Throughout the night, the redneck and I had swapped shifts with some of the others, listening to Lydia and Henry share similar sob stories. We both had been tapped out throughout the night to rest until Daryl came into my room, waking me from the nightmares that now plague my sleep state. I was just in a sports bra; the blanket had exposed the scars and burn marks littering my flesh from tossing and turning in my slumber. When I had turned over, his face was contorted in concern and worry, but informed me that Charlee's time is up, and we need to relieve her of prisoner duty. However, his eyes spoke volumes of his thoughts - he wants to discuss my time being Owen's captive. Uh oh; I know he isn't going to let the subject go. I gotta pick my battles, I remind myself.
Now we are quietly sitting next to the window, overhearing their continued conversation. I take a hit off of the cigarette when Henry starts to spill minor details of the Kingdom. Swearing under my breath, I quickly get to my feet, but Daryl gestures for me to wait. Barely two minutes later, he returns to ground level, dragging Henry with him. I decide to head down the stairs into the cellar, allowing him time to discipline Henry for divulging entirely too much information, regardless of how harmless and little it seemed to be. Her group killed one of our own, and hunted two others like animals. I can't imagine what would happen if they returned, and infiltrated our walls, in any of the communities.
I grip the wall in panic when I realize, Ezekiel and Carol have no idea of what Hilltop is facing. They don't know about the skin walkers. Shit, fucking damn it, Henry. I know he has a good heart, but he's putting more people in danger. I've grown close to the King in the last few years. I can't leave him unwarned and blind to the possibility of our making a new enemy. I need to be there to protect them, but right now Hilltop needs me. Daryl grabs my shoulders, I peer over at him. His eyes survey my face. I wave him off, letting him know I'm okay.
I heard the talks of the fair for months now from both Hilltop and Ezekiel himself asking me to assist, with the possibility of finally coming out of hiding. I promised I would help set up, but couldn't offer an answer on attending. I guess, it's time to grace the rest of the communities with my presence. Here's to nothing, huh? Maybe I'll find Tara after this and ask her if I can get sent early to warn the Kingdom of the possible dangers travelers might face. I need to stop by the house, anyway, and pack up the last bit of our belongings. It looks like we are here to stay.
I lean against a wall outside of the cell, out of Lydia's line of sight, while Daryl drags over a chair, gesturing for her to continue on with telling him the story she started to tell Henry. I cross my arms, as she begins to paint an ugly image of her father, outing him as the abusive one, but the holes in her fairy tale are so large, I could navigate a fucking airplane through them. My eyes find Daryl's Georgian blue's observing the hostage. I sigh as his sight darkens as he catches on like I did. Oh, he's going to take this personal. He's been through abuse from a parental figure. We share the same scars, but from very different people. I return my attention to the empty dark space ahead of me, closing my eyes. I hope he doesn't explode. I've heard enough yelling from him to last me for the rest of the year, if not, longer. I'm not sure how much longer I can keep the biggest parts of my trauma behind the wall. I've gone almost four years without an episode. Though, I'm unsure if I can keep it back for much longer. The cracks are starting to cause the wall to crumble in various spots.
Daryl leaves briefly after the sounds of a small scuffle fill the stale air, returning with a branch within his grasp barely a few minutes later. He begins to peel the leaves from the stick with his back turned to me. However, I'm sure I don't need to see his face to know his expression. Quietly angry. He's calmly dismantling her story from the seams. "Ya know, some dads would come up with any excuse just to beat the shit out of their kids. Maybe they're drunk. Maybe they can't get drunk. Belts are good, but these assholes, they ain't picky. They'll use whatever's layin' 'round. But a good switch from a birch tree, that'll work. Your dad sounds a lot like one of those dads. Except the part where he sang to ya when ya were scared. Those dads... they like it when you're scared. Thing is, that's the only part of your story that didn't sound like bullshit. Now, ya knew exactly what this was when I walked down here. And those bruises on your arm, they come from a beatin'. So let me ask ya, if your dad's dead, who gave 'em to ya?"
"My mom." Lydia quietly admits.
"Where is she?" Daryl questions.
Lydia scoffs, "be glad you don't know."
"Where is she?" Daryl grounds out, "where's your camp? Why are ya protectin' her? You're safer here."
The teenager sneers, "this place isn't real. The world changed, and you're all acting like it's gonna change back. My mom walks 'cause that's what the dead do. It's their world, and we have to live in it. And what my mom does, she does for a reason."
"Your mom beat ya because she loves ya? That's bullshit."
"No, it isn't. When you stay soft, people die." I hang my head as Lydia retells the memory with the correct context. Her father died to protect her from a terrified, reanimated man that her mother killed in cold blood. I chew on my lip while my fingers twitch; I'd love to meet this woman. My head snaps up as I realize I'd do what I could to protect this little girl, knowing her group could possibly rain hell on our communities. I doubt it'll be as bad as Negan and his bullshit, but I digress. I know exactly what I am capable of. This woman wouldn't want to run into me in a dark alley.
"Ya were just a little girl. It wasn't your fault." Daryl whispers; I sense we are sharing the same thought process. We can't give her back to this woman; her blood would be on our hands. I rub my face in exasperation.
Lydia's small voice is laced with contempt. "I was stupid. I deserved to die. But my dad was soft, and now he's the one that's dead."
"What was he supposed to do? Just watch his little girl get bit?" Daryl grunts, growing annoyed with the logic that's been instilled in this teenager.
"When you can't bend, you break. He broke."
"That's not true." Daryl rebukes, "we're makin' it better. We're buildin' it back up again, changin' it back."
"Yeah? You don't belong with these people. Maybe you used to, but not anymore. You're hard, they're soft."
"Ya don't know shit 'bout me." Daryl growls, walking away from her cell. He stops in front of me, eyes dark from the conversation. I reach out, gripping his arm for a moment, lending some of my strength, frowning. I signal for him to leave before he loses control, letting him know that I'll take it from here.
"So tell me. Hey, I told you what happened to me. Tell me what happened to you," she calls out, but it falls on deaf ears.
I stalk into Lydia's view after Daryl takes his leave. I can tell he's battling his own demons of the past. We both are after listening to this woman's story. I lower myself into the chair while she observes me carefully. I lean forward, staring her down.
"What your mom did wasn't love." I begin, "I got lucky. My parents adored me, even if I was the family disappointment." I fiddle anxiously with my fingers. "I don't know what it's like to have a parent, who is supposed to protect you and keep you safe, turn their anger on you and lash out. That's abuse, little Lydia. But I can tell you this - I was with a man who beat me for the hell of it." My eyes darken at the memories. "He came back to haunt me in this new world. I barely got out alive. Because of that, I turned too hard... too cold."
"You're the woman they thought died." She breathes out. "Everyone seems to be scared of you."
"You are, too." I nod. "He's dead. I killed him. Cut pieces off of him, stabbed different parts of his body, and while he was still breathing... poured gasoline on him, lighting him on fire. I can still smell his flesh and hear his screams." I quietly admit. "Because I was too hard, I hurt everyone, including my husband."
"Daryl." I cock my head, confused. "I see how he looks at you. You soften him. That's -"
I smirk, interrupting her, "you're not the first person to pick up on that. Love is supposed to soften even the hardest of hearts. Daryl was a full time grumpy asshole before he met me. Now, he just has his grumpy moments. A part time grumpy asshole, if you will. Anyway, you speak about people being too soft for this world, but some people can be too hard for this world. Like my ex that I burnt alive. He killed my father in front of me. I was holding my dad in my arms while he pulled the trigger. I felt his last breath leave his body. I was forced to watch him rot away for months on end. He killed my sister and my brothers wife. He ruined a lot of people's lives for a stupid vendetta from our past life." Sighing, "I became too hard that I shut everyone out. I became a monster; a monster I still feel stirring in my soul. My husband missed out on his kids growing up. Last time he saw them they were just babies, now they are seven. He missed everything from the first words to first steps. My ex's actions turned me cold. It's a never ending cycle until someone breaks it. You have to be soft and hard in the right moments. You can't be just one."
"That's not true," she grounds out, baring her teeth. Anger and confusion distorting her innocent features.
Shaking my head, clicking my tongue against my teeth. "You clearly don't know me, or Daryl. Even after all this time that the three of us have spent together." I stalk out of the cellar, feeling like I accomplished absolutely nothing. I startle when I see Daryl leaning against the wall, watching me with an unreadable expression. I walk over, standing next to him, pulling out a cigarette.
"So ya still call me your husband." He grunts.
"I never stopped loving you, Dare. I know things are pretty much nonexistent between us, but we never formally broke up."
He smirks, "good. I told ya last night, ya are stuck with me. I ain't gonna stop remindin' ya 'bout that promise."
"Yeah but we got a lot of shit to work through, redneck. It goes way back before Owen took me."
"Yeah, I know. I heard Owen's dead." He quietly points out after a few beats of silence. I nod, casting my eyes downward. "Sounds like ya made him suffer. Good job."
"It still doesn't compare to everything he did and took away from me." I take a long drag off of the cigarette. "At least I'm not looking over my shoulder anymore."
"Ya ever gonna tell me what he did?" He quietly questions. "I'm sorry about your dad; he ain't right for takin' that from ya."
"It's okay. He allowed us to share our goodbyes." Just to rip him away from me, my face sours at the thought. "But I don't know if I can speak about the details. No one knows. Not even James and he was in the basement with me; just had a wall between us. It's been six years. If I haven't yet -"
"Well, when ya are ready to talk 'bout it; just holler. I'm gonna help ya work through it. We gotta make up for lost time." He smirks, blue eyes sparkling mischievously. "Can't bottle it up forever, or ya will explode, and I really like ya breathin' and stayin' at my side." I shrug unsure of how to continue, "there's somethin' I ain't told ya before." I tense, not knowing what he's going to confess, "I saw ya before Sophia went missin'." My eyes grow wide as I glance up in his direction. He what?