The Dixon's Best Friend. [Daryl Dixon Fanfiction.]

Just Another Relapse.

"Yeah."

"Bye!" She squeezes my hand and takes off towards her mothers car. 

"Bye." I say softly watching her go.

#~#~#~#

 It's nearly midnight and there's no food in the house. I'm sitting on my bed, the half pack of mints I'd found in my school bag had been demolished hours before. This house is locked up as always, the back door and the front door, keyed and chained. Every window is locked too.

Daryl's crossbow rests against my bedside table.

Merle's hunting knife lies on my bedside table.

Normally I'm okay with living on my own, but tonight I'm reckless. I've tidied my room until it was spotless. Re-organised my book shelves, re-folded each item of clothing in my drawers, caught up with all the work I'd missed in school, changed the C.D more than eleven times. 

I'd showered and spent far too long in the shower. The water had gone ice cold by the time I decided to get out. I then sat on the toilet seat wrapped in nothing but a towell shivering lightly for at least a half hour before I pulled the plastic covers from around my bandages. I had towelled my self off and dressed. Leaving my hair to dry down my back.

I was bored. 

I was scared. I didn't feel comfortable in the house, there was just something about the air. I didn't feel right.

I turned my head and looked down at the weapons sitting there, waiting to be used. 

"Why don't I feel safe with you here?"

I should feel safe with them here, I normally do. It's like having Daryl and Merle here, in object form. Maybe it's because they walked away again. Maybe it's because before I was convinced they were watching over me form heaven. Even if they weren't dead. It may have been all in mind but it still helped and now that hopes gone.

I just wish they had stayed.

Part of me wants to hug them and never let go, and part of me wants to smack Daryl so hard it knocks him out. That boy enfuriates me beyond comparison to anyone else I've ever known in my entire life.

I hate that I love him so much. Platonically of course.

My stomach suddenly growls angrily, I groan softly and decide to go on another trek around the house in hope for some form of food, somewhere. 

I search the kitchen with no avail. My mood darkens as I stare through the window and Daryl and Merle's house that's been put up for sale. I don't want new neighbours (only kind of neighbours but still). Daryl and Merle are supposed to live there. 

Daryl and Merle are supposed to be here.

Not in New York. Not away from me. 

Fuck them. Fuck them. FUCK THEM. 

"GOD DAMN IT!" I roar shaking the walls of the house, my hand searches blindly for the handle to the cutlery drawer. I rip it hastilly open and reach for the first knife that my fingers can find. My mind doesn't stop to think about it, or process what's about to happen, or why truely. 

But I bring the blade down on my left wrist and drag is across the closed wounds ripping open my skin yet again. The relief is instantaneous, the blood trickles down my arm as I swivel and slide down to the floor.

I place the blade higher than before, watching the blood pump slowly out of my arm a small satisfied smile playing on my lips. I press the blade in again and winch as it stings and then drag it slowly across my arm, going in deepere before. I let out a loud sigh breathing quickly as the blood breaks from my skin and down the side of my arm.

I turn my head starring at the picture that rests on the coffee table in the living room that I can clearly see through the open doorway. 

"This is your fault you douche." I croak glaring at the picture of Darl, Merle and I that had been at their funerale.

"I hate you." I say louder this time, the anger finally sinking in. The fury coarses through me now that realisation has settled in. They left, they left me. They fucking left. They ruined everything. 

"I HATE YOU!" I scream rising to my feet dropping the knife, blood still pouring from my stinging arm. I storm towards the sitting room, shoving the door further open. I snatch the picture off of the table and glower at it.

"I HATE YOU!" I shriek again and throw the picture frame aimlessly through the door, it hits something and crashes to the ground smashing to pieces. I stare as a piece of glass flies towards me sliding on the fake timber floor.

I walk slowly forward, thankful for the shoes I'm wearing, it's not only broken, but knocked another picture of Daryl and I down too.

I gulp and pick up the first broken photo frame, I pull the picture carefully out from between the shards of glass and drop the frame to the floor. "Why?" I whisper. "Just tell me why." But pictures can't speak, and I'll never know.

Then I bend and pick up the one of Daryl and I. I brush the glass aside gently with my hand and lower myself onto the floor. The glass is broken on this one but not enough to pull a picture through it, so I open the back of the frame that Daryl had gotten me for my sixteenth birthday. 

From the back, not only falls the picture but a small little note too.

I frown softly and open the note.

A tear slips down my cheek as I read it, then another, and another. Before I know it, I'm a mess curled up in a ball surrounded by glass, and my arm bleeding clutching a note that my sixteen year old best friend wrote to me, probably hoping I wouldn't find it until I needed to.

And right now I had needed it.

I stare at it again, and I can't tear my eyes from the scrap of paper.

"I'll always be there, even if I'm not, I am. Trust me Athena. I'm yours forever."