Haunted | Daryl Dixon

5. Friday Night

*mentions of child abuse*

"What's the matter, Darlina? Finally run out of things to say?" Evelyn smirked as she leaned back into the diner booth, popping a fry into her mouth.

Daryl shot her unamused look and ran a hand through his hair, "Nah, just tired, I guess."

The girls expression turned slightly more sympathetic, "How was the trip?" She asked softly, knowing one misstep could end up being a very wrong move.

He tensed up, something he hardly ever did around Evelyn anymore since the early years of their friendship. Unless of course, they were talking about things like this.

Dixon shrugged stiffly, "Fine." Was his only response.

She had to tread lightly, and she knew it, but worry for the boy across from her consumed all logical thought, "And Will..."

"He was fine." Daryl snapped, "Nothing happened."

His eyes had moved to glare at the poor table that separated him and Evelyn.

Whenever things like this happened, arguments between them, he would always avert his harsh gaze to settle on some inanimate object, or even random nearby person, but he would not let it settle on Evelyn. Never Evelyn.

"You would tell me if..." She trailed off and pursed her lips.

Daryl finally softened enough to timidly meet her gaze, "'Course I would, Ev."

Lie.

There were very few things in life that Daryl felt such a strong need to keep from Evelyn, and his father was one of them.

He refused to subject her to the horrors of what lay within the walls of his home.

Sure, she knew about the... abuse. Daryl always hated that word, he thought it made him sound weak. But she didn't know the extent of it, or just how often it actually happened.

If it were up to him, she wouldn't even know in the first place. But there were times every once in a while where even he couldn't hide his winces or limps after a brutal night.

And it wasn't just that he hated her knowing that vulnerable side of him, it was that he hated what it did to her.

Everytime she would find out about it happening again, her emotions always came in stages. First was the horror, then the sorrow. Then she would worry and take care of him to the best of her ability. But the thing that always broke him was the rage that came after everything else. The undeniable, burning rage she felt against Will, at what he did to her best friend.

On more than one occasion, Daryl had to talk her out of grabbing his hunting crossbow and going on a murder rampage through the neighborhood to get to Will.

Thankfully though, he wasn't lying when he said that nothing happened during this hunting trip with his father.

A couple of his dads buddies had been there and apparently had kept him entertained enough where he didn't feel the need to beat up Daryl for some fun.

Evelyn studied him for a moment, before finally nodding once and allowing her shoulder muscles to relax.

"And how was yer weekend?" He gladly jumped at the opportunity to change the subject.

The girl threw her head back with a dramatic sigh, "Boring. I'm going through a writer's block. Again." She sighed, leaning her head against the palm of her hand and taking a sip of her milkshake, "I sit down to write, but it's like my mind doesn't want to cooperate."