Daring Dixon (A Daryl Dixon fanfiction)

Chapter 10

I walked back to the room quietly. Nobody was in the hallway. The door was cracked open, and the light was off, so I assumed Daryl was asleep. Good. I didn't want to deal with him.

I walked inside, shutting the door behind me. I went over to my bed and turned the wall light on that was hanging over the bedside stand. I jumped when two blue eyes stared at me. Daryl chuckled.

"Did I scare you," he asked, a smile coloring his voice.

"Hardly," I scoffed, when in truth, he did.

"Where's your book?" he asked.

"I, um, ran into something in the rec room, and I, uh didn't get the book," I said.

"Ran into something? What the doorway?" he asked sarcastically.

"No," I shook my head.

"Then what?" he asked, confused.

"It's nothing," I said, sitting down with my back against the headboard.

"Dammit, I just asked a simple question," he said, his voice rising.

"Just leave me alone," I said, lying down and turning on my side.

"Rosaline," he pleaded.

I sat back up and looked at him with my eyes wide. "You never call me Rosaline. Only bitch or nothing at all," I said with shock.

"Oh," he said. There was silence between us for a moment. "Where'd your parents come up with a name like Rosaline?" he asked.

I smiled. "Both my parents were English professors," I said.

"So?" he asked, obviously not getting the point. I smiled.

"So, my sister and I were named after female characters in Shakespeare plays. My sister's name was Bianca," I explained. "She's a character in Othello, and Rosaline is Romeo's first love in Romeo and Juliet." He looked at me as if I had just spoken a foreign language.

"They, uh, must've loved their work," Daryl said. I laughed.

"That's an understatement," I said. "They never went somewhere without a book in their hands. I started reading when I was four. My father taught me how to read with Harry Potter. I remember the day my grandma came over and I had a chapter book in my hand at five. She just shook her head and smiled at me, knowing I was turning out just like my parents."

"They must've been proud of you," he said. "My parents didn't give two shits," he said sullenly.

"I'm sure they cared for you," I insisted.

He scoffed. "Sure had a funny way of showing it," he said bitterly.

"What do you mean?" I asked quietly. There was a silence between us and I didn't think he would answer. I looked at him. His face was smoldering with hatred and sadness. There was another minute of silence before he spoke.

"Let's just say- my father was a drunk and my mother died when I was young," he admitted. I stood, walking towards his bed. I sat down so that his back was facing me. I placed a hand on his back and he stiffened under my touch. When he relaxed, I ran my fingers through his hair.

"I'm sorry," I said quietly. He sat up quickly, shrugging me off.

"I don't want your sympathy," he snapped. I sat there in shock for a few moments. I got up to move back onto my bed, but he pulled me back down with my arm.

"What?" I asked.

"I'm sorry, I just-" he said. Despite my surprise at the apology from Daryl, I recovered quickly and put my finger to his lips.

"I don't need to hear it," I assured, placing my lips softly to his.