anything because he knew Bob still suffered from some serious PTSD thanks to his years in the service.
It wasn't the worst thing in the world. He'd grown up in far worse circumstances, after all.
And realistically, it wasn't like Beth was talking to Bob, of all people. That would just be crazy. Besides, what would she even say? What reason did she have to lie? There was nothing to be gained from such a thing.
Then he was awoken one Wednesday morning, shortly before 6 am, by a rapid knocking on his door. He wasn't even sure he'd heard it properly until Dog started barking and leapt off the bed to rush to the door. The knocking came again, heavier and more urgent. Daryl blinked away his sleepiness and dragged himself out of bed, throwing on some sweatpants before hurrying to the door.
When he opened it, he was surprised to find Rosita standing before him. She was still wearing her scrubs, a spatter of blood staining one sleeve. Her hair was tangled and pulled back in a messy bun, eyes alight with something that he could only describe as anger. He'd never seen her this mad before.
"Rosita?" He rubbed at his eyes, barely conscious of his bare chest and the half-erection still lingering beneath his sweatpants from sleep. "What—everythin' alright? What's goin' on?"
She crossed her arms over her chest, glaring up at him. "No, everything's not alright. What the fuck is your problem, Dixon?"
He huffed out an incredulous breath. "'Scuse me?"
She glanced down the hall before narrowing her eyes at him. "Can I come in?"
"Yeah, 'course." He stepped aside and held the door open wider, allowing her to step over the threshold.
He shut the door gently and turned, but she was already pushing into his personal space, a fire in her dark eyes.
"You've been fucking the teenager down the hall?" She accused. "What the hell is wrong with you?! You're closer to forty than I am! Don't you know how disgusting that is?!"
Daryl took a step back, putting up his hands in defense. "Wait—what the fuck? What're you talkin' about?!"
"Don't play dumb with me!" She jabbed a finger into his chest. "I respected you, Daryl! What're you, grooming her or something? Should I fucking report you?!"
He reached out and grabbed her wrist, keeping his grasp gentle, to push her hand away. "Hey, calm the hell down. Where're you even gettin' this? I ain't exchanged more'an ten words with that girl!"
Rosita yanked her wrist from his grasp and scoffed, shaking her head. She scowled, eyes still narrowed at him, and crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "Oh, is that right? Then how come she showed up at my door an hour ago, bawling her eyes out about how you coerced her into having sex—"
"What the fuck?!" Daryl cut her off. "You gotta be fuckin' kidding me. You really believe that shit?!"
Suddenly, Rosita's expression softened. Suspicion filled her eyes and her scowl disappeared. Her arms loosened over her chest and she gave a glance towards the closed door. She hissed out, "Who am I supposed to believe? She's only nineteen. She's barely out of high school, Daryl. Why would she lie about something like that?"
Daryl threw his hands up. "The fuck if I know! She's the one that was texting me every week, beggin' me t'hang out with her! Y'wanna see my phone? I still got the messages—I'll fuckin' prove it."
Rosita's mouth fell into a frown. There were dark bags beneath her eyes—she was exhausted, that much was clear. She'd been working longer hours than usual the last month or so, and every morning that Daryl happened to see her, her scrubs were stained with blood or some other bodily fluid, and she was dragging her feet just to make it to her front door.
Her stiff posture relaxed just slightly. She heaved an exasperated sigh, shaking her head and pinching the bridge of her nose with two fingers, shutting her eyes for a long moment.
When she opened her eyes again and looked up at him, she threatened through gritted teeth, "You better be telling the truth, pendejo. 'Cause I swear to God, if you're lying and you did something to that girl…" Her jaw ticked and she settled a murderous glare on him. "I'll cut your fucking balls off. You know I will. And then Abe will deal with the rest of you. Got it?"
"Jesus fuckin' Christ," Daryl murmured. "I know. You really don't believe me?"
She put up a hand to stop him. "I don't care, okay? I really don't. I have enough shit to deal with at work. All I want is t'come home and get some fucking sleep. But Beth caught me just as I was coming in and she…" A heavy sigh. Shoulders slumped. "She started crying. Begging me to listen to her. I couldn't just turn her away. And the shit she told me—I dunno. I didn't wanna believe it. I don't wanna believe it. But I've been in her shoes, okay? I've been there. It's not a fun place. It's not something you'd lie about. There's nothing to be gained from it. She's new here. She has no friends in this city, no family nearby. And she's young. So young. And she's got…"
Rosita trailed off, her gaze drifting towards the closed door once again. She was chewing at the inside of her cheek.
Daryl swallowed hard. "She's got what?"
She met his eyes again and whispered, "She's got a scar on her wrist. Not just self-harm. It's an old attempt. I could spot it from a mile away. She's damaged. Unwell. And she's living all alone. She's vulnerable. She… she scared me. I got scared for her." Rosita straightened her spine. Stiffened her shoulders. Then she cleared her throat and concluded, "I got scared that I underestimated you. So I just… I really don't want it to be true."
"It's not," Daryl insisted. "Whatever she said happened, it ain't fuckin' true. Y'wanna see the texts?"
Rosita furrowed her brow. Hesitated. Then she gave a clipped nod. "Yeah. I do, actually."
Daryl huffed out a breath of disbelief, but relented. "Fine. Hold on."
He rushed to his bedroom, unplugging his phone and opening it up to find his text conversation with Beth, making sure not to spend too much time doing so that it might seem suspicious. As soon as he returned to Rosita, he handed over the phone and let her read the texts for herself.
Her brown eyes narrowed down at the screen, scrutinizing as she silently scrolled with her thumb. A minute later, her expression had gone slack. Her frown deepened. She nodded and handed the phone back over.
"Alright," she said simply. "I… fuck. I dunno. I just—I don't wanna be a part of this. I don't wanna be in the middle of it. I have enough shit on my plate."
Daryl scoffed. "No kidding. I dunno why she came runnin' to you. Literally nothing has happened. I haven't even talked to her in weeks."
Rosita nodded again, but her frustration was clearly returning. "Fine. Just…" She turned towards the door, reaching out and grasping the knob. "Keep your distance, alright? I know you're a decent guy, but sometimes, you can—"
"Sometimes I can what?" He couldn't help it: his old defenses came to the surface. Nearly every person he'd met in the last decade had assumed the very worst of him. Everyone always judged him by his appearance and last name. He'd worked his ass off to prove them all wrong. To continue proving them wrong.
He was not his father. He was not his brother. And he never would be.
She shot him a withering look over her shoulder. "Sometimes you can give people the wrong impression. Just be careful, Dixon. I know your brother had a reputation. Don't let yourself earn the same one over some pretty, young blonde."
Daryl opened his mouth to argue, but she was already pulling the door open and stepping out, shutting it tight behind her. He was left standing speechless in his own apartment.
Fucking Christ. First Bob, now Rosita?
What was this girl trying to do to him?
A week went by without any word from Beth, Bob, or Rosita. Daryl made a point to keep to himself more than ever. He went to work, went home, and didn't leave his apartment except to go to the grocery store, take Dog out, or take out the trash.
A part of him wanted to confide in Carol, but he wasn't sure how he'd even describe the situation to her. She was a domestic abuse survivor, after all. She'd gone through her own horrors with Sophia's father. She'd separated herself from that life for a reason, and only after a long hard road full of therapy and healing. Besides, she was happy again. The happiest Daryl had ever seen her. Ezekiel was a good man, a good addition to her life. Daryl didn't feel right imposing his own stupid problems on her. Or giving her any reason to doubt him.
She knew him better than that. But when it came down to it, he couldn't blame her if she chose to doubt him. If she chose to believe a teenage girl over him. It didn't feel right to force her to take sides.
Not to mention, if even Rosita could be swayed to doubt him… well, she wasn't as close of a friend as Carol, but he'd still thought she knew him better than that. He'd still thought she trusted him fully, or as much as one could trust their neighbor of over three years. He and Rosita had gone to the movies together, had dinner together; he'd spent numerous nights third-wheeling her and Abe's early dates to make sure the guy was safe. So at some point, Rosita had considered Daryl a safe guy. And with one tearful conversation from Beth, that had all been flipped on its head. Who was to say it wouldn't be the same thing with Carol?
He couldn't risk losing any hard-earned friendships with these baseless accusations from a teenager that he barely knew.
So instead, he kept the struggle to himself. Kept his distance from everyone.
And then, on a Sunday night that he was spending sipping a beer and watching an old comedy movie, his phone vibrated with a new text.
Beth.
Hey, neighbor. Just checking in. I'm watching a scary movie and one of my lights just burned out… realized I don't have any spare lightbulbs. You got any? Think I might die of fright in the dark :(
His whole body stiffened. He had to restrain himself as he texted back:
Nope. Sorry.
He set his phone down and hoped that would be the end of it. But a couple of minutes later, his phone buzzed again.
Oh damn :( well maybe you could come keep me company until the sun comes up? Lol
This time, he couldn't withhold his anger.
Seriously? After the shit you told Bob and Rosita? I'm not coming within 10 feet of you. Take a hint.
He was still trembling as he set his phone down, unable to focus on his movie any longer. He knew she'd text back.
And she did.
Huh? Idk what you're talking about. You mean our neighbors? What happened?
His hands were shaking as he texted back, his half-empty beer forgotten on the coffee table.
Don't play dumb. Idk what you're trying to do but it's not funny. I'm sorry I turned down your advances. You're a pretty girl, you can get plenty of guys. Just find one your own age and leave me alone.
He huffed out a breath of finality and set his phone face-down beside him, intent on focusing on his movie and forgetting about Beth.
Nonetheless, when his phone vibrated again, he couldn't stop himself from picking it up and reading her next message.
So you think I'm pretty? I knew it. I knew you were the strong and silent type, but gosh. I didn't think you were the type to enjoy the chase so much. Challenge accepted. ;)
This time, he couldn't stop himself from cursing aloud.
"Jesus fucking Christ." He typed out furiously on his phone, hands trembling as he did so. He had to take a swig of beer in between sentences to keep his anger abated before hitting Send.
Stop. Seriously. Fucking STOP. I'm not interested. There's no challenge. There's no chase. We're neighbors. That's it. End of story. I'm not replying to you after this. Goodbye, Beth.
His phone vibrated again a few seconds later. And again. And again. And again. And yet again.
He didn't pick it up until his movie was over, though. Managed to push her out of his head for all of half an hour. And when he did pick it up, he intended on deleting the entire conversation and blocking her number.
But then he read her messages and decided against it.
Seriously?
Daryl…?
Come on. Don't do this.
I know where you live. LOL jk… but I do…
You're so handsome… you just need someone nice who can open you up. Make you see the world in a different way. You always look so sad. Why? What are you sad about? I saw a glimpse of the scars on your back. You must've had a hard childhood, right? So did I. Well… not entirely. Probably not as hard as yours. But I can relate. I have some scars of my own. I think you'd be surprised how much I can relate.
We have so much in common and you don't even know it. You don't have many friends. Neither do I. People always assume the worst of you because of your past. People do that to me, too. If you'd just talk to me…
Okay. I can take a hint. I get it.
I promise. I get it, Daryl.
I won't bother you anymore. But don't expect me to open the door once you finally come crawling to me.
You could be so much happier. Really. But you'll never know because you won't let yourself be happy.
Goodnight, Daryl. Sleep tight.
He wanted to block her. Probably should block her.
But then how much farther would she take things? What would she do if she found out he wasn't even receiving her messages?
Who else would she go running to with tears in her eyes and false accusations on her tongue?
He heaved a sigh and shut his phone off. And then he prayed that there would be no more messages.
Two days later, he came home from work to find an ambulance peeling out of the parking lot, lights flashing and siren blaring. His heart sped up and he worried that it was one of the elderly women on his floor, or maybe even Bob.
But when he got up to the third floor, he found Rosita standing outside her apartment door, still dressed in her pajamas and hugging herself tightly, face streaked with tears. She seemed to have been waiting for him.
"What's goin' on?" He asked, rushing towards her and glancing around. All the other doors were shut tight, no signs of any of his neighbors.
Rosita simply shook her head, shuddering. She bit down on her lower lip and gave a meaningful glance towards Beth's door.
Daryl stiffened. "No…"
"She'll be fine," Rosita finally said, sniffling and wiping roughly at her eyes with the palm of one hand. "Just… I dunno what happened exactly. I heard the ambulance and the paramedics. Heard 'em banging on her door. It was unlocked. She was—she was in the bathtub."
Daryl felt his stomach bottom out. "Don't—"
"I don't know what happened, Daryl," she snapped, narrowing her red-rimmed eyes at him. "But I heard her calling out your name when they were wheeling her out on the stretcher. Her wrists were bandaged up. Sh-she was all bloody."
All the blood drained from his face. The air left his body in one long whoosh. "What the fuck… what happened then?"
Rosita shook her head and took a step back, distancing herself from him. "How the fuck would I know? You said you don't even talk to the girl."
His jaw dropped. "I don't! Are you fuckin' serious right now? You think this is somehow my fault?" He sputtered wordlessly, glancing back at Beth's apartment door one more time. "I-fuck. She was textin' me some crazy shit the other night, I shut it down. I told her to take the fucking hint. This ain't on me! I-I got nothin' to do with it!"
Rosita stiffened, tightening her arms around herself and glaring up at him, lips pursed. She sniffled. She said nothing, but every unspoken word was clearly visible in the look she was giving him.
He breathed out in disbelief. "You can't be serious. Rosita… I wouldn't fuckin' lie about this. You wanna check my phone again? Wanna see the last batshit texts she sent me?"
Rosita simply shook her head, backing herself up against her door. "I know how text messages work, Daryl. It's easy to delete the ones that make you look bad."
His eyes went wide and he took a half-step back. His whole body was going numb, knees weak under his weight.
Was this really happening?
As if on cue, he heard the click of another door opening nearby. He turned his head to find Bob peeking his head out, eyes narrowed suspiciously. As soon as he spotted Daryl, he shot a loaded look in the direction of Beth's apartment and let out a disgusted scoff. Shaking his head, he retreated back into his apartment and shut the door tight. There was an audible click of the deadbolt being locked.
Daryl let out a helpless whimper. Looked at Rosita pleadingly, silently begging her to believe him.
"Rosita," he choked out. "She's just a teenager. I don't even know her last name. I would never—"
"I found out what your brother's in prison for," she cut him off harshly, sneering. "I never told you. Wanted to give you the benefit of the doubt since you seemed like such a good guy. But I guess that was my bad. Maybe it just runs in your blood. Lucky you to have gotten away with it this long. But the truth always comes out eventually." She looked him up and down, a clear expression of disgust on her face. "I can't believe I ever trusted you. Fucking pendejo."
Before he could argue or attempt to defend himself, she was turning and retreating into her own apartment, slamming the door shut in his face.
And he was left standing in the hallway, speechless and bewildered. Shaken to the core.
Beth was no longer some girl. Some new neighbor. Some teenager with the wrong impression.
She was a full-on manipulative bitch. And Daryl had no idea what she wanted with him.
But it was clear that, at the very least, she was determined to ruin his fucking life.
A week passed with no news of Beth. Daryl didn't see hide nor hair of Rosita or Bob. Though he reckoned it might be better that way.
He was thisclose to showing up at Carol's doorstep, sobbing and desperate. But he feared what may come of it. Feared making himself seem so vulnerable. So… guilty.
Instead, he locked it all away. Shoved it deep down. Just like he was used to. Just like he'd done for countless years before.
Before his mama died in that awful fire. Before his daddy started beating him bloody and unconscious. Before Merle left and didn't look back. Before he had anyone who gave a flying fuck about whether he was alive or dead.
It was a rough Monday. He'd come home shortly after five in the evening, taken Dog out, and immediately passed out in his bed, hoping to sleep off at least part of his constant anguish.
He dreamt of his mom—pretty and perfect in her mental illness, a bottle of wine in one hand and a lit cigarette in the other, screaming at him one second and begging him for a hug the next. Threatening to kill herself before dinner, locking herself away in the bathroom only to come out and microwave a frozen meal for him an hour later and offer to read him to sleep. In his dreams—nightmares, more like—he could still feel the jagged scars up and down her forearms. Could still see the fingerprint bruises around her neck. Could still smell the Virginia Slims on her breath, in her hair. He could still see the emptiness in her big, blue-green eyes.
He could still feel his own desperation for her love. His aching for her comfort, the gaping crevice in his chest that only she could fill with words and songs and cigarette smoke and scarred arms hugging him tight.
He awoke to something that he thought was still in his dreams: screaming. Tear-filled yelling. Emotional outbursts audible through the thin walls that made him feel like he was back home, in that shitty trailer with no heat and no running water.
Half-asleep and barely conscious, he muttered out, "Merle? Merle, Mama's sad again. Lock the door 'fore Dad gets home…"
His own voice snapped him out of it. He finally opened his eyes fully and found himself in the darkness of his bedroom. In his apartment. Miles and decades away from where he'd thought he was.
No Dad. No Mama. No Merle.
But the tearful screaming remained. It penetrated the walls and filled his quiet little apartment, disrupting the usual peace and solace.
With a groan, he rolled over and buried his head in the pillow.
Then he realized where the yelling was coming from. How out-of-place it was. How much he could actually hear.
He sat up and listened closer. Glanced down and saw that even Dog had awoken and perked up, prepared to rush towards the front door.
A familiar female voice, followed by another unfamiliar female voice. Back and forth, back and forth. Leaking through the walls. Probably echoing down the hall, too, and into every other apartment on the floor. He blinked away the sleep from his eyes and looked to the clock on his bedside table to see that it was barely past eight. He'd only been asleep a couple of hours.
But the voices were so loud that he could hear nearly every word. Maybe the door was open down the hall? He didn't know. There was no way to block it out. Wished he couldn't hear it. Wished he had some way to distract himself.
But he couldn't. There was no ignoring it.
And sadly, a sick part of him wanted to hear it.
"—can't keep doing this, Beth! You think it's not killing me, too?!"
"It's always about you! Always! You have your perfect fucking life, your perfect fucking husband, and now you're pregnant—"
"Is that what this is about?! You said you liked Glenn! You said you were happy for us! I thought I could finally trust you! I thought I didn't have to worry about you anymore!"
"You don't! So just stop! I'm not your fucking concern! Worry about Dad, worry about the farm, worry about making your perfect life even more perfect! Wouldn't it just be better if you didn't have your damaged little sister screwing everything up?!"
"Are you KIDDING me?! You're ALL I worry about, Beth! You get so fucking obsessed! So stuck on every little detail! This was supposed to be a new start for you! You said you'd try!"
"I AM trying!"
"This is what you call TRYING?!"
"Just get out! Just get out and don't ever fucking come back!"
"That's not how this works! I'm your SISTER! I'm the only person left who's willing to put up with your melodramatic BULLSHIT! You wanna push ME away?!"
Sobbing.
Hard. Heavy. Throaty. Guttural.
Daryl had to bite down on his own tongue. His whole body tensed up. He squeezed his eyes shut, but he couldn't block it out.
Could never truly block it out.
"If you'd just LISTEN to me—"
"Listen about WHAT? The neighbor who has no fucking idea you even exist?! That's not Jimmy, Beth! That's not Zach! And it's not Rick! You're not the innocent little babysitter bein' taken advantage of anymore!"
"How DARE you!"
"I'm just saying, you can't blame this on another guy who broke your heart! That man barely even knows you're alive—he doesn't give a fuck if you slit your wrists! The only people who're gonna care are me and Dad! We're the only people you're hurting! Don't you GET that?!"
"He DOES care! You don't get it! You'll NEVER get it! You don't see-see the way he LOOKS at me! You haven't heard how he talks to me! Everyone thinks it's wrong because he's so much older, but—"
"Do you even HEAR yourself right now?! You sound like a fucking lunatic! Was a week in that place not enough to make you open your fucking eyes?! I'm about to take you back to the fucking institution and have you committed, because obviously the drugs they gave you aren't DOING WHAT THEY'RE SUPPOSED TO!"
"FUCK YOU! Fuck you, Maggie! Fuck you and fuck your husband and fuck your fucking baby! You don't GET IT! None of you get it! So I feel things deeper than anyone else—is that reason enough to have me fucking COMMITTED?! Because I actually FEEL shit?! Because I actually gave a fuck that Mom died? That Shawn died?! You didn't even CARE when I tried to kill myself the first two times! Why are you pretending to care now?! WHY?!"
"Goddammit, Beth, I swear to fuckin' God…!"
"GET OUT! GET OUT! GET OUUUUUTTTT!"
"STOP, BETH! FUCKING STOP!"
"I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU! I'LL FUCKING KILL YOU AND I'LL KILL MYSELF!"
"I'm telling Dad this isn't right! You're coming back home and that's final! You're not stable, Beth! You can't DO THIS!"
"I CAN LIVE HERE! I CAN LIVE HERE FOR THE REST OF MY LIFE! WITHOUT ANY OF YOU! AND I'LL DIE HERE AND NONE OF YOU WILL CARE!"
"Beth, STOP! I can't—"
More sobbing. Heavier. Harder. Downright wailing.
"Beth, this isn't HEALTHY!"
Then silence. So abrupt that it made Daryl's entire body go cold.
He knew the pattern. Hated it. But he was so familiar with it that he knew what was coming next.
The screaming subsided into tearful pleas. Muffled begging.
He could barely make out the spoken words, but he knew enough.
"…I don't… please… not… I can try… I will… please… my job… paying my bills… a good life… a new start… don't make me… please… can't go… don't make me… won't go back, please… please, ple-ee-ease…"
"Shh… it's okay… I know… Bethy, please, please… I'm just… we're so scared… Bethy, please… Daddy can't… Shawn wouldn't… Mama didn't… please, Beth, please… Daddy won't… I'm not gonna… me and Glenn… Bethy, the baby… I can't do… don't make this… promise me… I didn't mean… Bethy, promise me…"
And then there was silence. Muffled voices. Footsteps. A door opening and closing, but not in the hallway, just within the confines of the apartment three doors down. More footsteps. More muffled voices and stifled sobs. Soft weeping.
Daryl finally exhaled. The tension that had settled in his muscles seemed to loosen for the first time since he'd woken up.
He contemplated going out into the hall. Walking over to Beth's door. Knocking on it and speaking with her sister.
But what would he even say?
What could he say?
If she hadn't come to his door first, then maybe there was nothing to say.
He laid back down and told himself Maggie had it handled. She and Glenn were clearly more qualified than he was. More experienced.
At least Maggie knew the truth. At least she knew what was really going on.
Maybe in a few days, he'd see the UHaul in the parking lot again. Maybe he'd hear the sounds of furniture scraping against the floor and boxes being packed up. Maybe he'd come home one day and find her apartment door open and the unit empty.
He could only hope.
The next day, Daryl was on his work break at lunch when he found a new voicemail on his phone. It was a number he didn't recognize, but it was local, so he assumed it was Merle.
When he pressed play, though, his stomach did a flip.
"Hi, Daryl. This is Maggie—um, your neighbor's sister. Beth. I hope you don't mind, but I got your number from her phone. I think maybe we should talk. Give me a call back whenever it's convenient for you. Sorry ta bother you. Thanks. Bye."
His hands were trembling by the time he pulled the phone away from his ear. He stared down at the screen, his blood gone cold.
He couldn't bring himself to call her back just yet. Instead, he finished his day at work, the voicemail heavy on his mind the whole time. But as soon as he got home, he kicked off his shoes, popped open a beer, and sat down on the couch. He chugged half the beer in one go before he felt settled enough to finally press Call.
It only rang twice before it was picked up, and the same voice from the voicemail answered.
"Is this Daryl?"
"Yeah. Maggie? Beth's sister, right?"
"Yeah. Um, sorry, this must be so weird. I don't mean to bother you or impose or anything—"
"Nah, 'salright. I was actually… kinda hopin' we could talk. Just wasn't sure how ta reach out."
A long sigh on the other end.
"Yeah, uh… listen, I dunno if you were home last night, but…" Her voice trailed off, seemingly at a loss for words.
He cleared his throat. "Nah. I was. Didn't mean to eavesdrop, but I heard y'all screamin' at each other from my place."
"I kinda figured. I'm sorry for that. She just got released from the hospital yesterday. I wanted t'take her home—back to my place, or our dad's place—but she insisted on going to her apartment. I didn't mean for us to have such a loud blowout."
"Don't worry about it." He paused awkwardly and took a swig of beer to try and instill a bit of confidence. "What, uh, what'd ya wanna talk about?"
Another sigh. He could hear her swallowing hard on the other end. Then she said, "Look, Bethy is… she's got some issues. She's been through a lot in the last few years and she's still got a ways to go when it comes to healing. This is her first time living on her own and having a real job, let alone bein' so far away from me and Dad. She can get kinda… outta control. She's told me some things, but I'm not sure what all to believe anymore. I don't know you and I don't really care to. I just wanted to apologize for whatever crap she's been pulling—whatever she might be trying to drag you into. She's on some new meds and we're gettin' her help, but she's an adult now, so we can only do so much."
Daryl's mouth was suddenly dry, the beer forgotten in his hand. "What's that mean?"
There was a second of hesitation. Then, "It means you should keep your distance. Okay? Stay away from my sister. She's not in a good enough place yet to be entertaining new relationships or-or whatever. Just… keep a wide berth. Can you please do that? For her sake."
He almost scoffed aloud. His stomach was back down at the bottom of his feet. "I—what? I never tried t'be her friend. I don't even know her last name, fer Chris'sake."
"Good," Maggie said plainly. "Let's keep it that way."
"Can you hear me out fer a second?"
She sighed. "Sure."
"I barely spoke to your sister. I dunno what she told you or what she told our neighbors, but she's got people convinced that there's somethin' goin' on between us. And there never has been. I'm a grown man, I don't look at teenagers like that. I took her number an' gave her mine specifically for neighborly shit. That's it. Nothin' more. I tried to set boundaries with her, I made it real clear that it wasn't appropriate for us to even be friends, let alone anythin' more. Said you got my number from her phone—did ya happen t'go through her text messages? Did you see our conversations?"
"I saw some texts. Yeah."
He didn't like the tone of her voice. The implications behind it.
His hands were trembling again.
"You… d'you even believe me?"
Maggie sighed with exasperation, sounding less cordial and more agitated than when the call had begun. "Look, I only called to tell you what I just told you. That's it. At the end of the day, she's my sister. It's my job to protect her. I failed at it before, but I'm not gonna fail her ever again. I asked your other neighbors about you and I did some research of my own, I know what kinda reputation your whole family has. Bethy might be a little unstable and I know she can exaggerate things, but she doesn't just make stuff up outta thin air. She wouldn't blatantly lie to my face. So just keep your distance, alright? I mean it."
Daryl's whole body was shaking. His jaw was tight, teeth gritted. He had to blink away a sudden onslaught of building tears.
Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck.
That pretty little blonde with the wild eyes had every goddamn person around him wrapped around her fucking finger.
"Ain't gotta tell me," he said lowly. "I've been keepin' my distance."
"Good. She might seem easy to take advantage of, but trust me, she's not. Find someone your own age and leave my sister alone. I don't wanna have to make any other calls."
He sputtered out, "The fuck's that s'posed ta—"
But she'd already hung up.
The rest of the week went by without incident. Daryl didn't see Beth at all, nor did he hear from her or her sister. Though that phone call was still weighing heavy on his mind. In his gut. He was finding it more and more difficult to sleep at night without a half-dozen beers in his system.
Then, on Saturday, he stepped out of his apartment shortly after ten in the morning to take Dog out and found Rosita's door wide open. A few large men in mover's uniforms were carrying boxes out and down the hall to the elevator. A dolly carried one of her bookcases, another carried her bedroom dresser. Daryl stopped and watched for a moment, brow furrowed.
A minute later, Rosita appeared, sweaty and flushed with a box labeled FRAGILE in her arms. She barely glanced at him before heading straight for the elevator.
"Hey—Rosita!" He called out, hurrying to catch up with her.
"What?" She snapped back without pausing.
"Hol' up a second, would'ja?"
She stopped abruptly and heaved an annoyed sigh before turning around to face him. "What, Daryl? What do you want?"
Dog sniffed at her legs while Daryl gave her a quizzical look. "What's the deal? Yer movin' out?"
"Very observant of you," she remarked coldly.
"Well what the fuck? Y'didn't even say nothin'."
She shrugged. "My lease is up and there's no reason to renew it this time. Me an' Abe are moving in together. We found a place closer to the hospital. What more is there to say?"
Daryl let out a sound of disbelief. "Well—alrigh', but I thought ya might'a given me a heads up. You've lived here longer'an I have."
"Exactly," she said. "And this place sucks. Always has. It's time to move on."
"Okay…" He hesitated, awkward and unsure. "I don't… are you still pissed at me? Ya still think I had somethin' ta do with—"
"I don't give a shit, Daryl," she snapped, cutting him off. "Simple as that. It's none of my fucking business. Just like my life is none of your business."
Daryl's stomach twisted painfully. A sharp ache bloomed in his chest. "Well, I… shit. I-I thought we was friends."
She quirked an eyebrow and gave him a cold once-over. "So did I. When I thought I knew you. Just lose my number, okay? We're adults. It doesn't have to be a whole thing."
He opened his mouth to argue, but she was already turning and striding purposefully toward the elevator.
She didn't even offer him a backwards glance.
The next day, Daryl started drinking at noon. His stomach hadn't untied itself from the painful knot it had twisted into since yesterday and he could barely stand it.
He got a call from Merle asking if he was planning on visiting soon. After a brief back-and-forth and several moments of hesitant contemplation, Daryl conceded. He figured seeing his brother couldn't make things any worse. In fact, Merle might be the only one he could really talk to about his current situation. Though he wasn't sure he wanted to hear whatever his asshole brother might have to say, he knew it couldn't be worse than what everyone else had been saying. It might be nice to talk to someone who would actually believe him.
Then, eight beers and three hours later, there was a knock at his door. He threw on a shirt and set his beer aside before checking the peephole. His heart skipped and his stomach twisted up tight.
Beth.
No. He wasn't doing this. No no no.
He went back to the couch and resumed sipping his beer, turning his TV up a little louder. But she kept knocking. And knocking. And knocking.
And she didn't fucking stop. Every thirty seconds, she gave a sharp knock-knock-knock. Dog kept barking, no matter how much Daryl tried to quiet him.
Fifteen solid minutes of knocking and Dog barking was more than Daryl could handle. He finally heaved a defeated sigh and got up, shoving Dog back and yanking the door open.
Beth was dressed in a white halter-top and tight blue jeans, her blonde hair in a loose braid over her shoulder, eyelashes thick and black with mascara, lips cherry red with lipstick. Her wrists were still wrapped up with white bandages. She offered him a meek sort of subdued smile and held out a large paper grocery bag.
"What?" He barked out. "What the hell d'you want, Beth?"
Her face fell, smile disappearing, and he could see the tears already pooling in her blue-green eyes.
Goddammit. He instantly felt bad.
"I-I'm sorry," she said quietly, voice trembling. "I didn't mean t'bother you, I just… I really wanted to apologize. And make it up to you. For all the trouble I caused."
His whole body stiffened and he eyed the paper bag in her hand suspiciously. "Apologize, huh?"
She attempted a weak smile and nodded. "I know it's not much… not enough t'make up for my…" She paused, swallowing hard. "My breakdown. I didn't mean to drag you into it. I'm really sorry, Daryl. I can never tell you how truly sorry I am. You don't have to believe me. I wouldn't blame you if you can't forgive me. But I, uh… I'm gettin' help now. I'm on new medication. It's helping a lot. And I just…" She shook her head and averted her gaze from his, seemingly ashamed. "I feel so stupid. This is so embarrassing. I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come here. I shouldn't have bothered you. I-I'll just go."
She withdrew the paper bag and turned to walk away.
Maybe it was the guilt. Or maybe it was the beer. Maybe it was the bandages on her wrists, or the absolute pitiful look on her face that made his stomach ache in a whole new way. But he suddenly felt awful. Like the biggest piece of unforgiving shit to ever walk the earth.
She was unwell. Unstable. Lonely. Just like his mama had been.
Besides, everyone deserved some grace now and then. Lord knew he wouldn't be where he was if it weren't for the grace of others. Their understanding. Their mercy.
He reached out before she could get too far and touched her shoulder gently. "No—'s alright."
She stopped abruptly and turned back towards him, a tentative smile forming on her cherry-red lips.
"I…" He started. Cleared his throat. "I'm sorry, too. I understand. Don't mean t'be such a dick. 'S just been a rough few weeks. What uh, what's in the bag?"
Her smile grew wider and she held it out for him once more. "Well, I thought about lying an' telling you I baked a pie, but that didn't seem right. I bought it from the store. Hope you like peach. It's good, though, I promise. My favorite."
"Huh." He reached out and took the bag from her, opening it to peer inside curiously. "That's nice'a ya."
"And I know I haven't officially met your dog, but I see you takin' him out sometimes, so I thought I'd get somethin' for him, too," she explained, her voice slowly becoming more cheerful at his reciprocation. "It's silly, I know, but it's just a little stuffed toy. I thought he might like it. When I saw it at the store, I thought it looked just like him. I couldn't resist."
Daryl reached in and pulled out the stuffed dog toy to examine it. She was right—it was a spitting image. A small, stuffed version of a Belgian Malinois, with nearly the exact same markings as Dog and big, glassy dark eyes. He couldn't help but huff out a half-chuckle. "That was real thoughtful of ya. He'll love it."
Beth beamed up at him, clasping her hands in front of her almost nervously. He didn't mean to notice, but her big blue-green eyes seemed to sparkle in the mid-afternoon sunlight pouring in from the window down the hall.
"If you don't want the pie, I can take it back," she offered quietly. "I won't take offense. I just don't want it to go to waste, y'know?"
"Nah, I love peach pie," he assured. "Thank you."
Her smile turned into a grin, bright red lips even brighter against the white of her teeth. "Okay. Well, um, I know it's not much, and I can never really apologize for all the crap I pulled. And I'm not tryin' to make excuses, but it's just been tough, ya know. Bein' on my own for the first time. I guess I just… let myself get too much into my own head. I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive me."
He sighed. What kind of heartless asshole would he be to say no to that innocent look? Those big, pleading eyes?
With a helpless shrug, he muttered, "Forgive an' forget. Let's put it in the past an' move on."
She nodded eagerly.
He quickly clarified, "As neighbors. Alrigh'?"
She nodded again, though he didn't miss the way her smile slightly faltered. Only for a second, though. He thought he might've imagined it. Maybe he was reading too deeply into things. Assuming the worst of her.
Poor girl was just… unwell. Vulnerable and lonely. Like Rosita had said.
"Got it," Beth said. She did a little mock salute, topped off with a light giggle. "See ya around, neighbor."
She turned to head back to her apartment, but the guilt was still settled in Daryl's chest. He called out, "Hey."
She stopped and glanced back at him. "Yeah?"
"You, uh, wanna meet Dog?"
Her eyes went wide, her whole face lighting up. "Really?"
He smirked. "Yeah. Really." Then he gave a whistle. A second later, Dog was trotting up to his side. "G'on, boy. Say hi."
At the command, Dog stepped over the threshold and straight to Beth. She squealed happily and knelt down to ruffle Dog's fur and kiss his face, giggling when he licked her cheek and sniffed at her hair and shirt.
"Oh my gosh, you are the cutest!" She doted. She looked up at Daryl and asked, "You named him Dog?"
Daryl shrugged sheepishly. "Yeah. Seemed fitting."
She giggled again and scratched Dog behind the ears as he licked at her face. "It's perfectly fitting! I love it. How old are you, boy?"
"He's three," Daryl said.
"Aw, still a baby!" She cooed, kissing the side of his face. "You're just a big baby, aren't ya? Huh, Dog?" He responded by licking at her neck and making her laugh. "Yeah, just a big baby. Baby boy! I hope you like your new toy."
Daryl's heart warmed at the sight. Maybe she wasn't so bad as she was misunderstood, he began to think. Weren't many evil people he knew who were this naturally good with animals.
"A'right, that's enough, boy," Daryl said, whistling sharply. Dog turned and retreated back into the apartment and behind Daryl.
Beth stood back up to her full height, still beaming happily. "I'm really glad we can be neighbors, Daryl. Thank you."
"Don't mention it," he muttered. "Thanks again fer the pie. I'll see y'around, Beth."
He didn't wait for her to return to her apartment before shutting the door.
But his chest felt a little lighter. His stomach didn't feel quite so twisted up. And his conscience was resting just a bit easier.
As he handed over the stuffed toy to Dog and watched him rush it over to his bed in the corner to contentedly snuggle with it, Daryl told himself that this could be a new start. Maybe it wasn't so bad to forgive and forget. Maybe the girl just deserved a little grace.
He couldn't afford to find a new place anytime soon, anyhow. So it wasn't like he had much choice.
He'd always been good at making the best of a bad situation, after all.