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DARYL DIXON
loose change, dollar bills, bottle caps, poker chips, crumbles of weed, and smashed pills of god knows what lie sprawled across the wooden coffee table—all of that is the remnants of merle.
"what happened to your face?" i pull back so her touch falls from my cheek. my face, that was merle too, the other day. "you don't talk much, you know." she sits across from me on the couch, crossing her bare legs over one another.
she's been selling to my brother. pills, weed, anything and everything else too. she has a boyfriend, big scary guy even i wouldn't want to mess with, but when he's not around, she sticks around here—typically right under merle's nose, but he's passed out down the hall right now. if he weren't, she'd never be out here without him.
"your brother's asleep in his room." she raises her brows as she leans forward, sprinkling the ground weed into a wrap. "you can talk."
"i talk." i say, blowing the smoke out of my lungs.
"you seem smarter than him. but you know that, don't you?" she uses her tongue to wet either side of the thin paper. "you could make it out of here, actually have somethin' for yourself."
"not without merle." i say, running my pointer finger and thumb around the mouth of the beer bottle in my lap.
"everything that's his is yours, is that right?"
i nod, humming.
"even your drugs?"
"i don't do drugs."
she looks at me like she doesn't believe me, "your car."
"merle's."
"your girlfriend."
"don't have one."
"there's gotta be one girl." she smiles and i notice the smeared dark makeup underneath her eyes.
i take a sip of my beer, the liquid splashing against my lips and then falling back to the bottom of the glass.
"no girl." she concludes from my silence. "hm. you want one?"
i look away from her, not liking the look she's giving me.
