Daryl's Angel (10th Anniversary Edition)

Chapter 62: Still

The last time he was this buzzed, it felt more...fun. He isn't sure whether it's his true experience or if he's just thinking of Hope again. She's painted all his memories in a brighter light.

Both, maybe.

"So first, I say something I've never done and if you have done it, you drink, and if you haven't, I drink," Beth explains. Some drinking game, she said. It'll be fun, she said. "Then we switch." He stares at her and she tilts her head. "You really don't know this game?"

They sit on the floor, coffee table laden with moonshine jars between them. Daryl shrugs.

"I never needed a game to get lit before."

"Wait, are we starting?"

"How do you know this game?"

"My friends played. I watched." She averts her eyes for a second, then clears her throat. "Okay, I'll start. I've never...shot a crossbow. So now you drink."

He frowns, but he takes his jar and drinks. "Ain't much of a game."

"That was a warm-up. Now you go," she insists.

He hums, low in his throat. "I don't know."

"Just say the first thing that pops into your head."

He shrugs. "I've never been out of Georgia."

"Really? Okay, good one." She takes a sip, then sets her jar down as she thinks. "I've never...been drunk and did something I regretted."

Man, she goes right for the throat, huh? He reaches out and grabs his jar. "I've done a lotta things," he mutters.

"Your turn," she urges.

This game is weird, but it's better than sitting in silence. "I've never been on vacation."

"What about camping?" she asks, smirking like she's got him caught.

"Nah. That's just something I had to learn, to hunt," he says.

She glances at her drink. "Your dad taught you?"

"Mm-hm."

"Okay." She takes another drink. "I've never...been in jail. I mean, as a prisoner."

She laughs, staring at him expectantly, and he hates how his chest tightens up all over again, annoyed, hurt. "Is that what you think of me?" he asks.

"I didn't mean anything serious. I just thought, you know, like the drunk tank," she says, and she's still smiling, like this is funny. "Even my dad got locked up for that back in the day."

"Drink up."

"Wait, prison guard. Were you a prison guard? Before?"

He decides he doesn't like this game. "No."

She still hasn't taken her drink, but she grips her glass. "It's your turn again."

He gets up, taking his jar with him. "I'm gonna take a piss."

He walks off to the far corner of the kitchen, his head, fingertips, and toes all tingling, but the buzz doesn't feel good. He drops the jar, letting it shatter as he starts unbuckling his pants. He doesn't want it anymore.

"You have to be quiet!" she hisses.

"Can't hear you, I'm taking a piss!" he snaps back.

"Daryl! Don't talk so loud!" she begs.

He glares at her over his shoulder. "What, are you my chaperone now?"

She averts her eyes and he finishes his business. That awful feeling in his chest just keeps getting bigger, harder and harder to bite back, to act like everything's okay. She's sitting here giggling over a stupid game, acting like her family isn't dead. Acting like everything's fine.