Unbreakable threads

Chapter forty- Five: confiding in daryl

Daryl and Alyssa climbed the stairs to the top range of the cell block, each step echoing softly in the quiet space as they made their way to the end cell. The dim light cast long shadows across the concrete walls, giving the place an eerie calm. Once they reached their cell, they exchanged a quick glance, an unspoken understanding passing between them. This was their shared space now, a corner of safety amidst the chaos outside.

Daryl pushed open the barred door, and they stepped inside, closing it behind them. The metallic clang echoed slightly, settling into a strange silence. This was different from any night they'd spent together on the road, but the familiarity of each other's presence gave it a sense of familiarity.

Alyssa glanced around the small cell, her eyes settling on the two bunks stacked one on top of the other. She dropped her backpack into the corner, the contents clinking softly as it hit the floor, then looked over at Daryl with a faint smirk.

"You want top or bottom?" she asked, a touch of her usual humor slipping through, even in the quiet of the cell.

Daryl shrugged, crossing his arms as he glanced between the two bunks. "Ain't picky," he muttered, giving her a small nod. "You take whichever ya want."

She considered it for a moment before giving a little shrug of her own. "Alright. I'll take the top, then," she said, a playful glint in her eye as she moved to climb up, claiming her space with ease.

Alyssa lay on the top bunk, staring at the ceiling of the cell, her fingers tracing faint patterns in the dim light. Below her, Daryl was settled on the bottom bunk, the slight creak of the mattress the only sound as he shifted into a comfortable position. The silence between them was thick but not uncomfortable—just the quiet of two people who had seen too much and now found themselves in a rare moment of stillness.

The sound of their breathing filled the cell, slow and steady, the rhythm somehow grounding in the darkness. Both of them were wide awake, neither quite ready to break the silence, yet each aware of the other's presence.

As Alyssa lay there, staring up at the ceiling, her mind was clouded with memories she wished she could forget. The night the farm fell was etched in her mind, each detail vivid and unrelenting. Putting down Shane alongside Rick had been necessary, she knew that, but it had left a mark on her soul that she couldn't shake. Despite everything Shane had done, the danger he had posed to Rick and the group, a part of her still remembered the way he'd protected her in those early days, the fierce loyalty he'd shown her, twisted as it had become. The conflict gnawed at her, leaving a hollow ache.

From the bunk below, Daryl shifted slightly, as if he could feel the tension radiating from her. He didn't need to see her face to know something was weighing on her. She'd been different since that night, quieter, more guarded, and he could sense the way she held onto some burden she hadn't shared. Daryl didn't pry, never pushed her to talk about it, but he'd seen the look in her eyes more than once, the haunted expression she wore when she thought no one was watching.

Daryl, sensing Alyssa's unease, extended his arm from his own bunk, reaching up to the edge of her mattress. He gave it a gentle nudge, a quiet, wordless gesture that carried more comfort than any words he might have managed. It was his way of reaching out, letting her know he was there, without prying or demanding answers. He understood that whatever was eating at her was something she needed time with, but he wanted her to feel his presence, to know that she wasn't alone in carrying the weight of her memories.

Alyssa shifted slightly, feeling the subtle touch on the side of her mattress. She knew he was asking, in his quiet, indirect way, if she was alright. She lay still for a moment, her jaw clenched as she wrestled with the urge to let him in. Part of her wanted to speak, to unload the dark memories that haunted her, but another part of her clung to the silence, to the guard she'd built around herself since that night.