Unbreakable threads

Chapter Eighty Three: Tension on the Road.

Alyssa glanced over at the group surrounding Sasha, their murmurs of comfort blending into the background as her gaze drifted toward the tree line where Daryl had disappeared. She tried to ignore the pull in her chest, the instinct to go after him, but it was no use. No matter how hurt, annoyed, or broken she felt, she couldn't shake the unease that crept in whenever Daryl walked off. It was ingrained in her—a trauma response, the same one they both shared. They didn't like being apart for too long, not even during an argument.

Without a word to the others, Alyssa slipped away, her movements quiet and purposeful as she headed into the trees. The sounds of the group faded behind her. She didn't have to look far. Just a short distance in, she spotted him.

Daryl was slumped against the base of a tree, his head tipped back and a cigarette dangling loosely from his lips.He looked worn, defeated—more than usual. His hands were limp at his sides, and there was something heavy about the way he sat there, as if the weight of the world had finally crushed him.

Alyssa's sharp eyes caught the burn on Daryl's hand, and her stomach twisted in anger and concern. Without thinking, she stormed over to him, her boots crunching against the ground as she grabbed him by the shirt, yanking him to his feet. The sudden movement startled him, and his cigarette fell to the dirt.

"What the hell, Daryl?" she snapped, her voice low but laced with fury as she took his hand in hers, inspecting the burn. Her grip was firm, her fingers brushing over the raw skin.

Daryl tried to pull his hand back, his voice stumbling as he attempted to explain. "It's nothin', just—just a mistake, alright?"

Alyssa didn't respond. Instead, she released his hand, her movements deliberate as she reached for the hem of her tank top. She began to lift it from the front, exposing her midriff.

Daryl's eyes widened, and he immediately looked away, his discomfort clear. "Alyssa, stop," he muttered, his voice low and strained. "You don't gotta—"

"No, stupid," Alyssa cut him off, her voice steady but forceful. "Look."

He hesitated, his gaze flickering back reluctantly as she pointed to the edge of her hip. There, faint white scars crisscrossed the area, their presence subtle but unmistakable. The lines told their own story, one of pain, one of struggle, and one of survival.

Daryl's breath caught in his throat as he realized what she was showing him. His eyes softened, guilt and sorrow washing over his face. But Alyssa's expression was resolute. She wasn't trying to shame him—she was trying to show him he wasn't alone.

Alyssa's voice was steady, but there was a weight to it, a vulnerability she rarely let show. "I used to do that shit too," she said quietly, her eyes locked on Daryl's. "When I was younger... no one knew. Not my mom. Not anyone."

Daryl froze, her words hitting him harder than he expected. His gaze dropped to the faint scars on her hip, the lines a stark reminder of what she'd been through. He didn't say anything at first—he just stared, his throat tightening as the realization settled in. Alyssa, the girl who seemed so tough, so fearless, had carried her own pain in silence.

Slowly, hesitantly, Daryl reached out. His rough, calloused fingers brushed over the lines, tracing them gently. His touch was featherlight, as if he was afraid of causing her more pain. He didn't speak, couldn't find the words to say what he felt, but his actions spoke volumes.

Alyssa didn't pull away. She let him touch the scars, let him see the part of herself she rarely shared. "You ain't alone, Daryl," she said softly, her voice trembling slightly. "So don't you dare try to act like you are."

Alyssa let out a shaky breath, her voice quiet but filled with a raw honesty she rarely let anyone see. "I used to get so angry, so... upset that I didn't know what to do. I was a messed-up kid, Daryl, way before any of this started." Her eyes flickered with the weight of memories. "Not knowing who Rick was to me, not having a dad around. My mom—she had me young. She didn't really know what she was doing. She tried, but... I don't know."