A Broken World

Fifty-Seven

Daryl stood there for a moment, her words still hanging heavy in the air. She didn’t want to hear anything he had to say—not now. And maybe she was right to push him away. He had walked out, left her behind without a second thought to chase after Merle. How the hell was he supposed to make that right?

But still, he couldn’t let it go. Not like this.

He ran a hand over his face and followed her inside the prison, his boots echoing softly against the concrete floor. She was already halfway down the corridor, shoulders stiff and head high, like she was trying to hold herself together by sheer will alone.

"Wait," he called out, voice rougher than he intended.

She didn’t stop.

"Dammit, would you just—" He picked up his pace, catching up to her before she could disappear. His hand closed around her wrist, not tight, just enough to stop her from walking away again. "You’re really gonna act like none of it meant anything?" His words came out harsher than he meant, but he didn’t know how else to say it.

She jerked her arm free, turning to face him, her expression a mask of indifference. "What do you want me to say, Daryl?" she demanded. "That I’m glad you’re back? That it didn’t gut me to watch you walk away without even looking back?"

He opened his mouth, but she didn’t give him a chance to respond.

"I get it, okay? Merle’s your blood. That’s not something I can compete with. And honestly? I’m tired of trying." Her voice cracked at the edges, the only sign she wasn’t as unaffected as she wanted him to believe. "You made your choice. I’m not gonna beg you to stay."

Daryl swallowed hard, his heart pounding against his ribs. "It ain’t like that," he said, softer this time. "I didn’t leave ‘cause I wanted to. I left ‘cause… ‘cause I didn’t know how to be both." He let out a bitter laugh, shaking his head. "I been on my own so long, then Merle shows up, and it’s like… it’s like bein’ that kid again, doin’ whatever he says ‘cause I didn’t know no better. But you?" He lifted his gaze to hers, his voice quiet. "You ain’t a mistake. You never were."

Her breath hitched, but she didn’t say anything, didn’t move.

"I came back ‘cause I wanted to," he continued, his voice raw with something he wasn’t used to letting anyone see. "I came back ‘cause of you."

For a long moment, neither of them said a word. The sounds of the prison—faint voices, distant footsteps—seemed a world away from the tension between them.

Finally, she spoke, her voice quieter now. "You left, Daryl. You chose him over all of us… over me."

"I know," he admitted, his shoulders sinking under the weight of it. "And I’m sorry. But I ain’t gonna do it again." He took a step closer, his hand hovering near hers like he wanted to touch her but wasn’t sure if she’d let him. "I’m here. I ain’t goin’ nowhere."

Her walls were still up—he could see it in the way she held herself—but there was a crack in the armor, a sliver of doubt creeping in.

"You always say that," she murmured, not quite meeting his eyes. "And then you leave."

"Not this time," he promised, the words rough and low. "I ain’t lettin’ you go. Not again."

For a moment, it seemed like she might pull away again, might walk out of his reach. But then her fingers brushed against his, hesitant but real.

And it was enough. For now.

The silence between them stretched, heavy and uncertain. Her fingers against his were a small touch—barely anything—but to Daryl, it was everything. It meant she hadn’t completely shut him out, that there was still a part of her willing to hold on.