Again we are going back to the past. It's been interesting. It's like writing two stories in one. I get to tell a teen romance, and then write about apocalyptic zombie world.
Ps. please don't be shy to tell me if you like it or not. If you don't like my formatting of jumping timeline, let me know as well. I can totally make this into two separate stories. I would love to hear from you guys.
Thank you! :)
Come here
A little closer
Will you carry me away?
Stay forever and a day
Come here
A little closer
And I will never run away
No, I will never run away from you
Heartbeat by Ghostly Kisses
Chapter 4 - Notice You
It took you three weeks to realize that Daryl had no interest in doing this project.
Every day, he would show up to the library though. Show up late, but non-the-less he would show up. You could tell he comes in stoned; it was obvious from the smell of weed that followed him around.
He would sit there with his feet on the table, watching you with insouciance look on his face, as if one would watch a painting hanged on a wall. For the most part, you would read, explain, and write notes for BOTH of you. Because Daryl fuckin Dixon didn't bring a pen or a paper to study. In fact, you had never seen him with a backpack at all.
Today it's your turn to be late.
You were trapped in a conversation by Mr. Robertson, your history teacher. You jog to the school library, backpack on your shoulder and books in hand. Daryl was already sitting on your usual table. It's in the far side of the library, secluded by a few bookshelves. He looks nonchalant, feet on the table and cigarette held between his thumb and index finger.
You stare at him for a second, flabbergasted by his actions, before marching toward him. You snatch the cigarette from his lips.
"Are you trying to get us banned?" you whisper not so quietly. Dropping the cigarette and stomping on it. "You can't smoke in the library."
"Ain't no big deal. It's not like Imma burn something." He says disputably.
"It doesn't matter. You're not even supposed to smoke on the school ground." You scold, and he just rolls his eyes at you.
"Chill madam president, it's just a cigarette." He replies not bothered by your grumble.
The next 20 minutes continues like the usual. You read out loud and take notes, even though, the book is open and placed in-between the two of you.
"Research in this area includes studying tissue regeneration and cell growth-"
"Grrrroolll" you're interrupted by your stomach growling loudly, it seems to resonate in the empty library. You look up, your cheeks turning red.
"Damn girl!" Daryl comments with a snigger.
"Sorry, I haven't eaten anything since breakfast." You're famished. All you had was an apple and a yogurt this morning. with all your after-school curriculum activities, you're stretched thin. Today you had to forgo lunch to attend your chess club meeting, which you have been putting in the back burner.
You look at your watch, seems like the clock was moving slow. You have a long way before this tutoring (you doing all the work) could end.
"Why don't we call it a-day. I'm hungry too, got the munchies." He says lowering his feet off the table. You are so hungry; it does not sound like a bad idea. It is not like he's paying attention anyways, you thought to yourself.
"Yeah, fine." You say looking at your watch again. You mark your page and get up. Surprisingly, he waits for you as you put your books in your backpack. When you both walk out of the library, you notice the school was silent except for the janitor cleaning in the hallways.
"Watcha thinkin of eating," he asks out of nowhere.
"I was just going to go home." He nods his head with a hum.
After a quick farewell, you separate at the gate, and you start walking home. Last year, when you got your driver's license, your dad gave you his old BMW. You remember being so excited to have a car. Unfortunately for you, the car was so old, it often required maintenance. As much as you loved this car, it was more a headache than it's worth.
Now with your car in a shop for the third time this year, you start your trek on foot. Your stomach lets out another gurgling noise, and the walk only makes your hunger worse. You only walk for about two blocks when a motorcycle pulls next to you. You turn to see Daryl. As he stops his motorcycle, you stop walking as well. Before you can ask him if he has forgotten something, he speaks.
"I'm going to Uncle Joe's to get something to eat, ya might as well join." He says, motioning with his head to the backside of his bike. "Come get on, my treat." His motorcycle looks like it was made from many body parts put together, as if it's held by duct-tape and glue. You have never been on a motorcycle, so you eye it cautiously. The visual does not reassure your safety as well as his.
"Hmm." You look at that death trap again. The Idea having a meal with Daryl doesn't interest you at all. But you are very hungry…
"Come on, you be aight'" He insists.
"Where is your helmet?" You question, safety still on your mind.
"I ain't got any," again with his nonchalant attitude.
You think about going home to an empty house, and possibly making a peanut butter jelly sandwich to curve your hunger until dinner is ready. Then, with nothing better to do, you will start working on your homework. The thought of it doesn't really interest you as well, so you weigh your options.
"Are you comin or not? I ain't got all day. I'm hungry." He says hastily. So, you reluctantly shift on your feet, moving slowly behind him to sit on this so-called bike.
"So, this means no helmet for me as well?" You suspect.
"Nope." He says kicking his bike to start it again.
"Hold on tight." He warns you, and for the first time ever since you met, you touch him. Gently, you bring your hands to his waist, holding on to his sides.
There's a quick jolt when the motorcycle finally kicks off. You let out a surprise scream when the tug of the bike and the weight of your backpack pulls you backwards. You have no choice but to jerk forward and wrap both of your arms around his waist tightly.
You press your face into his shirt as the wind blows through your hair and eyes.
He's so warm.
It's a weird feeling, to have someone this close. The warmth of his skin seeps through his shirt, and the coolness of the wind caresses your face. You've never really been physically close to a boy like this. Your parents aren't strict about dating, but your father always said boys were nothing but a distraction. That just kind of stuck with you.
Besides the two boys you had kissed, Timothy in third grade and John in freshman year, that was the extent of your interaction with the opposite sex.
The ride is pleasant, and you close your eyes, letting the moment take you.
Apparently, Uncle Joe's is a food truck, with a few outdoor picnic benches scattered around. It's in an area you have never been before.
He pulls the bike into the small parking lot. The moment you get off the bike, you knew you stick out like a sore thumb, with your black Levi jeans, powder pink shirt and two-inch sandals. You tuck your long dark hair behind your ears and gaze around. The area is active with outdoor lights and gritty looking people. The food truck seems popular. There are numerous people who seem to be enjoying their food, while others stood in line. You walk fatuously behind Daryl, trying not to pay attention to the few biker men that eyeing you. They look intimidating with their leather jackets and tattoo covered arms.
You hope not to attract any attention, so you just stare at the two construction workers who stood in line in front of you, your eyes not moving from their neon green vests.
Before you know it, it's your turn to order. You barely even had a chance to look at the menu, which is written with some chalk on a black board attached to the side of the vehicle.
"Aye yo, Joe, let me get a slappies!" Daryl, hollers into the vehicle to the man that's taking orders. They both turn to look at you, expecting your order.
"I-I'll get the same." You reply, taking the safe choice.
"Alright, two slappies comin up!" You pull your backpack off from one of your shoulders and dig in the side pocket for the $20 you always keep.
"Na man, I gotchu," Daryl says, pushing the hand that you extend to pay with. From his back pocket, he pulls out a Velcro wallet, and pulls his own $20. As you stand around waiting for the food to get ready, you ask the question that's been on your mind for the last few minutes.
"What's slappies?" You ask. He looks at you like he wanted to laugh.
"Sloppy Joe." He answers.
"Oh, I never had a sloppy Joe before." You reply excitedly. You never had food from a food-truck before either. Anytime your family went out for dinner, it's always been cooked by a chef at some overpriced restaurant. Things like fast food was almost unheard of.
"No worries, anythin joe makes is hella delicious, so you be aight"
After a few minutes, you both walk towards one of the open picnic tables, with your plates in hand. Once you settle with your food, you look at the bun with the saucy beef inside. You lift your eyes towards Daryl who's sitting across from you. He doesn't wait for you before he digs into his food. You watch how he picks up and hold the messy burger. Taking a cue, you mimic his table manner.
"How's it?" He asks after a bite or two later.
"It's really delicious." You reply, wiping the messy sauce running down your chin. "I normally don't get to eat stuff like this at home."
"Watcha eat then, fancy stuff?" He questions with raised eyebrows.
"My mom is a health freak, so we eat a lot of portion control meals, lotta steamed vegetable."
He makes a face, "well, ain't that just boring." He says and you snicker.
"Yeah, well, my mom is obsessed with looking younger and staying fit." You shrug your shoulders. That obsession had blood into her controlling your weight and watching your meals as well. She would do a monthly weigh ins to make sure you didn't surpass the number on the scale. It's for your own benefit she would say, as she puts you on a diet.
You look down at your food. The sloppy joe is difficult to eat, as it starts to fall apart in your hands, messier than you will like.
"Let me guess, she's the hot stay home mom, to her rich husband," Daryl affirms. You snort so hard you have to put your food down and sip your water.
"Yeah, pretty much! Last year, my dad got tired of her constant nagging, so he opened her a hair salon." You go back to your food. "Now, she calls herself an entrepreneur."
"What does ya' old man do?" He asks with a chuckle.
"You probably heard of him, he gets on tv and stuff like that. He's the district attorney, David Hart." He raises his eyebrows.
"Oh shit, you the DA's daughter?" He questions with a hoot. "Wait until Merle hears who is doin' my project."
"I'm not doing your project." You protest with a smile, "You heard what Mr. Lanigan said. So far, you barely put any effort."
"I showed up didn't I, that's effort." He counter argues.
"That's not effort!" You shake your head at him, laughing at the audacity. "Why did you even agree, if you weren't going to do it?"
There's a pause of a hush, and you can tell that he doesn't want to indulge this information. He sits there biting his nail, a nervous habit perhaps.
"Tsk, Mr. L is a good man. He always looks out for me." Now you understand the reason behind why he keeps to your 'tutoring' sessions. He just doesn't want to disappoint Mr. Lanigan. Daryl doesn't care about school or graduation, but for whatever other personal reasons, he continues to go to school.
"We'll get it done. I'll help with the notes, but you must write your own essay." You say attempting to sound stern.
"Hmph of course," he says with a wink, as if it's a secret shared between the two of you.
"Don't wink at me, I'm serious!" You shake your head again with a laughter. You take your last bite, finishing your meal.
Who would have thought, you would be sitting here having an early dinner with Daryl, enjoying his company. You're willing to admit you miss judged him, let the rumors influence you.
"You got something there," he says pointing at your mouth. You take his direction and wipe your mouth where he's pointing.
"No, a little higher," your hands move up on your cheeks, following the path he was pointing.
"No, to the right tchah!" He just reaches out and grab your chin, turning your head to the right. He uses his other hand to run his thumb across your chin and bottom lips... the same finger that was between his lips a moment ago, biting his nails.
The moment his finger touches your lips, the shock you feel is thunderous. His fingers are callus, but gentle. You watch him when he runs it again across your bottom lip and chin, as if to get a spot he missed. His eyes are concentrated on the task, and he looks up casually, catching your eyes. He stiffens the moment he realizes his action. Gently, he releases your face before looking away.
"Ahem, thanks," you say softly. There is a moment of awkwardness.
"Yeah, no problem. If ya're ready, I'll drop you off." He says still looking away. You nod, getting up and putting yours and Daryl's plate in the bin that was station near you.
When you get back on the bike, the tension is different, no longer the casual energy. On the way back, you feel bashful as you hold on to him, all of the sudden his presence makes you feel shy. After giving him some directions, it does not take long for his bike to stop in front of your house. Once he helps you get off, he stands there fidgeting and biting on his finger. You can tell from his body language he feels tense as well.
"Thank you for the dinner," you say quietly, looking up at him through your lashes.
"Yea'…" he nods. "I'm just gonna…" he motions with his head, indicating he was going to leave.
"See you tomorrow?" You ask as you watch him sit on the motorcycle, unsure why you are even asking him.
"Yeah, tomorrow." He nods kicking the bike to start. You watch him until he's beyond your vision, wondering what the hell happened tonight.