Zedler, M.D. // Daryl Dixon

Chaper Twenty-Seven: Jay

•twenty seven•

Beatrix

"Daryl," I call, jogging to catch up with him. He's headed toward the truck attached to my trailer, probably to pull it closer to the house.

"Busy right now," he grunts and continues on, but I'm not having it.

"No, you're going to talk to me, and we're going to stop fighting," I demand as I latch onto his arm, forcing him to stop and look at me.

"I've got stuff to do, Beatrix," he huffs, attempting to pull away from me, but joke's on him—I'm not about to let him go.

"Don't call me Beatrix," I throw my hand up in a 'what the heck?' gesture. "You never call me Beatrix. Please stop being mad at me."

"Ain't that easy," Daryl grunts again before finally giving in as he stops trying to get away.

"I know it's not, but you can at least try," I say, my harsh tone now softening. "You mean a lot to me, and I don't like it when you're mad."

"I don't like it when you don't listen to me," Daryl retorts.

"I don't have to obey your every command, Daryl. I'm not your dog," I roll my eyes, letting him go because I'm now convinced that he won't try to run away from me.

"Damnit, Beatrix," he huffs, throwing his hands in the air. "I'm doin' everything I can to keep you safe, and you don't give a shit. I spend all damn day worryin' my ass off about you, and all you do is walk around tryin' to get yourself killed!"

"Daryl, I'm not—"

"You are," he yells, causing me to flinch. "I can't deal with this shit."

"Daryl, stop," I whisper, attempting, and failing, to hold my tears back.

"No, Beatrix, you stop," he raises his arms at me, which makes me take a few steps back and cover my face. He freezes momentarily, taking in my reaction, but shakes his head and continues on. "I'm not dealing with this shit anymore. I care way too damn much for you not to care at all."

"You're overreacting, Daryl," I mumble before speaking a bit louder. "So you're breaking up with me?"

"I dunno," he runs his hands through his now dark brown hair before turning and walking away.

"Daryl, don't do this," I call after him, but it's no use—he's already gone.

He really is overreacting; I didn't even do anything that bad. I have no idea why he's acting like this, but it's making me extremely sad.

I wipe the flowing tears from my eyes and walk back to the house, going straight to a couch to lie down. It's not even that late, but I'm tired and I don't want to be awake to think about Daryl right now.

///

"Bra, you have to wake up," someone says, shaking my shoulders—Carl.

"Go away, Carl," I mumble and roll over so that my back is facing him.

"It's a medical emergency," he says, causing me to sit up quickly. "Just kidding. I just wanted to talk to you."

"That was rude," I mumble, going to lay back down, but Carl sits down in the spot where my head was. "You're a jerk."

"Thank you," he smiles cheerfully. "Really, though, I think we're leaving soon. Daryl seems upset. He's been hunting all morning. What's wrong with him?"

"He's mad at me," I sigh, running my hand through my hair. While we were in Grady, everyone seemed to find out that we were an official thing, and they all loved it. Now, I realize that it probably wasn't the best idea letting them know. "I kind of, maybe, almost died, and then I made your dad help me go back, and it's all just very confusing. Basically, I almost died for medical supplies, and Daryl doesn't like the fact that I care more about medical supplies than my life."