David went back to Daryl and Merle's camp about half an hour later, Rosie right behind him.
Merle glanced at David's knuckles, checking for any sign of blood or bruising, and felt relieved when he came up empty. It didn't mean that David definitely didn't do anything to the girl, but it still eased Merle's suspicions. He didn't think David would be an asshole like his own dad, but that didn't stop him from wondering.
He didn't think Daryl would be paying any attention to anything either. As far as Merle knew, Daryl hadn't had the exact same experiences as he did. Merle didn't know much, though.
Daryl, knowing very well what a father could do with his belt, paid close attention to Rosie as she walked behind her father. She had tear stains on her cheeks, but no bruising or blood. When David sat down on his crate and began cooking pieces of rabbit, Rosie kept walking.
"Where you goin', lil' darlin'? Ain't gonna tell us why you punched that boy?" Merle asked with a smirk. Rosie didn't get what he found so amusing about it all.
"Walk," was all Rosie said, her voice scratchy and quiet.
What she meant to say was I'm going on a walk, but she didn't feel like talking, so she settled with a one word answer. She was afraid that if she spoke, she'd just burst into tears and break down right then and there.
Daryl paid close attention to the way that Rosie walked, noticing right away that it was off. It was stiff, as if she was trying hard not to move too much or too quickly. Her head was down, her blonde hair falling over her face, and she kept tugging at the back of her shirt, pulling it away from herself.
He eyed David to see if he paid any attention to the strange way Rosie was acting, but he didn't seem to care at all, completely focused on cooking the meat. Something in Daryl's stomach made him want to get up and go with her.
"Shouldn't be goin' out there on your own with the dead ones walkin' 'round," Daryl decided on saying. Rosie just shrugged and kept walking.
"She's fine," David said, rolling his eyes at what Daryl said.
"How old is she, like, seven? Ain't safe for a-"
"Nine. Don't matter either way. She knows how ta take care of herself. I didn' raise no pussy. Kid can survive a walk in the woods," David grunted out.
Daryl glanced over at Rosie once more. She was already disappearing into the trees. He looked at Merle, and Merle just shook his head. So they went on, cooking the meat.
Rosie walked and walked and walked, and with each step she took, she felt like she was cracking. She kept thinking about her dad and how much she hated him. She thought about how much she hated him and how much she loved him and how much she hated that she loved him. It was all so confusing. She felt stupid and helpless and unsure of what to do.
It was like she was a glass of water, one crack away from breaking open and flooding the world with her tears. And when she was far enough away to be sure that her father wouldn't hear her, she let herself.
Tears poured from her eyes and cries erupted from her throat, even if she tried staying quiet. She began to feel weak and dropped down to her knees before holding her head in her hands, pressing the heels of her palms into her eyes as if it would stop the tears.
The burning sensation on her back seemed to get worse as her body heated up with anger and frustration. She slammed her hands against her head, trying to get herself to calm down, but it wasn't working. She shrieked as her breathing was so quick and fast paced that she began to feel light headed.
Suddenly, all Rosie's sadness morphed back into anger and she stood back up. She turned to her right and the first thing she saw was a tree. She brought herself towards it and began punching it over and over and over again, savoring the satisfaction the hit gave her and the sting of her knuckles as they hit against the tree trunk, scraping onto the bark. The heat and anger released itself from her body as she expelled it onto the tree in front of her.
Rosie's breathing started to calm and she looked down at the bloody backs of her hands, feeling sad once again. She slid down against the tree and pulled her knees up to her chest, burying her face in them. And she stayed like that for what felt like ages.
In reality, Rosie was in the woods for about an hour. As she walked back to camp, she wiped her eyes with the sleeves of her flannel, hoping to hide any evidence whatsoever that she was crying. She didn't care about the mess she made on her knuckles, her father didn't give a shit if she went out punching trees. But crying? Crying wasn't allowed.
She liked that the pain in her knuckles distracted her from the pain on her back. At least she chose for the pain in her knuckles herself, rather than it being a punishment from her father- a reminder of whatever she'd done wrong.
When Rosie returned to camp, her father wasn't where she saw him last. The only people outside the Dixons' tent were the Dixons. She glanced at them, almost asking them where her dad went, but she decided against it and started walking away.
"Yer daddy left ya some food," Merle suddenly spoke. Rosie turned around quickly, surprised. Merle nodded towards a small paper plate with some cut up pieces of meet that was placed on the crate David had been sitting on. "Eat it. It's prob'ly cold a'ready, after ya took yer hour long walk or whatever the hell ya were doin' out there," Merle said, looking back down at his own food.
Hesitantly, Rosie stepped over and picked the plate up, taking a seat on the crate it was previously placed on. She picked up the small pieces of meat, taking her time. She wasn't even sure if she wanted to go find her dad, so she procrastinated making a decision on what to do.
The sun was already almost fully down, so she'd have to go to bed soon, but she wasn't sure if she wanted to face her dad yet. But she also thought that maybe her dad wasn't too angry anymore, considering he apparently left her food. She found it very hard to believe that he would do that; he had never left her food before. She either ate when he was making food, or she had to fend for herself. But she didn't want to ask about it and tell Merle she thought he was lying, because what good would that do?
"What happened to yer hands?" Merle randomly asked, making Rosie look up from her plate again. Since when did Merle ever want to talk to her?
"Nothin'," Rosie murmured, looking back down at her food.
"Whole lotta nothin'," she heard Merle mutter. It was silent for maybe another minute, the three of them just eating their food. But then Merle decided he was sick of it. "So why'd ya punch that boy?" he asked. Rosie looked up again, her eyebrows furrowed.
"Merle," Daryl muttered, glaring at his brother.
Merle just laughed. "What, Darlina? Ya gotta problem?" he asked. Daryl just rolled his eyes and scoffed. "Ya punch somebody, ya oughta have a damn good reason to. So what'd he do, girlie?"
Rosie glared at him for a moment before breaking eye contact and actively avoiding it as she spoke. "Was talkin' shit 'bout my daddy."
"Ya tell yer daddy that?" Merle asked, amused with the girl's answer.
"No. He wouldn't care. I did somethin' I wasn't s'posed to. That's all he cares 'bout," Rosie replied, mumbling out that last part.
Daryl eyed her suspiciously. She was still tugging on her shirt every couple of minutes, which he thought was strange, but decided to leave it alone. Merle finally noticed it too, but he decided he wasn't gonna leave it alone. "Yer shirt too small or somethin'?" he speculated.
"What?"
"Ya keep tuggin' on yer shirt like somethin's wrong with it."
Rosie was beyond confused. She didn't think anyone payed any attention to her- let alone noticed her in the first place- and especially the Dixons. Why would Merle Dixon give a shit if some kid's shirt was too small for them?
"Oh," was all she said, not wanting to explain why she was doing that. She wasn't doing it intentionally; she didn't even know she was doing it in the first place, not until he brought it up.
"Well? If it's too small, 'm sure someone else got some clothes that'll fit ya somewhere," Merle suggested. Rosie didn't say anything, unsure of what she could say. "There's that short haired lady, she's got a daughter, don't she?"
Rosie knew he was talking about Carol and her daughter, Sophia. Carol had offered her clothes before, but she always refused, knowing her dad probably wouldn't like it.
"My clothes fit fine," she said quietly. Honestly, if anything was wrong with her clothes, it was that they were too big, but Rosie wasn't one to complain.
"Then why d'ya keep screwin' with 'em?"
"I don't know."
Merle scoffed at that and Daryl was still silent. He knew what Merle was trying to figure out- of course he knew- but he wasn't sure if basically dragging it out of the kid was the right way to go about it, especially if she obviously wasn't in the right state of mind. The girl whole-heartedly believed that her father was a good man. Daryl just didn't see her coming out and saying that her dad hurt her. They weren't even sure about it yet, anyway.
"Ya don't know?" Merle questioned with a sarcastic laugh. "Hell's wrong with ya then?" Rosie didn't say anything, kicking her right foot against her left. "Spit it out, girlie. Ain't got all day."
"Jus' stings," Rosie mumbled out, so quietly that Daryl and Merle could barely make out what she even said. The two brothers made eye contact briefly before looking back at the girl.
"Yer back?"
"Mhm," Rosie hummed.
"Why?"
"Got in trouble. Ya a'ready know that," Rosie answered. She took one more bite of her food before getting up and placing the empty plate on the crate. "Thanks," she said before walking away, leaving the Dixon brothers in silence.
Daryl looked over at Merle to see him staring forward, thinking. "What the hell'd ya do that for? Ain't nothin' we can do 'bout it," Daryl said, eyeing his brother with confusion and annoyance. It was very out of character for him to give a shit about anyone but himself, especially if there was no way to fix whatever problem someone was having.
"There's lots we can do 'bout it, baby brother," Merle said as he pulled a cigarette out of his pocket and lit it. "Beat the shit outta the bastard, or kill 'im," Merle suggested, making Daryl scoff.
"Yeah, an' get our asses kicked outta this camp? An' make that kid an orphan? Better ta jus' leave it alone," Daryl grumbled, standing up to go into the tent.
"Better ta just let that asshole beat that lil' girl bloody? She don't even get that it ain't right," Merle responded, sounding irritated with Daryl's response.
"Since when do you care 'bout some lil' girl?"
Merle scoffed at his brother's question, and brushed it off. "Douchebag's been pissin' me off lately, anyway. Goin' huntin' with 'im tomorrow mornin'. I'll knock the bastard's teeth in, see if he touches that girl again," he spat before taking a puff of his cigarette.
Daryl turned back to his brother, his eyebrows pinched together with confusion. He didn't understand what the hell was going through Merle's head.
"Whatever, man. Somethin's wrong in yer head," he muttered, going into the tent. He wanted to kick the bastard's teeth in just as much as Merle did, but he had the sense to know that it wasn't going to fix the problem and that it would probably just make it worse.
When Rosie walked away from the Dixon brothers, she felt conflicted. She wasn't sure whether she hated them or liked them. One of them obviously had left a plate of food for her, because she knew for a fact her daddy wouldn't do that. But they also wouldn't mind their own business. She was always taught that you have to keep your punishments secret, or else other people would know that you were bad. The Dixons didn't seem to care about that rule. They were just nosy, she guessed. They didn't seem to care yesterday, though.
Rosie was headed towards her and David's tent when she spotted Carl sitting by the fire next to Shane and Lori. Guilt flooded her insides when she remembered how she'd punched him. He didn't have any bruises, his nose was just a little bit swollen, but it was barely noticeable. Still, Rosie felt bad. She walked over to him and stopped a few feet away, holding her hands behind her back and nervously kicking at the dirt.
"I'm real sorry for hittin' you," she admitted quietly.
"It's ok," Carl said, looking up at her with raised eyebrows.
"Did ya get in trouble?" Rosie asked nervously.
Carl now furrowed his eyebrows with confusion. "Why would I get in trouble? I didn't do anything."
Rosie furrowed her eyebrows with confusion this time. "When I got hit at school an' had ta go home early for it, I got inta trouble. You didn't?"
"No..." Carl said as if it were obvious.
"Oh," Rosie mumbled, "well, um, sorry. Bye." With that, Rosie quickly walked away towards her tent, leaving Carl, Lori, and Shane confused by the fire.