Daryl inhaled the flavored smoke of his cigarette and felt it burn in his chest. The group had stopped for the night and made camp among a cluster of old walls, probably the remains of a house or bunker. He decided to stay near his bike so that the smoke wouldn't bother anyone. Daryl exhaled and watched the white puff disappear into the night air.
He hadn't smoked in a while. Thoughts of quitting even started to fester in his mind. But she was gone, and none of that mattered anymore. If Daryl was smoking, then at least he could focus on that and not on the hopeless feeling that wouldn't leave his stomach.
He glanced down and saw that the cigarette was almost burned to the filter. He had two more left. Instead of tossing it to the dirt and putting it out with his boot, the hunter pressed it into his hand. Daryl grunted and clenched his teeth together as the searing pain burned his skin.
I deserve this.
When he was done, Daryl tossed it to the side. He grabbed his crossbow from the back of his bike and felt it catch on something. He frowned and pulled harder. It gave away, and Charlotte's bag tumbled over and landed on the dirt, some of the contents inside spilling out. He picked up a grey jacket and dusted it off before stuffing it back inside. It still smelled like her.
Her notebook had also fallen out. It landed face up with its pages exposed to the world. Daryl took it in his hands and brought out his lighter. Under the small flame, he read paragraphs of her writing. A lot of it was in a language he didn't understand. Intricate drawings of different plants accompanied the text. She never mentioned that she was an artist.
If she were still around, Daryl never would have dreamed of reading her journal without her permission. But she wasn't.
Daryl turned the page and felt his heart skip a beat. An unfinished sketch of a Cherokee rose took up most of the page. Next to it, was an inked drawing of himself looking off to the side with a cigarette in his mouth. At the bottom of the page, his name was written in her handwriting.
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He slammed the book shut and shoved it into the backpack. His throat tightened, and an unbearable ache exploded in his chest. He fastened the backpack underneath his own so that he wouldn't have to see it for the time being. Daryl could hear his brother's voice in his head.
What's wrong little brother? You gonna cry like a little bitch? Huh?
Daryl bit down hard on his cheek and didn't stop until he tasted blood. He spit on the ground and pulled out another cigarette.
He deserved all of this.
✯✯✯
I stayed on the highway for a week.
Rick took the food that Carol set out for Sophia in case she found her way back. That was before we knew she was dead. She must've forgotten to tell him about the extra cans and water bottles under the passenger's seat, because when I looked, they were still there.
