When all were asleep, and darkness overcrowded the light - could I walk.
Only when people were inactive could I walk amongst them, but around and stepping over.
The blanket that gathered at my waist curled in my fingers, scratchy under my soft fingertips. I pulled it higher to be around my shoulders, the cold chill fluttering from my skin and a warmness searing there. It was an odd feeling.
My knees cracked as I slid up the tree I was leaning against, having to stop for a moment when my hair caught against the rough bark.
The grass was cool under my bare feet, sending chills up my legs and to my spine where an ache had set in. Sitting against a tree in the open air was no good for muscles or bones but I still did it.
Walking closer to the shed, it was eerily quiet. There wasn't even the crickets chirping like they did most nights, and it was so still most nights you could hear the river not far from the farm; the one that Daryl said he had fallen down. The little drips knocking through your ears like a badly made tap.
It was still... still. Just incredibly quiet, like someone had turned down the volume of the world for one night.
The shed seemed to be not guarded, but as I got closer, there was the telltale trail of white smoke trailing upwards by the door. On top of that, the wood of the shed seemed to give off a steam which I was certain was a trick of my eyes. The moonlight shooting through it. It reminded me of when you were in an enclosed space, and there was one crack that burst that space and a beam came through. You could see the dust falling through it, and it made your eyes hurt.
I clutched the blanket closer to me, the end of it dragging on the ground behind me.
I soon regretted not putting on some shoes when the path I was taking became riddled with small stones and caused me to have to tiptoe further.
He looked utterly bored, but I had to say the darkness suited him. His back rested against the rotting wood, one arm tucked around him, the other holding a cigarette between his index and middle finger. His eyes were shadowed because he had his head down, looking at me approaching him.
He blinked slowly, and I did it back. A word wasn't spoken between us as he took he space to his left, watching as he took another drag of his cigarette, the ash falling by my feet causing me to shuffled away from him slightly.
"Lovely," I muttered, giving him a smile he most definitely did not return.
He didn't say anything to me but I could tell he had a lot stored away inside his head to throw at me. All the insults that only suited me, the names, the orders. Everything Daryl ever said to me - I never felt like he was lying.
Except only a few times, but people are allowed to lie once in a while.
"They've got you guarding that piece of shit like a guard dog, Daryl," I stated evenly, watching him at the corner of my eye. "You don't have to follow Rick."
He stood from the wall, taking a few steps away from me so that his back was facing me. The wings on his leather vest were highlighted in the moonlight, and I wanted to get closer and admire the stitching.
I slid down the wall, the wood most probably giving me, at least, one splinter on my back. The ground below me was uneven and I took a moment to listen in on the boy inside. His breathing was slightly erratic and panicked. He sounded like he had been crying.
"Can I have one?" I called to Daryl, hoping he would come and sit down beside me.
He looked over his shoulder, eyeing me with a questionable look.
"One of those," I gestured to the cigarette in his hand and he finally caught on. He scoffed, shaking his head and blowing out the smoke I wanted to consume.
I had never smoked before, but I didn't doubt that I had somehow gotten second-hand just from being around Daryl, or the people back at 'The Castle'. There wasn't really a "no smoking" rule there when there really should have been. It only added to the concealed nature of what went on inside that club, among the strobe lights and fog. Sometimes you could hardly see your clients or your fellow girls.
"Please," I asked once again, taking my hand and running it through my hair, giving my scalp a massage for a relentless headache I was destined to get from my haywire sleeping schedule.
"They'll kill ya'," he argued, walking closer to me. He was now facing me, and I had to strain my neck to look him in the eyes.
"That's not a really good argument since, you're smoking them now," I smirked. I licked my lips, watching as he was trying his best not to talk to me.
"No," he said gruffly, not looking me in the eyes. He was a fair bit away from me as he, himself, sat down against the shed.
I crossed my legs, taking my hands and placing them on the ground to lift myself closer to him. Even when his face showed the least emotions, he still looked annoyed as hell.
Everything inside of me was screaming to apologize, or say something that wasn't teasing or mean towards him - but I found it hard, for some reason. So I started out small, wringing my hands together in my lap, where the blanket I had gathered.
I took a deep breath before talking. "Sorry, then." It felt weird to be apologising when I didn't want to. I felt like I deserved a million apologies from everyone, not necessarily the group - but a damn lot of people.
And I could probably name them all.
I paused before looking at him. He'd stopped smoking and looked at me with a confused stare.
"For telling you that you'll end up alone," I explained. "Let's be real here, between us, I'll be the one ending up alone." I looked around us for a moment, taking in the scenery that was hardly visible, only to look at him again and find that he hadn't moved his stony look away from me.
I visibly swallowed.
"Or better yet," I whispered. "Dead."
"Don't," he said immediately after. "Just... don't."
"What?" I asked, my eyes glistening. My breaths were heavy and I bit my bottom lip before continuing. "I don't deserve what you do." I shook my head, hair falling in my eyes and going between my eyelashes. It hurt slightly but I didn't wipe it away. "You deserve so much better than my company."
"Is this you tryin' to apologise," he sighed, finishing off his cigarette and stamping it out on the ground beside him.
"Kinda," I whispered again. My voice hurt from the screaming, drinking, and yelling. "I was only lying about you, to you, to hurt you."
"And then I realised you don't deserve it. But you're the only person I'm going to say sorry to. Everyone on this goddamn farm can--"
"Marls," he interrupted.
I looked to him, the words sucked back into my throat and hanging on the edge of my tongue. He had another cigarette between his fingers, pointed towards me.
"Really?"
He simply dropped it in my lap and shuffled around his pockets, patting his chest until he found a lighter - dropping that in my lap.
"Don't ever ask again," he growled. He was obviously territorial over his smokes, and I could tell that it was a real internal battle on considering to give me one. "Ever."
I nodded, carefully picking up the death-stick.
I had never smoked before, and I was always the person so adamant to keep it that way. Amongst other things like pretty girls with tempting white lines beside them, along with even prettier girls breathing hot, sizzling air onto your tongue before kissing you.
I missed being surrounded by pretty girls but the vices that came with those cushioned and colourful rooms was not what I needed any more.
They used to be a slight comfort, even if I was sober and covered in toxic skin-on-skin action.
Now when I was trying to find better comforts, I was failing, and it was shown through the tobacco that was hanging between my teeth.
I had seen people do it before, especially after the long rides sitting beside Daryl - it seemed that smoke was a familiar image in the best and worst ways.
I turned on the lighter, bringing it to the end of the cigarette whilst sucking in any air I could.
"You ever smoked one before?" Daryl prodded, his voice shocking me and causing the lighter to drop onto my lap and burn my thumb in the process.
"Ah, you-- ah," I hissed, putting my thumb in my mouth to try and neutralise the crawling bacteria-like stinging that was spreading across my fingerprint.
I turned to him for the millionth time that night. I lifted an eyebrow and he looked oblivious as to why I did that.
He got my goddamn thumb burnt.
"No," I admitted spitefully. I picked up the lighter again only for him to snatch it from my much smaller hands and pull out his own cigarette, placing it between his lips, and lighting it within seconds like a pro.
"Like that," he said simply, not really giving the best instructions.
I huffed, holding out my hand for him to give the lighter back. And he did, placing it at the start of my fingers and trailing his own to the end of them. He watched me intently, waiting for me to do something. And I did, imitating him as best I could only for me to break out into a spluttering cough.
It burned - which was a cliché way of describing it, but it was true. My lungs felt like they had been skinned. That told me that I was probably doing it all wrong but I didn't know how. It tasted like burnt leather, and my sinuses tingled and I felt like I needed to sneeze.
In short, it was kind of awful.
But my chest felt warm like I had just taken a gulp of wine, the cigarette was hot between my fingers in an otherwise chilly setting.
I saw him at the corner of my eye, watching me intently.
Daryl seemed unimpressed.
"Whatever," I mumbled, balancing the cigarette between my lips, the smoke coming from my tongue and nose. "I meant it, by the way."
"Meant what?" His eyes glided themselves over the expansion of my face. I didn't think he knew I could tell that he was watching my eyes, cheeks, nose, and lips.
"You're not gonna end up alone," I smiled for what felt like the first time in a long while that my lips curved for a good reason. "You're gonna make someone a wonderful husband one day, Daryl."
I, of course, wasn't accustomed to the idea of someone else being with him. I felt almost territorial about it - I had always felt that about him. Like I needed to keep him away from people who might play with his emotions and take him for granted. It wasn't my place to do so, but if someone took him for a fool and made him do things he didn't want to or someone led him on, I don't think I could refrain myself from getting involved.
I looked to him, and he immediately turned his head away.
"Are you even listening to me?" I asked quietly, sucking in a breath.
He simply coughed which I took as a very annoyed "no".
We sat there for a moment, basking in the silence and scent of burning tobacco. Daryl took more drags of his whilst I went at it like a picky child with their food, interchanging hands and staring at the burning end for long moments at a time.
"Do you think I'm a bad person?" I whispered, suddenly feeling like there was something stuck in my throat. I could breathe, but it felt like someone had their hands placed around my throat, seconds away from pressing their thumbs down on my windpipe. I didn't like that feeling, it made me feel weak. "Daryl?"
I wanted a worded answer from him since those were always more sincere.
My eyes were level with his shoulder, and I looked up to him, licking my dry lips. The cigarette in my hand brushed the back of my thumb and left a searing sensation there.
His eyes were hooded when they met mine, and I could hardly see the blue of his iris. I saw his adam's apple bob before he spoke.
"You ain' bad, Marls," he whispered, and the sincerity in just voice struck a cord within me. "The bad things just keep finding ya'."
"You really believe what you just said?"
"I ain' gonna say it again," he said back quickly, a sharp tone in his voice, turning away from me and placing the cigarette back between his teeth and letting his tongue tilt it ever so often.
That reminded me of mine, and I took one last, long drag of it before putting it out on the ground, feeling guilty for wasting one of Daryl's cigarettes when he could have had it himself.
I bit the side of my tongue, watching the end of his own sizzle and decay whenever he sucked in his cheeks. His arms were rested atop his knees and his chest rose and fell in such a steady manner than I was jealous. His eyes faced downwards towards the floor, so I could see the purplish veins scattering his eyelids, that were hooded so you really had to be looking to see them.
He must have seen me selfishly staring because he ended up looking back for a while. I honestly hadn't noticed since I was busy mapping out the faint lines that painted his stubble covered cheeks.
I licked my lips, the faint taste of tobacco still coating them and being similar to that of soap.
Instead of looking away I decided to speak. "I helped Shane kill Otis." My voice was just below a whisper as if I was surrounded by a thousand people and I only wanted him to hear.
There was a silence that seeped into my skin after that, the veins in my eyes burning as I tried to keep them open and focused on his to try and spot any faults within him - so that I could genuinely know if he felt like I wasn't a bad person.
He let out a heavy sigh. "I know."
That fact did not seem to affect him at all. He saw what I was - in every light - and he seemed indifferent. I didn't know how he could do that, compared to everyone else.
I looked away from him, over to the lock that was hooked on the door of the shed.
When turned my head, towards Daryl again, he wasn't looking at me anymore.
I took my arm away from being tangled within my blanket, swerving it in the space between Daryl's back and the surface of the wall. The side of my thumb grazed his waist, my wrist feeling the fabric of his leather vest and the messy stitching that held it together. As my arm lowered, I heard Daryl's breath stop for a moment, then resuming in the quietest fashion.
My cheek was pressed against his shoulder, the heat of him rubbing off on me and soothing my tired eyes as I closed them, and I felt my eyelashes press against his jacket.
I got to his hips, my knees coming up in front of me and my ankles pressing against his thigh. When my fingers pressed against the pocket of his trousers, I stopped, my knuckles bumping against the holster of his knife.
I heard him suck in a breath from above me. "I'm gonna take a piss," he announced, abruptly leaning forward and getting up from the ground. He left me feeling cold and empty. A feeling you felt when you needed someone and they just weren't there.
My arm stayed in the position it was, my fingers curling, keeping my hand absolutely still.
I watched Daryl turn the corner, walking away. I also felt the cold metal on the skin of my palm, the end of the old key sticking into it.
I felt absolute, fucking guilt.
But it was my turn.
I quickly stood up, abandoning the blanket, going to the door and messing with the lock and key until it opened. The hinge luckily didn't creek, and I slipped in, thankful I hadn't put on my loud boots before coming here. I took out Daryl's lighter, flicking it on and walking further to the young man that was huddled next to the wall, a handcuff scorching his wrist.
He seemed to be sleeping, but with my daunting footsteps he came to.
"Wha-who? Who's there," he whispered, anxiety lacing his voice.
I crouched down on one knee, the lighter in my hand and it's wavering flame seeming to be Randall's focus point. "You don't need to know my name, Randall."
My eyes had all their emotions wiped away from them, replaced with pent up rage and a weird sense of desire - and not the good kind.
His breaths quickened as I brought the lighter closer to his face. He backed away as far as he could against the wall and when he tried to talk again, I switched to lighter off and took his chin in my hands, jerking him forward.
"Listen here," I hissed. "I don't like you. I have a gut feeling that you're not worth anyone's trouble. And I also have a feeling that I'm correct. I just came in here to give you a little pep talk and a few select words you should pay really close attention to."
"If you've met me then that means that you're not making it out of this situation alive."
His eyes were wide and scared, welling up as he shook in my grasp. The only sound then was his heavy and panicked breathing, my own, and the clattering of his handcuff against the metal pipe it was connected to.
"And sweetheart... you've already met me twice."
My thumb stung as I flicked the lighter on again, just as it was placed near the skin on the underside of his chin.
He yelped out in pain, but before he could make any more sound I shoved him back against the wall. I heard his spine bounce against the wood, and I stood and turned back to the door. I walked briskly away from his pathetic whimpers and small concentrated cries - and the darkness that he would sleep in, to the moonlit dirt landscape.
And he was there, arms by his sides, palms inwards as he watched me step down from the ledge and to the height he was used to seeing me at.
The keys jangled in the air as I took steady steps towards him, so close that I could feel his hot breath fanning over the top of my head.
I took his hand in mine, placing the keys and his lighter there, and closing his calloused fingers over them. I stood on my toes, to where my nose was almost level with his and I spoke a quiet decibel for only us to hear, ever.
"This'll be our little secret."
+
lol marley u sneaky fucker - swerving daryl to snatch those keys
i need to come back and edit this because it's an utter mess but i'm tired and i drank last night and got turnt - fun times.
i'm not even going to talk about sunday and if you say anything about it in the comments or even tell me how you fucking felt or about next sunday i will unpublish this book i am not fucking playing here i will call you out to all my followers and then you will know that this is not a fucking game
also new cover - you like?
- sylar