Between Arrows and Hearts - Daryl Dixon

Lonely

Daryl didn't sleep that night. His head kept churning over everything that had gone down the day before.

When Lori showed up, marching right up to him and giving orders like she had any right to, his irritation sparked. He'd distanced himself from the group on purpose, needing space to cool off after everything, and here she was, stomping in like she owned the place. Like she had any authority to tell him what to do. The more she talked, the more his anger simmered, threatening to boil over.

"I need you to run into town real quick and bring Rick and Hershel back."

The frustration and anger erupted, his voice rising as he pointed toward the road.

"Your bitch went window shoppin'. 'Ya want him? Fetch him 'yerself. I got better things to do."

But Lori wasn't backing down.

"You're gonna leave Cass there? What's going on with you? Why are you being so selfish?"

The moment Lori said her name, it was like a match struck inside him. The way she said it, like she knew it'd hit a nerve, like it'd twist something inside him to make him move. And it worked, too. Just not the way she wanted. His blood roared in his ears as he stepped closer.

"Selfish? Listen to me Olive Oyl. I was out there lookin' for that little girl every single day. I took an arrow and bullet in the process. Don't 'ya tell me about gettin' my hands dirty! 'Ya want those idiots? Have a nice ride. I'm done lookin' for people."

When Lori walked off, he didn't give a damn. Or at least he told himself he didn't. He'd taken on enough crap from this group, and it wasn't his problem. None of it was.

Rick wasn't his problem. Hershel wasn't his problem. Cass wasn't his problem. None of these damn people were his problem.

But even as he sat there, stewing in his anger, his eyes kept drifting toward the farm, searching for the headlights of the car bringing them back. When they didn't come, he cussed himself out for even caring.

He'd told her, hadn't he? He'd shouted it right in her face.

"I don't need some damn girl hangin' 'round! I don't give a shit 'bout ya!"

But that voice in his head wouldn't shut up. Kept nagging at him, saying he'd been wrong. He shoved it down, refusing to listen. If he went after her now, it'd prove he did give a shit, and he wasn't about to let that happen.

Then Carol came to him, begging him not to pull away from the group, not to isolate himself. The look on her face, the way she pleaded, just made him madder. He'd snapped at her, yelling things he knew were low, even for him.

"If 'ya spent half 'yer time mindin' 'yer daughter's business instead of stickin' 'yer nose in everybody else's, she'd still be alive!"

The words had barely left his mouth when Carol flinched, pulling back like she thought he'd hit her. Just like her husband used to. Just like his own old man did.

That froze him solid. Made his chest tight, like he couldn't breathe. 

No, Daryl didn't sleep that night. Not with his mind racing and that ugly weight sitting heavy in his chest. Not with all those things he'd said, and all the things he couldn't take back.

The moment the sun began to rise, Daryl left his tent and trudged toward the group.

His eyes instinctively darted to the house's entrance, scanning for the car. It wasn't there. They still weren't back.

A cold weight dropped into his stomach, heavier than anything he'd felt the night before. His chest tightened as his thoughts spiraled, each one darker than the last. But what really sent a sharp, twisting pain through his chest was the thought of Cass.