Life I Left Behind (A Daryl Dixon Story)

Chapter Thirty-Nine

Daryl

Twenty-Four Years Old

It probably would have been an alright day if I hadn’t noticed the date. Normally I never even bothered to pay a second glance to the glossy calendar that hung on the shop wall. It wasn’t anything special to look at, just your standard calendar with mediocre pictures of waterfalls and grassy fields. For whatever reason, though, it had been impossible to shrug off the feeling that I was forgetting something. One look at what day it was and I knew what it was. Today was Charlie’s birthday. She was turning twenty-two and it was another year I was missing out on, which was my own damn fault anyways.

The cigarette dangled from between my lips as I hopped out the cab of the truck, slamming the door behind me. Flakes of rusted red paint drifted to the pavement. I took another puff from my cigarette, exhaling the hazy smoke into the fall air. I had pretty much been chain smoking since I realized what day it was. It was usually what I ended up doing whenever I thought about that girl more than what was good for me. I flicked the ash from the end of the cigarette. I wondered what the hell she was doing anyways. Probably out at some fancy downtown bar, taking shots with her girlfriends. Not a care in the world, not thinking ‘bout the jackass redneck who had run her off two years earlier.

I took one last drag, inhaling my lungs full of nicotine before tossing the bud to the ground, watching it flicker and go out. I ran a hand over my head, rubbing the back of my neck as I internally fought with myself. I finally pulled the battered old cell phone out of my pocket though, flipping it open. I scrolled through the contact, stopping at her name. My finger hovered over the ‘call’ button for a long, drawn out minute. I shook my head. Fuck it, what was I thinking anyways? I sure as hell was the last person that girl wanted to hear from, birthday or not. I snapped the phone back shut and jammed it into my pocket.

Fuckin’ pathetic, that’s what I was. Two years later and I was still moping around, thinking about her much more than what I was willing to admit. I doubted I meant anything to her now, other than just that worthless next door hick. And even though I knew all that well and good, I still would have given almost anything just to talk to her and hear her voice. Like I said, fuckin’ pathetic. I reached for the cigarette pack in my shirt pocket, but thought better of it, instead making my way across the parking lot and into the dingy old bar to grab a drink.

It took a second for me to adjust to the dim light and haze of cigarette smoke as I pulled up a stool at the bar. Aside from a few of the regular drunks, I was the only one there. Three o’clock might’ve been too early for some people to start drinking, but today I didn’t give a damn.

“Need a beer, Daryl?” The regular bartender asked, a heavy set guy by the name of Mike. The place had been a favorite haunt for Merle and I for the last couple of years. Needless to say, the bartender had our drinking habits down pat.

I shook my head. “Might need somethin’ stronger than that today. Got any Jameson back there?”

Mike didn’t say a word, turning his back on me for half a second before sliding a glass in front of me, the amber liquid sloshing round inside. I nodded my head at him in thanks before pressing the glass to my lips and tipping it backwards. The whiskey burned all the way down my throat, heating me from the inside out.

“Ain’t it a bit early to be getting’ all liquored up?”

I looked up from my glass, eyeing the twiggy blonde thing that had suddenly appeared at my side. I recognized the fake orange glow and equally fake smile. “Ain’t it a bit none o’ yer’ business?” I retorted. “Whadya want, Abby?”