A frigid breeze swept through the rundown cabin that temporarily housed the group. Glenn stumbled across it while pissing in the woods and Rick gave his approval for the night. Daryl lingered in his usual spot, the place furthest away from everyone, next to a rickety door held shut by an empty wooden crate.
Daryl reached into Charlotte's bag and pulled out her journal, opening it to the spot where he last left off.
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Daryl quickly hid the journal at the sound of footsteps. Carol approached him timidly.
"Hey," she greeted softly.
Daryl gave a little nod.
"Maggie was wondering if Beth could have one of Charlotte's sweaters. She's really cold."
A twinge of disgust sprouted in Daryl's stomach and he frowned.
"What happened to her's?"
"She says it doesn't fit her right," Carol shifted uncomfortably.
"She ain't a little girl. She can find her own jacket," Daryl spat.
Carol sighed and shook her head before going back to the group.
He had a right to be selfish. Daryl wasn't going to let anyone take the only things he had left of her. He opened the journal again and thumbed through random pages.
A drawing of a young man with raven hair stood out to him. The paper showed signs of continuous erasure and repeated imprints of past pencil marks. Charlotte's handwriting appeared under the portrait.
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Daryl wondered who he was and how he came to earn a place inside her diary. He also wondered why she decided not to draw him with a kinder face.
Daryl wished he could ask her these questions. He desperately wanted more than just a journal, he wanted her. His chest began to ache again and he put it away. It was time to get some rest.
