speak ➵ bethyl au

3

She does get hungry.
From time to time, she does. She's human.
But she ignores the urge with lots of sleep and lots of water.
So she's sleeping, and she wants to sleep for as long as possible, but her phone rings. Not her personal phone, a large dialup that sits on the dresser.
It's about 10 o'clock, and Beth is slightly annoyed because she wanted to waste the day away in bed, but it's obvious it won't happen now.
She mopes over to the dresser and brings the phone to her ear, and unintentionally plays with the cord.
"Miss Greene?"
After a brief yawn, she confirms its her.
"Due to that fact that you're a temporary resident, you'll still be having regularly scheduled appointments."
She stays silent.
"Later this evening, someone will come greet you. I believe it's going to be...Mr.Dixon. Daryl Dixon. Okay?"
"Yeah. Yeah, okay. Bye."
She doesn't give her a chance to respond, dropping the phone back to the receiver.

☔︎

"It's obvious you don't want to talk. I'll be honest, I don't want to either."
"Oh, is it your asthma?" She sneers with a roll of her eyes.
He stares back dully. She hasn't let that go. It was offensive, but it was a joke. One he'd wouldn't try to pull again.
Daryl had spoken to Maggie and Hershel the previous night, and they told him that she was a genuine ray of sunshine. Never spoke back, never sarcastic, never rude. Always helpful, always eager, always happy. Good around kids, too. Everyone loved her.
He was sure he had the wrong resident.
But no, he was just as closed up as her. He just wants to fix her up and get her out and then, maybe then, Mr. High and Mighty Sheriff Rick Grimes would get off his ass and let him quit, so he could go back to roaming around the woods  and practicing shooting targets and squirrels with his crossbow.
"No."
She raised her eyebrows, still staring down at the table.
"Girl, I don't know what to tell you. You don't want help."
"Because I don't need help. I was just driving by this place to get groceries, and then someone saw me. Now the whole town thinks I'm insane."
Reason with her. That was what he was taught on his first day, reason with them.
"I don't think your insane."
"That's bullshit." She spits back immediately. "I'm strong. I landed in here because people think I'm insane. You think I'm insane. But I'm strong. I just don't feel like eatin' because I'm not hungry, and I don't feel like leavin' my room because I'm tired. And I'm embarrassed that the town knows every goddamn fact about my personal life, and you can thank my family for that. But I am strong, and I do not need this. I decided that when I drove away."
He was supposed to be taking notes. To track her progress, what she said.
He never did. He was lost as she spoke.
No, not lost. He's not lost. He insists and tells himself he's not lost. Just an invasion of her privacy if he takes notes. He's not lost in her words. He's not. This is his job. He's not lost.
"Don't wanna talk about that."
She's pauses, and glances up at him.
"Then, what?"
"Uh..." He trails off, glancing around the room. She's starts looking too, as if she thought she was supposed to mimic him.
"What's this for?" She asks. Her tone is noticeably lighter, not spitting fire or shooting daggers. It sounds like the birds that sing as the sun rises.
"What, the notebook?"
"Yeah."
"Notes. Don't use it, though."
She furrows her eyebrows, as if she's dating him to prove it.
"Don't need to prove anythin' to you, Greene. But look." He picks up the small, green notebook on the table and flips through it. Blank page after blank page.
She's staring intently as he flips through it, as if she dares say nothing. He sets it back on the table, and meets her gaze.
"Can I have it?"
Her voice is barely a whisper, as if she's mentioning something about smuggling drugs or what have you.
He doesn't reply, just slides it across the table.
She takes it, glancing up to meet his eyes again.
She stares at him, this time, not the notebook. Long, dark hair shields his eyes and she desperately wants to lean across the table and flick it into place. Dark blue eyes and heavy bags underneath, and he's craving sleep. Stubble litters his chin like little puzzle pieces all finding perfect spots.
"Thank you." She smiles widely, and he wonders if it's genuine. He snorts, and she glances up, as if she said something wrong.
"Need a pencil, don't you?"
She nods.
"Alright. Tell you what. I gave you the notebook, now you have to me an answer."
She nods, again.
"Why don't you eat? An answer not along the lines of, I'm not hungry."
She purses her lips, glancing down. After inhaling, exhaling, she looks back up.
"Lately," she pauses, wiping sweat off her hands. "I've been finding myself wanting to die."
He nods. He's been there.
Not that he would tell her.
But he gets his answer so he slides the pencil across the table. She catches it, and holds it up.
"It's dull."
"I actually have a sharpened pencil here." He replies, holding up yet another pencil, this time, sharpened. "It's your if you can answer another question."
Beth actually takes a liking to this game, slowly getting things in return for other things. She smiles, a small smile, and nods.
"Why do you care about bein' clean if you want to die, regardless?"
She glances up, blue eyes wide and ready.
"Lately," she repeats, slow and steady. "I've been finding myself wanting to die."
He's about to mention that that doesn't count, she's already said that, but she opens her mouth, and continues.
"If I die, I want to die decent. Clean."