Well, I tried some Daryl POV on this one, but man, he is such a complicated character to write from. I can imagine how he might react about something, but it's difficult to see what he might be thinking, and I want to stay true to him.

If you dance I'll dance
And if you don't I'll dance anyway
Give peace a chance
Let the fear you have fall away

I've got my eye on you
I've got my eye on you

Say yes to heaven
Say yes to me
Say yes to heaven
Say yes to me

If you go I'll stay
You come back I'll be right here
Like a barge at sea
In the storm I stay clear

'Cause I've got my mind on you
I've got my mind on you

Yes to heaven by Lana del rey

Chapter 14 - Heaven

She was like the sun.

That's the only way Daryl could describe her. The only word that came to mind.

Even though, he never spoke to her before his introduction by Mr. Lanigan, he was aware of her. She always walked with her chin held high, like she fuckin owned the school. Shit, what does he know, maybe her folks did. She was always meticulously dressed, her long black hair blowing behind her like a cape.

When Mr. Lanigan assigned her to work with him, he really wanted to be right about her, especially, the moment she stepped next to him with that fake-ass smile. He thought he was right about his assumption of her, the bitchie barbie with rich parents, who thought she was better and smarter than everyone.

His plan was to show up for this 'study' session for a few days, just to please Mr. L. The man was good to him, never looked down on him like some of his shitty ass teachers did. Even though, he would most likely drop out next year, he wanted to tell Mr. L he tried. That was why he went to the library.

But then he didn't know why he continued to go…

He liked her voice, when she read out loud, that's what he told himself in the beginning. It was calm like the ocean, yet so feminine. Just loud enough for him to hear, yet quite enough not to disturb the library. He mostly just watched her, feet on the table, cigarette on his lips. She was smart, understood things he couldn't even pronounce. Her handwriting was clean, beautiful, nothing out of line. Just like her.

She would often tuck-in her hair behind her ears, as it covered her like a curtain when she bent her head over her books. Somedays, he couldn't help, but randomly think if her hair was as soft as it looks. And before he can chime himself for that thought, she would bring the pen to her lips, biting the tip. He noticed that was something she did when she was in deep thought. And he would watch that too, fascinated.

The tip of her nails was always painted white, and she would tap it gently as she explains something she found interesting, that too, was something he followed with his eyes. Her eyes, he thought was brown, no, it was the color of honey, and it glowed when she laughed. She would look up at him through her thick lashes, and he would fight the air to stay in his lungs. Which she did quite often…

She would joke and tease him, just to laugh at her own stupid jokes.

As he kept on watching, day in, and day out, he was captivated by the innocence in her eyes. He had never seen that before. People around him weren't like her.

Only as the weeks goes by, did he start to realize; how disarmingly unaware she was at the depth of her beauty.

Obviously, she must understand to some extent, at least the exterior of her, people admire her, no matter how unapproachable she might seem.

And even if he could get over the outer beauty, he was consumed by the sunshine. The simplicity of her. Her inner beauty that lit her eyes and softened her features. She would dance, laugh, talk with all her heart. When she smiled and laughed, he couldn't help but smile along too, even if it was just on the inside sometimes. To be in her company was like to be warmed in summer rays regardless of the season.

He didn't know why, but she was aware of him too. He could see it, how she would adjust herself based on his body language, or his facial expression. He never had to say, she was a keen toward him. She listened like all the dumb shit he said were interesting. He did not understand at all. Why would she seek a nobody like him? Why almost every day, she would spend her evening with him? But it was simple with her. Comfortable, like he had known her all his life. She never judged, even when he gave her reasons too.

Just like that, she started following him home, the thoughts of her, to the trailer park he shared with his brother. At night, he would often think about her… anytime his mind was free, he would think about her, like she suddenly became the default setting to his brain.

Two months flies by in the blink of an eye, and it was their last day of the project. He wished he could rewind time, or even slow it, so he could have more time in the warmth of her. He feared the next time he sees her, she would walk pass him with her chin held high, like they had done hundreds of times in the past.

But he also knows, they were not from the same world, not even from the same solar system. He was a commoner and she belonged up in the cloud with the gods. There was nothing he could say or do, nothing he could offer to keep her. He knows his place; it had been drilled to him by his father. He had no of value for anyone, let alone someone like her. When the last week of school came around, he couldn't bare it, the thought of them being strangers again. So, he took the time, went on unplanned hunting trip with his uncle, who yapped about some stripper the entire time.

But what a shock it was, how she ran to him, the happiness in her eyes, just for him, just to see him. Forget fixing the car, he would have built her a goddamn house, if that was what she wanted. He went home that evening feeling like he's on cloud nine. He remembered Merle asking him, 'what the fuck he was grinning about?' He had given him the middle finger of course. He wasn't going to let his brother ruin this for him. This one he would keep to himself.

Of course, then the unexpected happened. He yelled at her, over something so dumb and he regretted it almost immediately. He was so frustrated with himself, and he got the outlet, a fight with some assholes, and he took his anger out on them. Well, he had thought at the end, this would be it, he was violent around her. If not his foot in his mouth, this had to scare her, he had ruined everything.

Yet, the next thing he knows, he was in her bathroom. Her room smelled just like her, something fruity, sweet. She had cornered him, asked to see more of him. It didn't really made sense why she would want to be around him. But she had pressed up to him, looking up at him with those eyes, stealing his breath, his fuckin soul too. He had fumbled and stammered the whole time. That night he beat his head against his pillow, wondering why he had nothing better to say.

He knows part of it was fear, of letting her in, even though she had kicked the fuckin door open.

His instinct was telling him, she was too hot, to bright, and he would burn under all that ray.

But…Perhaps, it was better to burn than never feel the warmth at all.

You're about to do something you've never done before.

Skip school. Well Kinda…

So here you are waiting for Daryl outside of the local community college, where your SAT prep course is taking place. You look around suspiciously, your feet tapping on the ground impatient. You hold on to your backpack tighter, and you can't help the feeling like you are committing a crime.

Then you hear his bike before you can see him. As he finally turns around the corner, you are surprised by the site of him.

"Whoa! What the hell," You grin with excitement obvious in your voice. Today, he shows up in a beautiful motorcycle. A cruiser with a chrome handle and a black body, and you can see the Harley logo on the gas tank. "You got a new bike?"

"It's Merle's. I thought we take this since it's a long drive." He says as he kicks the stand, bringing his leg over. It's been a few days since the fight fiasco, and Daryl has been acting a bit awkward, bashful, but he continues to meet up with you. You don't press, you let things proceed naturally, back to your normal routine. With the start of Georgia's infamous summer heat, you swap your usual hangout spot for the park, and you would sit underneath a large, shaded tree. Every day, you would get an ice cream or a slurpee. You would talk about random things, listen to music, and when the sun wasn't so high anymore, you would drive to the cliff.

Now, after days of planning, Daryl finally agreed to take you to the beach. Predictably, he hasn't been to the beach since he was a kid.

"And he just gave it to you?" You ask, and from the look on his face, you know he stole his brother's bike.

"What he don't know, ain't gonna hurt him. I'll just deal with the consequence when I get back." He says voice nonchalant. Though you accept his answer, you wondered what kind of sibling dynamic they have.

"Hmm, there is one thing I'm curious about though," as he leans back on his bike, you walk closer to him, before gently tapping on his half-head helmet he is wearing. Daryl made it seem like he was allergic to wearing a helmet, like it's beneath him, so it's unexpected to see him with one today. "what's up with the hard hat?"

"It's called a brain-bucket, and it ain't for me," he tells you, taking it off his head. You assume this must be also Merle's helmet. You raise your eyebrows at him, and you are surprised when he casually grabs the front of your shirt and pull you closer. As he puts the 'brain-bucket' on your head, not sure how you feel about the name, it doesn't exactly inspire safety, you take another step towards him, to stand between his legs. You can tell you make him nervous, and instead of biting his nails, he bites his bottom lip. He doesn't look at you, fingers just fumble with the lock underneath your chin. You are ok with that though, because it gives you a chance to be in his presence, smell his cigarette and run your eyes across his face. "There," he says once it's tightly secured on your head.

You have decided to pick the closest beach, Cumberland Island. You are aware its mostly private beaches filled with Plum Orchard estate and feral horses, but there are some spots open for the public. It's about 2 hours' drive, and the plan is to leave in the morning, which will give you most of the afternoon to explore the beach.

With the bucket set on your head, you move to get behind him, taking off your backpack, so you can adjust yourself. He takes it from you, and he immediately does a double take. "The hell you got in here, a dead body?" He says lifting your backpack up and down as if to judge the weight of it.

"No, just a change of clothes, towels, oh, I did pack us some drinks and my mom's tofu lasagna." He instantly makes a face.

"Nobody wants to eat your mom's nasty ass lasagna." You smack his arm laughing and adjusting your backpack on your back.

"I guess you don't want her brownies too." When he looks back at you, sideways, you can't help but laugh. Gotcha!

The bike is louder, but it rides smoother. You hold on to Daryl's small waist, your face pressed to his back. The warm summer air caresses your face, your hair whipping wildly behind the helmet. It is a quiet morning, barely any traffic, and Daryl is moving fast. You watch the country road, the trees becoming soft green blurs, as you look through half opened eyes. As you lay there, your fingers softly caressing his abdomen, you realize there is an intimacy here, holding him like this. You never thought about it until now, but there is a lot of trust and safety exchanged here, where it feels like a kinesthetic level dancing, where he leads, and you relinquish.

You press your face to his back and inhale him, but all you smell is the trees around you. There, your minds drifts back to what you saw that night, almost a week ago. The scars…

You knew he was abused, neglected, but damn, your mind can not comprehend what you saw. You haven't been able to get it out of your head, you juggled it over and over, wondering what kind of monster did that to him. It looks healed too, which means, Daryl was much younger when most of it occurred, when he couldn't fend for himself. Who does that? Scar a child like that. And if the physical scar was this bad, then you wonder what the mental must be like. With his mother dead so early on, his brother was too young to be capable of inflicting the kind of damage, which could only mean his father... No wonder he reacted like that to your touch… was there ever a touch that was not painful for him?

In the same breath, your mind comes back to the boy in your arms. You wonder, how can he endure all that pain, and not become bitter, angry at the world. But Daryl… he's special. He has blossomed under that harsh condition; he's everything the world tried to make him not to be.

Your hands move tighter around him, and you have this primeval feeling like you want to protect him, kiss his scars, and fight his battles.

"It says 'Keep Out, Private property'" you reiterate, pointing to the sign. Instead of the open for public area, he brings you to some section of the beach where it's fenced off, with an obvious sign to keep people out.

"You be aight." He says to you, taking your backpack off your shoulder, before tossing it over the fence. You stand there with your mouth open, watching him put his palm together, as if to help you host over the barrier.

"But… but there is a sign, what if we get caught?" you restate again.

"Come on, don't be a pussy. If we get caught, then we run." He says it as if trespassing isn't a crime even for a first-time offender. You look at your backpack, far in the other side of the dirt. At least if you get caught, your father will kill you before you ever make it to jail. You let out a sigh, stepping on his hands and using his shoulder to boost yourself over the fence. Unlike you, Daryl jumps it easy. He carries the backpack and leads you down the small cliff toward the warm sand and blue water.

It doesn't take you long to have your towel laid out on the sand, and Daryl is the first to sit on it, taking off his shoes and burying his toes in the sand. He isn't paying attention as you take off your clothes. His eyes are on the little white house far up on the cliff. Probably someone's vacation house, and from where you stand, it looks small, but you doubt it is. You just hope no one is home.

When you toss your shirt on Daryl's head, he pulls it off confused, before turning to you. You can't help but giggle at the look on his face. His eyes go wide, and he immediately looks away, his cheeks pink like he's never seen a woman in a bikini. But you know that's not true. If is not on TV, then he has probably seen worst in a playboy magazine. Nothing comparable to your modest white two piece. You can see him pretending to look busy, pulling out his little bag of weed.

"Come on let's get in the water!" you exclaim excitedly. This is the first time you've been at the beach without your parents. Without your mother breathing on your neck about sunscreen.

"Nah, I think imma chill here." He says, his hands already starting to roll his joint. You squint your eyes at him.

"No way! You did not just ride two hours to just sit on hot sand." You tell him your voice flat. "One way or another you are going in that water. I won't light up that joint if I were you," he huffs like he finds your threats funny. You give him an evil laugh as you walk backwards towards the water.

The ocean is murky blue. You only dip your feet first, watching your toes sink in the sand. The water teasing it and running back into hiding, until you feel the rush of the current under you, pulling the sand from between your toes back into the ocean. The sound of the waves applauding and hugging the shore. The foam bubbling by your ankle. It's cool and complete contrast from the hot sand. Or even hotter summer…

That's all the invitation you need, you take off after it, and it embraces you with an open arm. You let it take you, and you lay there for a moment, as your body rocks with the waves, weightless to the world. When you look toward the towel you can see Daryl watching. You giggle at the idea how you always seem to watch him, watching you.

"Come on!" You scream, but he makes no move to get up. You march out of the water deciding enough is enough. It's time to act on your threat, for plan b to commence. "Aright, you ask for this!" You yell before you drop down right on the sand and roll on it. You can tell he's watching you with his eyebrow raised. From chin down you are mummified with the sand.

"Alrighty then!" You get on one knee in a sprinting position and look up at him. And you can see understanding drift on his face.

"You won't fuckin dare." He tells you, though he already has a hand on each side of the towel.

"Charge!" you let out a battle cry, as you take off towards him. He sprints off the ground, dodging you swiftly, within the same movement, he tosses his wallet and keys on the towel.

"You're fuckin with my high!" he hollers, though he is running and dodging you. your laughter echoes through the empty beach. Daryl is surprisingly fast for someone who smokes like a chimney. But you catch him nonetheless when his foot gets caught in the sand. You both go down as you tackle him from behind. You wrestle him, locking both legs and arms around him. He gets up with you still attached to his back like a spider monkey, you scream and laugh.

"Just so you know, pay back is a bitch." But you won't let go. He takes you with him to the water, fully dressed, except for his bare foot. He falls backwards into the water, your butt smacking first. You stay on his back, weightless. Even though he dunks you repeatedly, you can feel his hands on your thighs, holding you to him, keeping you safe. The reverberation of your laughter nonstop.

You thought, this moment right here, this feeling, you are going to remember it for the rest of your life.

The day could not have felt any more perfect.

It feels as though you are running through a montage of your life, like you've seen in all the romantic movies.

With the feeling of out of water hunger, your mom's lasagna never tasted better. For someone who complained about your mom's cooking, Daryl cleans the bowl, and you tease him for it as you share the meal with two forks. As he lays horizontally on the towel, you lay vertically, using his stomach as a pillow. You spend the afternoon suntanning, listening to music and chatting his eras off.

And on the ride back, you hold on to him tighter, pressing your lips to his still damp shirt. It feels as though everything is passing by in a blur, yet ever so vividly. Like time had stopped, yet moved so fast. Just him and you.

When the summer rain starts to fall, you laugh thinking this day couldn't get any better. You can feel the bike slowing down, perhaps for a safety reason, as the heavy rain runs down your back. You lift your head, eyes closed, tongue sticking out to catch the rainwater. Only when it becomes too hard to see, does he pull over to a small shopping center. The only cover is a small awning under the entrance of a Chinese restaurant. You both squeeze under it, as the thunder booms, his back to the wall and your wet body pressed to his.

'Gettin' jiggy wit' it

(Na-na, na, na, na-na-na-na)'

You can hear the song coming from the little speaker attached to the otter door, under the awning. When you start to rap and sing to it, he rolls his eyes, before covering his face, though you can see the small smile on his lips.

That's all the motivation you need, because you are a fool when it comes to him. You step right out of the cover to do the dance move. He looks at you like you lost your mind.

"Would you stop that! You gonna catch a cold," he yanks you back to him under the cover.

"But, let me serenade you with my singing." He puts his hand right over your mouth.

"Trust me, I'm serenaded enough," he tells you, keeping you to his chest. Your laugh is muffled under his hand. He pulls you tighter to him as if to keep you warm, tucked to his chest. You put your arms around him, unlike on his bike, instead of from the back, now you're to his front. You look up at him, and it hits you like a train… just how beautiful he is, how handsome he really is… you watch the water trail down his nose and lashes, his hair sticking to his forehead. His eyes glow under the golden light of the restaurant. His lips are parted slightly and wet… and he licks it, as if to get rid of the rainwater. At that moment, without ever saying a single word, he has this immense power over you, devoured you, without even trying.

"Can I kiss you?" you whisper, and you know he heard you. Immediately you want to smack yourself, wondering, what the hell kind of question is that?

"wha…" he looks down to you, his eyes wide, shock clearly written on his face.

"Is it too weird that I asked? Totally ruins the moment right, I should have just gone for it." Why are you talking! Why can't you just shut the hell up. Your heart is beating wildly, drumming with the rain like it's a competition.

"Why are you so goofy!" He exasperates, though you can see the smile on his lips. He presses his entire hand to your face, shoving you down to his chest. He has taken your request as one of your teasing moments. You bite your lips, keeping your face hidden in the wetness of his shirt, feeling reluctant. Part of you is serious with your request, and you are unsure how he would have taken it, if you just gone for it.

But, God, you really want to kiss him. Shit, you've done a lot worse with him in your head. Every night, you had your fingers buried deep in yourself, his name on the tip of your tongue, your moans dying in your pillow, your fingers gripping your bedsheet as you fucked yourself to the image of him. In your head, he buries his face between your legs, and doesn't hold back as he takes you hard, right under your father's roof.

In reality, you wonder if he had ever even kissed a girl before, though you doubt it. Daryl is socially unequipped. He wasn't raised in an environment where he had the confidence to approach a girl. So, you wonder what kind of exposure he had to the opposite sex. If you can… you wish to be his first… you wish to show him a touch isn't always pain, but pleasure as well. What does a virgin like you knows about pleasuring a man anyways… immediately, you smack yourself mentally. Stay on task.

When you finally look up at him, he has a faraway look on his face. You slowly run your hand up his chest, to the crevice of his neck, and when he looked down at you with an unguarded look, it takes all the confidence you can master to bring your hand to his cheek, caressing up his brows. You can tell he's caught off guard again, and he stares like a deer caught in a headlight. But you are caught in his spell as well, you can't take your eyes off him, mesmerized. You rise on your tippy toes, fingers sliding into his wet hair, soft as it moves between your fingers. He is shaking, and you are uncertain if it's from nervousness or fear. When your nose touches his, there's a sound that leaves his mouth, a surrender. The rain beats like a drum, in sync with your heart, and somewhere in the background, the music has change to something softer, something you never heard before.

You give him a moment to pull back if he needs to… when he doesn't, you faintly press your lips to his.

His lips are soft like a first snowfall melting on your lips, and effortlessly sweet. He is frozen underneath your hands, like his whole body is petrified. You pull back… Though, you can't hear it, you can see how hard his heart is beating, his chest moving up and down like he just ran a marathon. You look into his half-closed eyes, and there isn't a trace of blue, his pupils dilated, all you saw is black.

You go back for him, pressing your lips to his again. This time, you are received well. When you take his bottom lips in yours, you can feel his shaky hand press to your back, pulling you deeper to him. Unlike the ride, you lead, and he follows, his lips imitating yours. You can't feel your legs anymore, all you feel is him everywhere, filling everything and nothing else. In the depth of his arms, you abandon all reality, let this fire consume you. Happy to die in his arms if that's what must happen here.

You pull back, to catch your breath, when air becomes necessary. You stare into his eyes, chest thumping with his breath. He is just as breathless as you, and he shies under your eyes, blush taking over his cheeks, before he looks away. you can't help but giggle, pressing your face back to his chest right at the center.

You press your lips there too, over his shirt, wondering where he has been all your life… How could you have not notice him before. Because now you can't imagine your life where he is not in it…