AN: Here we are, another chapter here.
I hope you enjoy! Please don't forget to let me know what you think!
111
"So—do you wanna talk or…you just wanna sit here?" Daryl asked. Carol laughed at his question. It was kind of nice, in an odd sort of way, to simply sit with beer in the middle of the living room floor—her living room floor. With no pressing business, they were settling in to relax together, and Carol found the prospect oddly exciting. Daryl blushed slightly at Carol's laughter and shrugged his shoulders. "No t.v. yet, but we can get that hooked up."
"It's no hurry," Carol said. "I like reading, and I'm sure that this town has a library."
"If you can call it that," Daryl said with a snort. "But we got somethin'. Links up with all the like surrounding libraries. Really ain't too bad, but sometimes you have to order what you want and then they tell you when they get it from somewhere else on loan."
"You visit the library a lot?" Carol asked.
"I wouldn't say I live there," Daryl said, "but I read."
"Yeah?" Carol asked. "What do you like to read?"
"Guess," Daryl prompted.
Carol hummed, aware that she felt warm and her cheeks ached slightly.
"Books about cars?" She asked.
"No," Daryl said. "Well, hell—I mean, yes. Magazines about cars and restoration. I got subscriptions. But—that ain't what I tend to get from the library."
"What do you like from the library?"
"You were supposed to guess," Daryl said.
"I did."
"But you guessed wrong," Daryl said.
"So, do I just keep guessing until I get it right?" Carol asked. "We could be here all night."
She felt her face burn warm when the first thought that her brain offered her, the moment that the words escaped her lips, was that maybe that wasn't the worst thing that could happen. Daryl's cheeks pinkened at the same moment, and she got the strange sensation in her stomach that, maybe, he could read her thoughts.
"Mysteries," Daryl said. "I read a lot of mysteries. But—I don't like the really dramatic ones. I like the ones that are easier to follow. Nicer. More comfortable. Not so serious…hell…I don't know if you know what I mean."
"I do. I like those, too," Carol said.
"That's what you check out?" Daryl asked.
"Not every time," Carol said. She laughed to herself and swallowed down a bit more of her beer. "Not most of the time."
"You care if I smoke?" Daryl asked. "Or—you'd prefer I go on the porch?"
"It's Andrea's trailer," Carol said.
"I told you don't think like that," Daryl said. "It's your home."
"I meant that it doesn't bother me, but what would she say?"
"She don't give two shits about that," Daryl said. He got up and, even though neither of them needed them yet, he returned with two extra beers and a bowl to use as an ashtray. As he settled again, he lit a cigarette and offered one to Carol. She took it, and he lit it for her. The first drag went straight to her head in a dizzying rush as it mixed with the beer.
"So—not every time, you said," Daryl said. "So—so what do you read?"
Carol's face was warm.
"I like romances," she said.
"Like the—dime store rocky cliff lovin' books or whatever?" Daryl asked.
Carol laughed at his explanation of the bodice ripper books.
"Those," she said. "But—also just romances. Like…you know…romances." Daryl smiled at her. She raised her eyebrows in response. "Are you making fun of me for my reading selections?" Carol asked.
"I ain't said a word," Daryl said. "How the hell am I makin' fun of you?"
He was barely holding back his laughter, and Carol's broke through her attempt to hold it back.
"Whatever," she said, taking another drag off her cigarette. "I don't care. I'm not embarrassed. I married Ed right out of high school. Before that, I read a lot of fantasy books. You know—knights and dragons. Wizards and…I don't even know. All of that. But after I married Ed, he controlled what I watched on television. He controlled what movies I watched. At first, I didn't think anything about it, but after a while, I started to realize that it was like he was almost trying to keep me from seeing what happy people looked like." She shrugged. "My very first one of those books was from the drugstore. They were having some kind of bin sale to get rid of the stuff that nobody would buy, I guess. They were selling them for a quarter. I figured he wouldn't miss that much money—a quarter is pretty easy to excuse. I read that book probably two dozen times."
"It was that good?" Daryl asked.
"Not at all," Carol said with a laugh. "It was awful. I mean—the writing was bad. The plot was fine. You know, it was exactly what you expected."
"So—why the hell'd you read it so much?" Daryl asked.
Carol laughed to herself.
"Ed sometimes restricted when I could go to the library—especially when he was in a certain mood or feeling paranoid about things. I kept that book, though, so I always had it to read. The—uh—romance was nice. It reminded me of those fantasy books and fairy tales I read when I was younger. I couldn't have a purple dragon or a white knight on a steed. I also couldn't have everything in that book."
"You couldn't have bad writing," Daryl teased.
"Romance," Carol said. "Sex." She glanced at Daryl. He'd blushed, but he wasn't looking too horrified. He lit another cigarette and took a long swallow of beer. "I'm sorry," Carol said.
"I asked," Daryl said. "And—to tell the truth, I wanna know. But…shit…I don't know any other way to say this than to just fuckin' say it…"
"I don't think you can say anything, at this point that's really off limits," Carol offered. There was a gnawing in her stomach as she wondered what he might say, where it might lead, how she might feel about wherever it might lead, and how he might feel about it all—but she was willing to entertain the conversation. Maybe, even, if she were being fully honest with herself, she was more than willing to entertain it. "Go ahead," she pressed, when Daryl took a moment to say what he was chewing over.
"I mean—you were married," he said. "I would think you're—you know—havin' plenty of sex." He laughed to himself. "Shit—there is no way to make that sound like somethin' I have any damn business askin'."
"I don't mind," Carol said. She realized she meant it, too. "It's—I guess it's a normal question to ask."
"Yeah—when you're a few beers in and thinkin' you can ask whatever the hell comes to your damn mind," Daryl said.
Carol laughed.
"There's sex, and then there's sex, you know?" Carol said.
"No," Daryl said. "I don't know." He laughed quietly and shook his head. "Not at all."
Carol nodded, accepting that he must not understand what she was trying to say. It was, really, probably a complicated concept to someone who hadn't been in a marriage like hers.
"There's the kind of sex that happens out of obligation," Carol said. "The—you're my wife and so you owe me this kind of sex. There's the kind of sex that happens out of force."
"Same damn thing, ain't it?" Daryl asked, his face drawn up in a clear expression of disapproval.
"It is and it isn't," Carol said.
"Shades of the same thing," Daryl said. "But—some of it's darker than others?"
Carol smiled softly at his attempt to understand and, more than that, at his obvious desire to understand. Nobody had really ever cared, except her lawyer, to try to understand her experiences with Ed.
"Yeah," she said. "More like that. There's that kind of sex, and then there's the sex that happens in the book. The kind you want, I guess. And everyone's hungry and…happy."
"If I keep askin' questions," Daryl said, "then I'm treadin' dreadfully close to you kickin' my ass out an' takin' your offer back." He shook his head. "And I don't wanna lose my kid before I even got it."
Carol's stomach flipped.
"You want me to think of this is as my home because you said that you read that things work better if I don't stress too much, right?" Daryl hummed and nodded. "Isn't there something in there that suggests that things might work better if the father doesn't stress too much?"
Daryl laughed to himself.
"Now that you mention it," he said. "There really ain't shit about fathers that I've read. I think our work is pretty damn simple in the whole thing."
"But there might be something to the stress," Carol said. "And I know you like contracts and things. Promises and guarantees. So—what do I need to sign to tell you that I'm not changing my mind? Do I need to find a pin and we do a blood oath or what?"
"You might change it, though."
"Not unless it's something crazy, and I just…don't think that's going to happen. I don't get the feeling from meeting you and your family that you're going to surprise me the same way that Ed did. So—no, I'm not going to change my mind. You want a baby," Carol said. "I want a baby. More, I think, with each passing hour that it seems like something that might happen. I want you to relax. Forget about—about worrying about whether or not I'm going to change my mind every time you open your mouth or prove to me that you're a human being, OK?"
"Fine," Daryl said with a nod.
"What'd you want to ask?"
"Somethin' that ain't my damn business," Daryl said.
"We're talking about making a baby together," Carol said. "Raising a baby together. That means—being a part of each other's lives for…forever, really. In some way. I think we ought to know about each other. I mean—don't you want to know about your baby's mother? And I know I want to know about his…or her…father."
"Fine," Daryl said. "But—what I was gonna ask ain't my business. I was gonna say—weren't you ever happy with your husband? You said there was different kinds of sex, and you liked readin' about the happy kind, but…weren't you ever happy?"
Carol smiled at the question.
"I was," she said. "In the beginning. I was happy when we were dating, or I wouldn't have married him. We didn't—you know—have sex until we were married. When we first got married, I was happy. Right away, though, he started showing signs of disapproval."
"Disapproval?"
"I just couldn't do anything right," Carol said. "But—at first—I think I just thought it was that I was just bad at being a wife. I had a lot to learn, but I was sure that I could learn to do it right and make him happy. We moved because he didn't like family and friends in our business. I didn't think anything of it, not at first. We were newlyweds and, certainly, we didn't need anyone else. He didn't want me to work, and I thought that was romantic—he wanted to take care of me. It wasn't everything all at once, you know? That's not how it happened. If it had happened all at once, I might have realized what was going on before I was in so deep that I felt like I couldn't get out. I was willing to accept that it was my fault, really, by the time that everything started to get bad."
"Can I ask what made you leave?" Daryl asked. "Or that ain't my business?"
Carol shrugged.
"One too many times," she said. "The last time was pretty bad. I just—I realized that I was going to die like that, and I didn't want to die like that. And I realized that—nobody was coming to save me. White knights weren't real. So—I tried to save myself."
Daryl smiled.
"I'm glad you did," he said sincerely. Carol's whole body felt a rush of warmth over those four simple words. She smiled at him.
"I'm glad I did, too," she said.
"You said you wanted to know me," Daryl said, "and you weren't gonna change your mind."
"I meant that," Carol said. "I want you to relax." Daryl nodded his understanding.
"My—uh—my mama didn't, you know? Maybe she—felt like you did, but she didn't make it out. I guess—I always wondered why it was that she didn't make it out. Take us with her."
Carol's chest tightened.
"I don't know," Carol said. "But—getting out is hard. And it's terrifying. It's probably even scarier with kids. For me to get out, I had to give everything up. Everything. You see where it's landed me. If I hadn't run into you…into Merle, really…"
Carol stopped. Daryl nodded.
"But you did," he said.
"I did," Carol said. "And—I'm glad I did."
"Yeah," Daryl said. He cleared his throat. "I'm—glad you did, too. You know what—I'ma…I got a lot of shit to do tomorrow. And I know you're tired, and you could use some sleep. I think—I'ma head out."
He started to get to his feet, and Carol got up to follow him.
"Did I say something wrong?" Carol asked.
Daryl looked at her. His eyes looked sad, but the rest of his expression didn't.
"No," he said. "You ain't said or…done…or anything wrong. I just—gotta head out. But it ain't you, so I don't want you to worry."
Carol laughed quietly, but the laughter ached in her chest.
"I don't want you to worry, either," Carol said.
"So—you aren't pissed I'm bailin' on you?" Daryl asked.
"I—wouldn't mind if you wanted to stay," Carol said. "But I understand if you need to go. And—I'm still going to pee on the plastic stick in the morning," she added with a wink.
Daryl's cheeks blushed pink. He paused, awkwardly, at the door, and Carol wondered for a moment if he might kiss her or, at least, if he might be thinking of kissing her. She realized, in that moment, she would have kissed him back. He didn't kiss her, though. He stared at her pretty hard for a moment, and then he nodded and opened the front door.
"Well—thanks for everything," he said. "Have a—have a good night."
Carol smiled and held the door so that it didn't immediately close behind him.
"Thanks for everything," she echoed. "Have a good night."
She stood, a moment, on the porch of her new home and watched as Daryl walked back toward his own home—a trailer on the same stretch of land with on his brother's trailer between them. After Carol was fairly confident that he'd make it home without needing her to assist him in any way, she stepped back inside. He'd left his cigarettes and lighter on the table. Carol rolled the lighter around in her hand, not sure why she felt the desire to do so. Then, she lit a cigarette for herself and picked up the remaining bit of her last beer.
Something inside her wished that Daryl had kissed her. She had no doubt that, had he kissed her, she would have kissed him back. She wondered, though, just how far she would have let the kiss go, if Daryl had suggested more than a kiss.
She finished her beer and cigarette, toying with Daryl's lighter all the while, and then she cleaned up, deciding a hot shower in a clean bathroom was in order before she slipped between clean sheets for what she was sure would be the best night's sleep she'd had in a while.
