When The World Caves In |C.G.

thirty one

Daryl is sitting on the couch, one he got for $20 at a thrift store. The old TV plays the news as white noise, but he's not paying attention to it. Four year old Rory is sprawled out on top of him, snoring away softly. Mr. Tubbins is tucked nicely into her right arm but his body is dangling off the couch. That poor bear has been through the ringer this past month. Her nose is nice and red, she's had a cold that just keeps getting worse as the week goes by.

He can't afford to take her to the doctors, he can't even afford basic health insurance, so he's been resorting to kid's Tylenol and Nyquill to relieve some of her symptoms. The girl has slept in his bed each night this week, kicking him in the ribs every other hour. He's exhausted, but he wouldn't change it  for the world. 

Rory just lost her mother, she's still alive but too scared to face her youngest child. Not after Beau's dad forced her into a marriage; claiming she was unfit to be a mother alone. Not that the man was much better. Daryl loved that little boy too, almost as much as he loved Rory. He saw pieces of himself in Beau that only existed in his darkest memories. 

It was hard, explaining to Rory why Mama wasn't coming to visit her no more. Why there'd be no more playdates with her brother. An awful part of him is glad she's sick because it's a distraction. Rory starts having a coughing fit and Daryl shifts her body upwards so she doesn't choke, giving her more room to breathe. She whines softly, but burrows her head into his shoulder, latching onto him tightly. 

"Shh, it's okay sweet girl." He whispers, rubbing her back as she coughs harder once more. She whines again, wrapping her arms tighter around his neck. She's always been a Daddy's girl. Now though, he supposes  she doesn't have any option except to be a Daddy's girl. "You're okay." 

She's settling down once more when his brother bursts through the door shouting something awful. Rory peaks her head up her blond hair wild and unruly, sticking out this way and that. Her blue eyes scowl at her Uncle, but she doesn't say nothing; that's how he knew she was awfully sick. Typically, you couldn't get Rory to shut up. She's always asking a million questions a minute.

"Merle!" Daryl scolds as his brother goes stomping into the kitchen, searching for some booze or drugs. Merle is high, he can tell by the way his words don't make any sense and his footsteps each land heavier than the last. "I told you to quit coming home lit." 

"Oh hush up little brother." Merle mumbles incoherently, he's rifling through the bathroom now. Daryl refused to allow Merle's addictions to take place in the home where his four year old lived. There's shuffling coming from under the sink and Daryl knows his brother has found Rory's medicine. "Looky here! Rory's been hiding out on me haven't you." 

"Put that back, she needs it." Daryl says swatting at his brothers hand as he reaches out to tap Rory's nose. "She's sick." 

"She's fine." Merle says, twisting the cap off the bottle and tilting it back into his mouth. He wouldn't even get that high off of it, not the way he wanted to. Still, any way to continue his high was perfect for Merle. The deep red liquid has hardly met his mouth when Daryl is snatching it out of Merle's hand, trying not to disturb Rory on his shoulder. 

"She's fucking sick." Daryl says his voice raising, Rory's arms tighten around his neck as he scolds Merle. "I already told you, if you're coming home lit don't come home at all. Wait it out." 

"When did you become no fun?" Merle rasps disappointedly. "You used to be right here with me doing this. That little girl and her pussy of a mom have ruined your life." 

"Shut your mouth, that ain't even remotely true." Daryl snaps at his brother. "No more than you ruining yours." 

"I'm just having fun baby brother!" Merle says, throwing his arms out to the side to gesture at himself. "You loosen up if you did the same. Put that brat to bed, and I'll take you to meet a friend named crystal!"