•grow through what you go through•
His name's Daryl and he's been out hunting. He does that, apparently. His brother's in the woods somewhere, doing his own tracking, and he'd found his way to the highway by following a deer.
"You seen a deer?" He asks, his eyes trail around the highway as if the deer is going to magically appear.
"Not lately."
He's sat on the ground, his left knee pulled up to his chest while his other leg rests on the concrete. He seems relaxed enough, despite his stiff posture when he opened the car door. The crossbow's abandoned on the road beside him.
"Ya been 'ere long?" He doesn't look at me as he speaks and keeps a watchful eye on the road.
People usually aren't up for much conversation these days. Usually they're more interested in taking what you've got. It's been too long since I've had even half a conversation with someone who didn't have the mind and body of a six year old. Sue me, I'm intrigued.
I shrug, leaning back in my seat, "Not too long. Been driving around a lot."
"Goin' any place?" Daryl fiddles with his trousers often when he's sat down. He's done it at least five times since perching himself next to the car.
Looking down at him, I shrug my shoulders, "Nowhere specific. Just moving around. You know how it is."
He nods, falling quiet again. He's definitely not the talkative type. I wouldn't usually mind — each to their own and all that— but I really really need to have a discussion with someone other than my daughter if I'm to keep my sanity.
"What about you?" I ask in a pitiful attempt to keep the conversation flowing, "You going anywhere?"
He scoffs, a quiet little noise that sounds soft despite it's intention, "Where's t'ere to go?"
Fair point.
It's cold tonight, a bitter kind of cold that bites at your skin. It's not particularly breezy but enough for me to wish I had a sweater.
Considering I wasn't going to sleep anyway, it's nice to have something to focus on to stay awake. I may not have coffee but I have a Daryl to keep me from letting the exhaustion take over. He's supposed to be hunting, I know, but I'm grateful for his presence all the same.
"It much trouble?" I send him a questioning glance and he continues, "Wit' her?" He looks pointedly at the back seat to indicate who he means.
Tilting my head against the headrest, I raise my eyebrows at him, "Trouble, how?"
"People give you much hassle?"
"About her? No. Met a few people who wanted more than what they had, but other than that we hadn't had any trouble." I glance in the side mirror, watching the trees sway in the slow breeze for a moment, "I don't think it's got to the point where people can stomach hassling someone with a kid. Not yet."
It's quiet for a bit. The silence stretches between us. It's not uncomfortable, exactly, but I'm so tired of not talking. People could never shut up, before. I hated it (yet another thing I took for granted), especially when my mother used to throw those unnecessarily grand parties and I'd had ten people trying to talk to me at once. What I wouldn't give to have ten people, at least, talking to me. You never know how much human interaction is worth until you have little to none.
Daryl keeps his head down, his eyes still avoiding mine. He doesn't seem uncomfortable but sometimes you can't tell. Some people have a much better control of how they present themselves than others. The moonlight reflects off of his skin, casting shadows on the ground around him.
"She keeps asking about going home." I'm not sure why I tell him that. It's not as if he's required to care. Maybe it's my pathetic need for conversation surging up again.
Daryl inclines his head to show that he's listening but doesn't reply. In fairness, what is he supposed to say?
I carry on, "She doesn't understand, you know? She's only young. She thinks it one big adventure — like a holiday. I don't know how to tell her otherwise. I don't know how to make her understand."
"She ain't gotta understand." He says quietly, his voice low and hushed as if he's trying not to wake her up, "Just gotta keep 'er safe."
"Harder than it looks, these days."
This isn't the world I imagined her growing up in, after all. I never expected her to have to grow up in a world where she has to defend herself with knives and guns. A world where she'll never know real trust, real love, real family. In this world she can't have any of the things that were available to her before.
Daryl clears his throat, "She's got her momma. Ain't nobody she's ever gonna love more than her momma. She don't need to understand the world right now as long as she's got you here to protect 'er."
I think that's the most he's said in one go since sitting down. I'm almost blown away. He's right, though. Her father never wanted anything to do with her, or me for that matter. My parents were extremely displeased; despite being divorced and arguing twenty-four-seven they could apparently agree on their mutual disappointment. Typical.
They can't agree on absolutely anything else but they manage to set aside their differences long enough to spend every Christmas torturing me over the lack of father figure in my kids life.
It's always just been me and Bonnie, right from the start. My parents were happy to throw money at us and do absolutely nothing else. It was just me doing it on my own and I think I did damn well. I managed to keep a steady pay check coming in and look after her at the same time. I've kept her safe this far, why can't I do it some more?
Granted, the game's changed. Somebody changed the rules and forgot to give me the hand book. In the old world, protecting your child meant holding their hand while crossing the street. It meant making sure they are alright and keeping them away from dangerous people and all the things that could hurt them. In this world... it's so much more. There's a whole new range of danger to protect them from, a whole new set of people that could hurt them. Now, protecting your child is life or death; for the both of you. It's not enough to love them with every inch of your being. You have to be willing to die in their place. You have to be willing to do horrendous things in order to keep them safe. Horrific things. You have to be ready to be the kind of person society would have condemned before the outbreak happened and sometimes... sometimes you won't have it in you.
"It's different now." I sigh, "The game's changed."
He hums in agreement, his fingers fiddling with his trousers again. I wonder, for a second, if he's got anywhere to be. I know he said he's not going anywhere specific but he mentioned his brother. Will he be looking for him? Is he needed anywhere else? I wonder if he has a group or if it's just him and his brother.
Then I notice the ring on his fourth finger. It's not shiny but quite clearly silver, so it must've been worn for a while without polishing.
"Married?" I mostly ask because I'm nosy. Mother always told me I wouldn't be able to keep my mouth shut even if I sewed my lips together. Although, my mother was always more inclined towards the old fashioned way of thinking and the idea that you're supposed to see your kids and not hear them.
He looks up at me then, confusion filling those light blue eyes at my question. I take it, from his expression, that he's not actually married. After all, no married man would get that look on his face after being asked about said marriage. They may get defensive but hardly confused.
I take pity on his expression, "Your ring." I say, hoping those two words are explanation enough.
Realisation sinks into his features then, "Oh. 'm not married. It was a birthday present, years ago. Some idiot I used to know got my ring size wrong, t'at finger's the only one it fit."
"It's very nice." What else do you say to something like that?
He shrugs, "Pro'lly stolen."
I choke on a laugh, although I'm not really sure why. Perhaps it was the blunt nature of his statement or the way he fearlessly wears a ring he suspects is stolen. Maybe it's the absurdity of the whole situation.
"That happen a lot? People giving you stolen gifts?" I ask, smiling at him down at him instinctively.
He watches me for a moment, his eyes trailing every inch of my face as if trying to unlock a secret I didn't even know I had.
"More often than it pro'lly should." The admission forces my smile wider.
"You keep presents you think are stolen?" Honestly, the whole thing's mental to me. Surely you'd get rid of them. Or, at least, give them to someone else in the hopes the theft won't be traced back to you.
He shrugs, "T'ey're nice. Didn't get a lot a' nice stuff."
"Hey, you won't hear no judgement from me." I grin, "If the rest of the presents were half as nice as that ring of yours then it's no surprise you kept them."
A gust of cold air makes the hairs on the back of my neck stand up. Goosebumps appear on my skin.
"Nah," Daryl scoffs, his lips curling up slightly, "T'is was one a' the nice ones. S'why I kept it."
Bonnie sleeps peacefully in the back seat while we sit and chat. It's strange. She usually wakes up to the slightest noise. She's a light sleeper even though she's quiet. When she was little I'd have to keep the television turned down real low in case she could hear it from her bedroom. It'd wake her up and then she wouldn't sleep again.
Daryl's nice enough. He's really nice, actually. He looks a little rough around the edges and his posture's generally a little stiff around the shoulders but he's alright. He's so obviously redneck, that's for sure, but he's not the arrogant type — I can tell. What you get is not what you'd expect from a guy that presents himself the way he does. He's literally the personified version of 'don't judge a book by its cover'.
"Anyone missing you?" I ask, tilting my head to see him better, "You mentioned your brother. I hope I'm not keeping you."
He shakes his head, "He disappears for days at a time most months anyway. Don't see why now would be any different. Ain't nowhere I gotta be."
A small smile finds its way onto my face — only god knows why, let's not think much on it — as I lower my gaze to the carpet of the car floor. That there's an opening. One I'd be stupid to pass up. I'm lonely, and let's face it, absolutely no match for anyone that decides to come looking for a fresh car. Call me selfish but I'll forever be an opportunist.
"You wanna come in here?" Okay, probably not the best way to phrase that. I clarify in a less suggestive way, "I mean, it's freezing outside. You might as well sit in the passenger seat to keep the heat in the car."
He studies me for a bit. He looks like he's thinking it over, glancing from me to the woods, to Bonnie in the back seat, and back again. I can see how this looks. We've known each other less that twelve hours and I'm inviting him into my car. A car with my child in it.
Christ, I must seem like an amateur. I promise I'm not usually this stupid. There's just something about Daryl that relaxes me and makes me want to let my guard down.
"A'ight." Daryl nods slowly, his hand reaching to pick up the crossbow beside him.
He pushes himself up from the road, straightening his legs out before he pauses. He bites the inside of his cheek, staring at the car until he, apparently, makes up his mind and starts to walk around it.
I shut the door, instantly blocking out the cold. It's refreshing. Certainly much nicer feeling the warmth against my skin instead of bitter wind.
It takes him a few seconds but eventually the passenger door opens and he slips inside. He looks too big for this car. His shoulders and height take up most of the passenger side space. His crossbow is tucked in front of the his legs, just about fitting underneath the dashboard. Despite the height to space ratio, he doesn't seem too out of place in here. More like, he's supposed to take up all that space.
"See? Much warmer." I say, mainly to fill the silence.
He looks up at the rear view mirror, "She gon' be alright? Wit' me in here and everythin'."
It's nice of him to be concerned. Most people wouldn't be. He makes it sound like he'd rather sit outside in the cold than be an inconvenience to my six year old.
"She's fine," I promise, lifting a hand to run my fingers along the steering wheel, "She's very... oblivious to most things. It's unlikely she'll notice you're even here until I bring it up."
"S'that good?"
I shrug, staring at the highway ahead of us, "It can be, but it can also make things difficult. It's kind of a... a give and take."
"She don't understand what's goin' on, but she don't have to feel the weight of it." Daryl says, glancing back at her again.
Nodding, I smile a little, glad that he's understood, "Exactly."
I lean my head back against the seat, letting out a sigh. I'm so tired. By the looks of him, Daryl is too. Daryl looks like he's been tired for a while.
I turn my head to look at him, "You holding up anywhere? Supplies and things?"
His eyebrow raises, "Why, you wan'em?" He's joking — I hope anyway.
"No I don't want them." I roll my eyes.
"Ain't anywhere. Told ya. Got ma crossbow, that's 'bout it." Daryl shrugs: his leather vest squeaks as his shoulders move.
I nod, trying to come up with a reply. If I'm honest, I can't believe Bonnie hasn't woken up yet. All those years of watching the television with a volume of ten and she's sleeping through this?
"You're welcome to sleep," I tell him, closing my eyes; momentarily, I swear, "If you're tired."
"I'm a'ight." He replies quietly, "I'll keep watch."
I'm extremely grateful, I am, but I feel sort of selfish. I invited him into the car to stay warm and now he's offering to watch over us both. I don't want him to think I only invited him in to get something out of him.
"S'ok." I protest but my eyes won't open the way I want them to, "I can stay up."
I hear him laugh; a thick, rich sound that fills my ears sweetly. In my tired state I don't have the energy to ignore the warmth that spreads through me at that sound. It's lovely in the way things aren't lovely anymore. Certainly not the type of sound I expected to hear from Daryl, that's for sure.
"Go to sleep." He says, pausing for a moment, "I don't think ya told me your name, by the way."
Didn't I? I wrack my brain for any recollection of telling him my name and come up empty. Huh. I guess I didn't tell him my name. That seems ridiculous, that I could tell him about my kid and let him in my car but somehow forget to tell him my name.
"Honey." I reply sleepily, "My name's Honey."
I think I hear him say something along the lines of 'figures' but I'm asleep before I can think too much about it.