Healing Broken Wings [Daryl Dixon] The Walking Dead

Sixty Four| Fair Trade

🕉️Kara🕉️

"These were all your foster dad's doing?" I hear his voice ask from behind me as he trails his fingers over my scars as I lay down on my stomach in the grass, resting my head on my arms. He showed me his scars so I thought it was only fair to show him mine. I want him to know that we're alike and that I understand him.

Do I trust him a 100%? Not really and it would be foolish of me if I did, but I want to be able to trust him. And I want him to trust me. No one deserves what we've been through. Growing up in this world living in fear and pain all the time. It does things to you. Can mess you up real bad if you let it. Like the people at Terminus.

I want him to know that even someone as messed up as me was able to live a peaceful and happy life in these walls. I turn my head, pressing my cheek into my arm, looking at Jake over my shoulder as he gazes down at my back. "They're all different. Not like mine."

"He'd use different things. Whatever he could grab at the time. Sometimes it was shards of a broken bottle." I feel his fingertip trace over the slash scar. "A lit cigarette. Razor blade. Sometimes he'd hit me with his belt, making sure the buckle connected with each swing."

I feel his fingers move lower and brush over the scars that are on each side of my hips. I feel my body involuntarily flinch as the memory of how I got them flashes through my mind. How he'd dig his fingernails into my skin to hold me still. Jake lays down on his back beside me, and turns his head to gaze into my eyes pulling me from that memory.

"Hey, you're okay." I look down at his arm and reach out to lightly run my finger over the lash marks. I feel him pull my shirt back down to cover my scars, making a noise I can't quite decipher so I look back up at him. "Hmm?"

"Your fingers are cold." I stare at him for a moment until a smile breaks through his serious demeanor. I couldn't help, but smile back. "You're so strange."

"How so?" He asks and I pull my hand away. "I didn't say you had to stop. Just that they're cold." I lift my head off my arms and prop up on my elbow, gazing down at him with a shake of my head. "How am I strange?" He asks looking up at me with his blue orbs.

"I can't tell what's really you." He arches his eyebrow at me questioningly. "What do you mean?"

"I mean, that I can't tell if you're a sarcastic, smug, or sweet person. You switch back and forth so seamlessly."

"Ah. So I'm a conundrum to you, am I?"

"And there's the sarcasm," I remark and he chuckles quietly. "Yeah, well, it's my coping mechanism. You came into our territory. Killed a lot of my people. And then took me and my friend hostage. Being quiet seemed like a good choice in the beginning. And being sarcastic with you was better than my real emotions."

"Which were?" He shoots me a look and shakes his head. "Like I'd reveal that now. We've only been talking for a few days. Can't exactly show weakness right off the bat."

"I thought you didn't believe that emotions were a weakness?" He's quiet for a moment before nodding. "I don't. You wanna know what I was really feeling?"

"Only if you're willing to share."

"You're so weird." I give him a fake hurt look. "I'm weird for being nice and understanding?"

"Yes. That's weird to me." I look down at him as he fiddles with a blade of grass. We really are alike. When I first got to the prison and so many people were being nice to me it made me feel suspicious and freaked out. I'd never had anyone care about me before so when people finally did it completely went unregistered for quite a long time in my mind.