The dark side of the Moon

It was winter and the snow had covered everything. They were in a new area. Joel and Lilah split to check the woodland, while Tommy advanced to an abandoned structure in the middle of a field. Raiders, apparently hiding in the branches above them, threw a glare. The noise and the light scared the horse they both were riding and she threw them to the ground before running off. Two men fell on top of them before they had the chance to grab their guns that the fall knocked off their grip. Their assailants couldn't reach them either, and thankfully they didn't have their own ammunition.

Rolling around, punches, kicks, scratches, grunts, blood, pain.

"Chill, old man. We were only here for the guns. But since you have a treat with you, we might just get a bite from that, too," a cold voice to his ear and an iron bar to his throat.

The other attacker had punched the air out of Lilah's lungs and sat low on her chest, overpowering her. He grabbed her wavering wrists in one hand, pinning them, while he slapped her forcefully with the other.

"You will sit and take it, bitch, even like it and we might let you both live," he growled as he started fumbling with the buttons of her coat groping her as he went. Lilah was still trying vainly to escape, gasping and shrieking.

Joel groaned loudly. His mind blanked out. He gripped the bar and with a strength too much for his age turned them around and got over the man's back. He grabbed his head. The neck snapped.

That startled the other guy and Lilah managed to hit him and disorient him.

Joel lashed onto him with the bar. He sent him to the ground. He hit him once more. He could have stopped there. But his blood boiled. He knelt above the man, letting the bar aside. He was most probably pleading, all cowards did. But only Lilah's earlier painful cries rang in Joel's ears. He punched him. And he punched him. And he punched him till the skull had shattered so much it was like he was punching a bag of wood chunks.

His knuckles going numb made him stop. He turned to Lilah, still lying on the ground, blood on her and on the snow around her. Their chests were heaving, their breaths loud, adrenaline pumping through their battered bodies. Fiery eyes locked on each other, haunted by ghosts and past traumas and something else, something sinister…

"Are you guys okay?" Tommy's shout came as his galloping horse came to halt next to them.

The younger Miller froze for the one extra second that the twisted spell took to break, his gaze shifting between them and the dead bodies, the head of the one at Joel's feet obliterated. His expression shifted from confused to dark.

"Jesus, Joel…"

"Took you long enough," Joel snapped, his voice gruff as he stood up.

Lilah rose unsteadily, her hands brushing ice from her clothes. She hissed in pain, wincing as her fingers grazed the bruise on her ribs.

Joel didn't move to help her, afraid of his own reaction in front of Tommy. He busied himself gathering their scattered belongings, his back to them as Tommy slid off his horse to tend to Lilah.

"Let me see," Tommy said, checking the bruise on her cheek and reaching for her wrist that was bleeding.

"It's nothing," Lilah protested, but Tommy ignored her, tying a strip of cloth around a small cut.

Joel glanced over his shoulder, and a sharp, irrational jealousy flared in his chest at the sight of Tommy's hands on her. He turned away quickly, jaw tightening as he crouched to rifle through the attackers' belongings.

By the time they returned to Jackson, Joel's mood hadn't improved. Tommy, however, wasn't about to let it lie.

He cornered him at the stables when they were left alone.

"You are fucking her, aren't you?"

Joel turned slowly from the horse to face his brother, his eyes narrowing.

"Don't use those words," he said sharply. "Your wife will put pepper in your mouth."

Tommy's frown deepened as he stepped closer, his voice lowering.

"That's why you've been turning down every decent woman I've tried to set you up with? Because you're screwing the worst one you could find?"

"First of all, don't talk about Lilah like that," he growled, "And who I am sleeping with is none of your damn business, little brother."

"She is a mental mess, Joel. She is worse than…" Tommy stopped himself seeing Joel's eyes getting angrier, "I thought you had changed, that's all," his tone turning softer.

"I am doing the right thing here, aren't I?" he threw his hands in exasperation, "I'm pulling my weight, keeping people safe. What else do you want from me?"

"You need someone better."

Joel's expression hardened.

"Who I need is someone that I won't scare."

The words hung heavy between them, a raw vulnerability Joel rarely let show. He pushed past him, leaving the younger Miller standing alone in the stables.

Joel knocked on Lilah's door right after. He didn't wait for an answer before trying the knob and finding it unlocked. He stood in the doorway, his shadow stretching across the small cabin. She was lying on the sofa, her sweater raised up, pressing a wet cloth against the bruise blooming on the left side of her ribs. A bowl filled with snow sat on the coffee table, already beginning to melt.

"You good?" he asked, his voice rough as he closed the door behind him.

"What do you think?" she huffed, her tone weary.

She sat up to toss the cloth back into the bowl, but it slipped from her fingers, landing on the floor with a wet plop.

"Damn it…" she breathed, her frustration barely contained.

Joel moved before she could, crouching to pick it up. He gathered fresh snow in the cloth. She leaned back again, watching him with an expression he couldn't quite read. When he sat next to her, holding the makeshift ice pack over her bruise, his hand hesitated, hovering just above her skin.

Her fingers slid over his, guiding him the rest of the way. Her breath hitched, though he couldn't tell if it was from the cold or something else entirely.

"You should be icing your hand, too," she murmured, her voice softer as she felt the bumps and the cuts on his knuckles.

She took the cloth from him, pressing his wounds against the cold. A hiss escaped through his teeth, as the chill bit into his skin. Her other hand rubbed his palm, soothing him.

"You know," she said quietly, her gaze fixed on their joined hands, "I'm not scared of you. I probably should be. But I'm not."

"I know," he replied, his voice low, a matter of fact, "Not many people aren't…"

"I guess not many people see what happened today and feel like I did…"

Her words trailed off as her eyes flicked to his lips and then turned away. A shiver ran down his spine. It wasn't the first time he had done things like that for people he cared about. Hell no… The whole damn world could testify to that.

"How did you feel?" he asked, his hand lifting to her cheek, coaxing her face back to him.

She flinched slightly at his touch, but it wasn't fear.

She had never cried for him to stop. Most importantly he'd seen her eyes after what he did. No revulsion, no regret, no surprise. Not even relief. Whatever people would call 'normal', it wasn't that. He shouldn't have been enabling this. Not for her, not for himself. But seeing Lilah trembling with acceptance for the worst of him had brought up a dark craving for validation, even if it was threatening to open floodgates that should have never been touched.

"Like I mattered…" she whispered, "For the first time in my life, I mattered…"

He studied her face quietly, the bruise on her cheek angry but not swollen. How could she have gone through her life thinking she didn't matter? How many times was she hurt? Pushed aside? Left to pick up her pieces alone? He wished he was able to give her more. In another life, he would have. He would have cherished her and made her laugh and given her everything she ever wanted, care that asked for nothing in return. In another life… In this one he only had his broken self and broken habits.

"I'm not proud of what I did, but I don't regret it. You matter, Lilah…" he confessed.

"This is fucked up…"

"You and I are both…"

The words fell away, unfinished, as they leaned toward each other. The kiss wasn't gentle. It was raw, desperate, full of the fear and need they couldn't name. Her fingers tangled in his shirt, fumbling with the buttons. He caught her hands, stilling them, his breath uneven, unsure if that was right for a second and not just a reaction. She chased his lips pleadingly, as if afraid he'd pull away. He gave in, pushing the sweater higher and off her completely. The bruise on her ribs was the worst but she had smaller ones all over, scattered like shadows on her skin. He tried to get her over him, to give her some control after what almost happened to her, to avoid hurting her, too. But she pulled him down instead.

"You are hurt," he murmured both to himself and her.

"You can't hurt me... 'You', you can't…" she breathed.

She had seen it all. She had seen his worst. Yet she said that. He followed her pull that time, crashing their mouths together. She made herself even smaller, craving his shield over her, his lead. A primal urge got ignited in him. An urge to claim, to protect, to show her that she mattered. She let out a strained noise as he still tried to shift to keep his weight off her. He growled, his brain too foggy to ask but too concerned to carry on.

"Don't stop, Joel…" she husked, "Don't ever stop…"

A pause, a breathless space between them.

"Make me yours. Make me safe."

He sucked her neck, afraid of his own answer.

That cold evening, there was nothing beyond the walls of the cabin. Just them, tangled in chaos, dark desire, and fragile solace.

I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Please don't forget to let me know of your thoughts!