Cult » Daryl Dixon

thirty seven

thirty seven.

I woke up in a room I didn't recognize. The curtains were drawn, the sunlight trying to creep in through the slit in the fabric. I was covered up in a  twin sized bed. The sheets were warm, soft and comforting. I sensed a presence next to me and looked over to my left. Merle sat there on a wooden stool, watching me.

"Ye're awake." He seemed surprised at my sudden movement. I sat up, weary, my eyes flickering nervously around the room. "Was gettin' a little worried."

"What do you mean?" I eyed him with fear. "What happened? Where am I?" Merle stared at me in disbelief. He sighed, rubbing his head like he expected me to remember.

"Ya took a nasty spill out there, cut up yer leg real bad... lost a lotta blood."

"How long was I out," I asked slowly.

"'Bout a week."

"What," I panicked, my eyes flickering around the room again. I was looking for an exit. "W-where am I," I asked again.

"Did ya lose yer damn mind," Merle said jokingly. I turned back to him with a funny look on my face, not understanding what he was getting at. He stared at me in disbelief again. "This is your room. We're in Woodbury... shit, kid, you must've hit yer head pretty damn hard on the way down."

"Where's Daryl," I questioned him, alarmed for his wellbeing. Merle looked at me like I was crazy, like I really had lost my mind. "He was with me. Is he here?"

"You never left this bed, sweetheart," Merle admitted. My stomach dropped.

"What do you mean? It wasn't real," I muttered to myself, tears welling up in my eyes as Merle stayed quiet and glanced out the window. "It wasn't real? How? How could it not be real? It felt like--"

"Your dad wants to see you." Merle's voice was low as he interrupted me. My stomach began to cramp with stress and sickness, pure agony. 

"But, he's dead. He... he's dead," I whispered in disbelief. "You're supposed to be dead. Everyone here is dead! It was real! Everything I went through was real" I began to raise my voice, adamant in my belief. As I continued to bellow, blood started to trickle down my walls and paint them red. "It happened, I know it!" My eyes widened in sudden fear as Merle turned back around to face me, lunging at me. He was now dead, decaying right before my eyes. I fell out of my bed, pain shooting through my wounded leg. I sprang back on my feet, ignoring the pain and running out of the room.

"Aften," Merle called after me as I bounded down the hall. "Aften!" I made it outside and onto the road. A man ran out from the building across the street, sprinting towards me. I tried to escape from his line of fire but he snatched me up and dragged me all the way to my dad's while I thrashed in his arms. I was tossed into the frigid space, stumbling forward. The door slammed behind me. My dad looked up from a few papers, smiling at my figure. He stood up from his leather chair, sauntering around to the front of his desk.

"So glad you're up," he said cheerfully. He's not like this... he's not like this. He's not this nice. "You look great, healthy." He took a few steps towards me and I stepped back. I didn't want him anywhere near me. He noticed what I was doing and raised an eyebrow at me. "Getting bold now, are we?" I tried to step back again but he caught my wrist and yanked me forward.

"Don't fucking touch me," I hollered, my voice hoarse. I yanked my wrist back.

"Don't raise your voice," my dad growled. "And don't cuss at me."

"I don't give a shit," I hissed, staring straight up at him in defiance. This wasn't real and I could do whatever I wanted, I knew it. This was all wrong. He sighed before slapping me across the face. Pure, unadulterated rage pumped through my veins. "I said, don't fucking touch me," I shouted, shoving him. He stumbled back, his eyes wide at what I'd done. "How do you like it, huh," I barreled towards him, shoving him again with all of my might. He fell back against his desk. "How do you fucking like it?" He was speechless. "You're dead. I killed you, shot you in the fucking stomach and you died."

"Well I'm here now, aren't I," he teased me, his voice dark. He began to approach me again. "Two can play this game, you know." He began to take off his belt, pulling it free from the loops in his pants. My chest started to heave up and down when I realized what was happening. I sprinted to the door, furiously jiggling the doorknob trying to open it before my demise; it was locked. My dad wrapped his belt around my neck and pulled it back tightly so it cut off my air supply, choking me. I tried to pry it away, my fingernails clawing at my skin to peel back the leather. I gasped for any kind of breath while I fought, my vision becoming blurry.

My eyes flew open, coughing erupting from my throat. I reached for the belt around my neck but it wasn't there. I relaxed once I realized I was in the woods with Daryl by my side.

"You alright," he asked, his hand lightly touching my arm.

"Yeah," I whispered, sighing with relief. "Just a bad dream." I sat up and rubbed my sweaty aching neck, taking a few deep breaths to ease my still racing mind. Crunching leaves in the woods caused Daryl to stand and raise his crossbow. I stared at the trees, on edge about what could possibly come through. A dog casually emerged from the bushes, its tail wagging. It had long, dirty white fur and was panting hard, its tongue lolling out of its mouth as it trotted over to me. I was pleasantly surprised and cautiously extended my hand out towards it, brushing back some of the hair that hung over its eyes so it could see. "Where did you come from, sweetheart," I asked him. He just sat down and bowed his head. I put my hand on it, ruffling the fur. I gazed up at Daryl, smiling. All he did was nod; he already knew what I was gonna ask. I turned back to the dog. "I've always wanted a dog... I think I'll name you Rocco for now." Rocco licked my hand. Daryl let out a loud sigh and tossed him a squirrel he was preparing for the two of us.

"Eat up," he hissed somewhat bitterly. "Mutt's probably haven't had a decent meal in days."

"Poor thing," I said while continuing to pet him as he chomped away at his food, his tail wagging happily. Daryl moved down from the log he was sitting on to sit in front of me. He hoisted my wounded leg up into his lap. "What are you doing? We don't have anything to put on it." He whipped out a small tube of ointment from his pocket. "You grabbed that," I smiled.

"Of course." He glanced up at me, a small smirk on his face. Daryl unwrapped my bandage, my leg looking like it was close to back to normal. He squeezed some of the ointment on the cut, the impact slightly burning my skin. I cussed through gritted teeth. Rocco laid his head in my lap to comfort me.

"We'll be getting back on the road soon, right," I wondered.

"Yeah," Daryl mumbled. "Tomorrow. You need time to rest for a bit." He pulled out his knife and cut a sliver off of his shirt.

"We should look for a house. Something like the cabin," I suggested, grinning to myself. "I think it'd be easier to stay longer in, especially a house with a big upstairs."

"Yeah?" He half-smiled as he gazed up at me. He tied the fabric around my leg in place of the bandage.

"Yeah," I sighed, relaxing my leg as Daryl tucked the tube and knife back into his pockets. I admired the new plaid adornment around my leg. "We could pretend like nothing ever happened and live happily ever after," I joked before my smile fell. Daryl studied my face for a few moments before speaking.

"We won't be out here for much longer. We'll find somethin' for the two of us, I promise."