𝐇𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐃 │ 𝐃𝐀𝐑𝐘𝐋 𝐃𝐈𝐗𝐎𝐍 ¹ [✔]

[15]: letting go

I followed Daryl as he picked up his crossbow in a swift motion and made his way towards his tent.

Breathing heavily, my feet followed his much faster pace towards his tent. He must have known I was following him, as he glanced over his shoulder but kept on walking. He finally made it to his tent and walked inside whilst I stayed outside.

I wasn't sure why I had followed him. I always seemed to be following him. But that's what ultimately kept me alive.

"Daryl," I called out. He didn't reply. I called out again, and still no reply. I opened up the flap door of the tent, bending down to look inside. He was sat on his cot, doing things with his crossbow that I never really understood. He looked up at me as I looked in, then quickly averted his gaze. Like he wasn't worrying himself it wasn't me.

Honestly no one had anything to worry about. I was all pale skin and bones, words were my only defence and they still fell short.

"I was meant to tell you," I said as I stepped in and looked down at him. I knitted my hands together in front of me, like a child up for room inspection. "I'm pretty pissed at them too if it's any consolation," I licked my lips nervously. He still said nothing but scoffed angrily.

"What?" I cocked an eyebrow at him, he returned it with his beady stare.

"Don't look at me like that," I sneered, "he's not my brother but-"

"What? you care for him!" he interrupted rudely, standing from his place and geting up in my face. I slapped his shoulder, only for him to snatch up my wrist.

"Don' touch me girl!" he growled in my face.

"You gonna' hit me or something?" I whispered. He let go of my wrist roughly and looked angrier than before. I had hit a nerve there.

"I was going to ask you to stop treating me like a child. But since you act like a child yourself, I shouldn't really bother."

I stormed out of his tent, fuming with embarrassment and anger. What I said was true - he was like a child. He didn't quite grasp, or even seem the remember that he saved my life, and Merle had a part in that. He doesn't seem to understand that because he saved me, that I actually cared about him in some form. When someone saves your life, you're supposed to be thankful. Did he think that my simple "thank you's" were enough for me, because they weren't. No amount of thank you's could make up for what he did for me.

As I walked back to the centre of the camp, I walked in on Rick and Shane fighting on what to do.

"Why would you risk your life for a douche bag like Merle Dixon?" Shane asked Rick, rather loudly.

"Hey, choose your words more carefully," Daryl warned from behind me, nearly making me jump out of my skin - I didn't know he had followed me.

Shane however, didn't miss a beat in saying, "No, I did. Douche bag's what I meant."

"Stop," I said, exasperated. I soccer-mom'd Daryl as he took half a step forward, obviously not wanting Shane to get away with that remark.

He glared at me, and took the half step back, sitting down on a log behind him. I crossed my arms over my chest, sweltering in the georgian sun.

"Merle Dixon," Shane started, "the guy wouldn't give you a glass of water if you were dying of thirst."

"What he would or wouldn't do doesn't interest me," Rick said firmly, trying to get his point across, despite the clearly not having the best person to root for. "I can't let a man die of thirst - me. Thirst and exposure. We left him like and animal caught in a trap. That's no way for anything to die, let a lone a human being."