Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 22: Mistakes

I move my cot and other belongings back into the tent I should've been sleeping in and get comfortable. I try to read my book and think of anything other than Daryl, but he's stuck in my head. I keep replaying the conversation in the stable, wondering how I could have handled it better, been more sensitive to his feelings.

I can't focus on my book so I toss it aside and sit up, running my hands over my face. The peacemaker in me wants to find him and try to talk this out, because we just confessed that we were feeling something more than friendship and I need to know if he meant it, but I force myself to push that away. This is just history repeating itself.

Even after all these years, after multiple experiences where I got hurt because I got in too deep too quickly, I'm still the same stupid girl I've always been, with the same horrible taste in men who can't possibly be good for me. Daryl felt different, like he actually had the softer side I always sought out in my other boyfriends, but he's throwing up red flags that even I, in my rose-coloured glasses, can see.

I step out of my tent in search of fresh air. I look out towards the woods and instead of losing myself in the beauty of nature, I see Daryl and Carol disappearing into the trees. The feeling that coils in my gut is far from pleasant and I turn away, wanting to claw my heart from my chest so it will stop screaming at me. I want to scold it, like a mother to a petulant toddler, remind it that he's not my problem and he can do as he pleases.

I do a lap around the camp. Glenn's on watch on top of the RV. Andrea keeps a lookout by the barn. I don't see Rick, Shane, T-Dog, or Dale anywhere. I can see silhouettes inside Lori's tent but I don't check whether it's actually Lori in there.

Walking around camp, by myself, my own stupidity hits me again with how reliant I've become on Daryl for company. It's just like high school, like college—I would try to make friends with people, but inevitably get a crush on a guy in the group and then he'd have all my attention. The amount of surnames I scribbled next to my name inside a ring of hearts is embarrassing to think about, but I was a hopeless romantic. Still am.

My mom used to tease me about how boy-crazy I was in my childhood, and I bet she kept hoping I'd grow out of it. She used to joke that, even when I was a baby, she could always count on me to find the most handsome guy in the room because I'd gaze at him like he hung the moon. If my mom were here, she'd have her arm around my shoulders, trying not to laugh as she rubbed my arm. She'd shake her head and say, "You've got a soft heart, sweetie. You get that from me."

I'm a lover, not a fighter, but this isn't a world for lovers anymore. Shane's words at gun practice replay in my head, how I've got no chance of survival if I don't learn to shoot. I bet he thinks I've got no chance even if I did. I'm too soft, too vulnerable, too...weak.

I get back to my tent and I lay back down, reaching for my book again in a vain attempt to distract myself further.

I hear footsteps, then a zipper opening, all from the tent beside me. I tuck my book closer to my face and try to ignore it, because maybe it's just Carol or someone else looking for Daryl. More footsteps, the rustling of grass beneath leather.

My tent zips open. "Hope?"

I keep my lips sealed. This book is so interesting, I tell myself. Sooo interesting.

"Hope, put the book down for a sec."

"I'm not talking to you," I mutter.

"Come on."

I let the book fall in my lap before I get up. He's watching me, his brow slightly furrowed, but I don't look at him for too long. He has no right to be angry with me, not when I was just trying to help. I shove the book against his chest and push past him.