𝐏𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐌𝐎𝐍𝐈𝐔𝐌 (𝐷𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝐷𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛)

𝐹𝑖𝑓𝑡𝑦 𝑇ℎ𝑟𝑒𝑒

The floorboards groaned under Daryl's weight as he carefully stepped into the house. Glenn followed close behind with his gun raised.

The group encountered the large house after a disappointing search of a nearby gas station. Rick and T-Dog were circling the perimeter while Daryl and Glenn secured the house.

The crossbow weighed heavily in Daryl's arms as he went from room to room, making sure each and every one of them was void of walkers. The weight was comfortable to Daryl, who found solace in the knowledge that even though the world was different, some things would always stay the same.

The two of them reached the end of the mildew infested place. Having found nothing that needed killing, Daryl slightly relaxed.

"This might be a good place for Lori to have the baby," Glenn murmured.

As Lori's stomach slowly grew, Rick became determined to find a secure place for her to give birth.

"The walls are shit," Daryl remarked as his eyes scanned over his surroundings. Holes in the walls revealed the little insulation it had left. "Every walker within a mile will come running."

As Daryl turned to leave, Glenn's hand tapped his shoulder. Daryl looked at him, annoyed that he touched him.

"Everything okay with you?"

Daryl inhaled sharply and tightened his jaw.

"Why?"

A nervous gleam flashed in Glenn's eyes.

"It's just that, ever since we left the farm–,"

"Don't," Daryl interrupted coldy.

A terrible ache flared up in his chest.

"I'm just trying to–," Glenn stuttered.

"Tryin' to what? Make me talk about my feelings like some little bitch?"

Glenn frowned at Daryl's remark.

"No thanks," Daryl threw his crossbow over his shoulder and turned to storm off.

"She was my friend too," Glenn suddenly said.

"Charlotte," He clarified.

Daryl paused and glared back at Glenn. It was the first time he'd heard someone speak her name since leaving the farm.

"You're not the only person who lost something at the farm. You're not the only person who misses her," Glenn continued.

"I ain't talkin' bout this bullshit," Daryl scoffed.

He slammed the door as he left the house, ignoring Carol's queries as he went to go find Rick.

✯✯✯

That night, the group huddled around a small fire in the living room. Daryl set up camp underneath the archway that led towards the front door.

He'd been in a sour mood since talking to Glenn. Still, he felt guilty for snapping at him. He would never apologize, though.

Daryl had been trying hard to forget that final night. He hated when Beth felt reminiscent of the "good ol' days" and told stories from the farm. It always made him think of her.

Daryl thought it was a load of shit. There were no good days anymore. There were only days where he was fighting to survive, and days where he wasn't.

Daryl glanced at the bag containing Charlotte's things. He always kept it close by. He thought about pulling out her jacket and holding it. The thing still smelled like her.

Instead, he pushed away the bag with his foot and laid down on his side, begging for sleep to come quickly.

✯✯✯

(𝑷𝒖𝒃𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒉𝒆𝒅 𝒐𝒏 6/25/21)

𝑇ℎ𝑖𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑐𝑘𝑠 𝑏𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟.

𝐻𝑜𝑤'𝑠 𝑒𝑣𝑒𝑟𝑦𝑜𝑛𝑒'𝑠 𝑠𝑢𝑚𝑚𝑒𝑟 𝑔𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔?