A War On Her World | TWD: D. Dixon

Ch. 45

I couldn't believe it.

Looking up at the tall ceilings of the church, I took a deep breath in. My son's head rested silently against my breast, the soft thrum of my heart lulled him gently into his exhaustion. I could not imagine what he had gone through while I wasn't with him and I dare not imagine the worst.

It felt like the weight of the unknown was trapped under those high ceilings, settling on my shoulders as I was left to rest while the others discussed what they wanted to do next. Maybe I would have liked to jump right back into the normal routine of being part of the group, but there was almost nothing I wanted more than to absorb the reality of my son in my arms.

I closed my eyes and tightened my hold around Benji, his scent calming my nerves and igniting them at the same time; it was only a matter of time before losing my son is no longer a nightmare but my reality. One day he was going to be gone, or worse, I would be gone and he would be alone.

He would have Daryl.

I wanted to believe that, but, for someone who cared so strongly for others, he didn't seem to look after himself. It was Daryl, though, I was sure he would fight until the very end. There was just no saying the sort of man he would be when he came out on the other side.

He was so used to the bare minimum that, if he lost his hope, he might end up worse than he started.

"Birdie," his deep voice entered my ears, accompanied by a hand on my shoulder.

Such rough hands were so gentle when they interacted with me, but it didn't stop the flinch that rocked my body at the sudden contact. Too many times had the word safe crossed my mind and too many times had I been proven wrong. It was just a matter of time before my luck ran out, and that thought tended to wear a person down.

Looking over my shoulder, I watched as Daryl shuffled around the pew, further into my view. His hand never leaving my shoulder for a second, though the air became a bit more cautious and hesitant.

"Sorry," I whispered, averting my gaze down to my son's blond hair. It was darker than before, but maybe that was just my brain making something into nothing. It was a lot more like Daryl's was before we settled at the farm, a bit more a honey brown than the golden blond of his father. "He keeps growing."

Daryl sat down beside me, making us the only three in the room. Rick had taken Gabriel and some of the others to get supplies, and the rest seemed to avoid me despite the concern they showed when I caught their eyes. It was nice, though, not having to explain myself to anyone.

"...It hasn't been that long," he said as he wrapped one arm around my shoulder and rested his other hand on top of Benji's head, smoothing out his hair.

I hummed in response, refusing to look up at him. I knew he was right and Benji hadn't actually grown much while we were separated, but I couldn't quell the grief I felt. He was finally growing properly and his home was taken away from him again. My comment was less about what was happening and more about what had been lost.

"I know."

"What'd y'mean?" Daryl asked.

I could feel his gaze on my face, taking in every twitch and every change of my features in order to understand me a little better than the last time he caught a glimpse. From that act alone I could tell he was trying to restrain himself from asking what went on in the time we were apart. Even so, I couldn't bring myself to confide in him, or anyone for that matter. Everything was too fresh, too raw for me to even think about, let alone talk about. So instead, I left him to choke on his thoughts, taking solace in how they turned to tar on his tongue, unable to materialise any further.