AND THEN I FOUND YOU » Daryl Dixon

25. RAIN IN A DROUGHT

"The hell ya doin', girl!?"

A mixture of horror and embarrassment took hold, and her jaw went slack, realising what he had just witnessed her doing. Trying to convince him anything other than the truth would be pointless; he knew exactly what she was about to do. So, as always, silence was her answer.

"Get inside," he barked.

She shook her head, looking up at him from where she sat. "No."

"Now."

"No."

He stared at her as if she had grown another head, completely dumbfounded by her stubborn refusal to cooperate. "You're a goddamn child."

The humiliation began to fade and was replaced by a sense of need to retaliate. Jasmin pushed herself off the floor and faced him. "And who are you? My dad?" she joked, though her tone lacked all sense of humour. "Oh wait."

A deep sound rumbled from his chest and up through his throat as he took a step forward. "Nah, I'm just the only one left to protect you an' lemme tell ya, my patience is wearin' fuckin' thin."

"I don't need you to protect me!"

"Right, so I'm supposed to let ya kill yourself, that it?"

If looks could kill, Daryl would've been six feet under. Her voice lowered to a dangerous level in volume. "Go away."

Tenacity was an even bigger issue for him than her, so of course telling him to leave would only result in the exact opposite. He dropped the crossbow beside him and leaned against the wall, arms folded over one another in defiance.

"God, do you ever listen?" she exclaimed.

"Do you?"

"I had things under control!"

"Clearly." He gestured to the walker lying across the stairs.

She followed the direction in which he was pointing. The walker was no longer there but instead replaced by someone else. 

Hershel's aloof eyes penetrated right into her soul, evoking a familiar feeling of guilt that hung over her like a dark cloud. A deep, red line abruptly appeared across his neck, spilling a fountain of blood like the scene from her recurring nightmares.

A strangled cry escaped her, and she whirled around, clutching onto the broken railing for support.

"What?!" Daryl yelled with exasperation as he pushed himself off the wall, throwing his hands in the air. "Christ, would ya jus' tell me what's goin' on!"

The palms of her hands dug into her eyes, trying to rid the image from her mind.

"Jas–"

"I told him he'd survive!" she cried out.

Daryl took a small step back at the sudden outburst of emotion.

Her body trembled as tears cascaded down her cheeks. She let go of the railing and turned back around. Her eyes were red and swollen, revealing the sorrow that had been stirring within her. "I told Hershel he'd survive, and it was a lie."

His tense shoulders dropped, both at her the sight of her distraught appearance and the confession she had finally made.

"I see him everywhere," she spoke. "I can't escape his goddamn accusatory stare, always reminding me that I'm the one who got him killed."

He looked taken aback by her words, now speaking in a softer tone. "Ya think it was your fault he died?"

At first, it was difficult for him to comprehend why she would blame herself for Hershel's death. However, the more he thought about her history, the clearer it became. He realised that her past experiences shaped her beliefs, making her think what happened at the prison was all her responsibility.