Spiced Molasses

Chapter 14

The first thing Daryl experienced was the flood of pain. It swept through his body like searing lava and froze his breath in his chest. He pushed out an exhalation and that tiny movement sent more waves of agony shooting through his torso. He remembered getting stabbed but not much else after struggling home.

He stayed motionless with his eyes pressed shut. For long seconds Daryl just prioritised breathing. It wasn't the first time he'd been on the wrong end of a knife, probably wouldn't be the last, but that didn't stop it from hurting. A blade was not the blunt, throbbing pain of a physical blow; it was white hot and sharp.

His eyes slitted and his vision was blurry. There was sunshine but it was dull. Early morning at least. He'd obviously made it up the stairs into his apartment though he couldn't recall doing so. His mind was slowly grinding into action. Martinez had seen him take the strike but he didn't know if anyone else had. It would explain why Merle hadn't kicked the door down to find him yet. Martinez might have given a damn whether Daryl lived or died but he would deal with his business first and his men second.

Daryl's senses pricked and expanded. He could hear another person breathing, much quieter and barely to be heard over his laboured wheezes. Keeping his body still, he slowly turned his head in the direction of his companion. Careful as he was, the pull on his body made him grit his teeth.

Beth was close to him, slumped against the back of the couch with her knees tucked up against her body, her forehead resting on them. She had her arms wrapped tightly around her legs. At first Daryl thought she was wearing gloves, dark red gloves. He didn't know what to think when he realised it was his blood. There was a smear of something similar on the arch of her foot.

Sucking in a fortifying gasp of air, Daryl levered himself on to his elbows. That simple movement made his body cry out in protest anew. The wound was on the left of his body but he couldn't see it through the bandage that had been stuck to it. The bindings were splotched with blood but he could see a jagged pattern of black lacing its way through the ruddy stain. She had stitched him up. The first aid kit haphazardly tossed to the side of him confirmed his suspicions. Daryl raised his eyebrows in surprised. He was impressed at Beth's quick thinking and gumption.

Daryl's vision was beginning to spot from his exertion so he lowered himself back down to floor. His relief at being prostrate diminished the fact he was lying there in his own blood. His attention returned to Beth and he wasn't startled to find her head had lifted up and she was regarding him. She looked paler than usual, her skin turned ashen. Her blue eyes were glassy and bloodshot, probably from lack of sleep. Her eyelashes were matted together which suggested she'd been crying, though Daryl couldn't think for the life of him why she'd be crying over him.

"How're you feeling?" Her inquiry was whispered but Daryl heard her perfectly.

"Like I got stabbed," Daryl answered with a rasp, shooting for levity. Beth's sombre face informed him he failed.

Feeling suddenly uncomfortable with that pained gaze on him, he fumbled at his pocket for his phone. As much as he appreciated Beth's ministrations, he'd need proper medical attention. He doubted the knife was all that clean.

His pocket was empty. "Phone?" he grunted.

Beth slowly unwound herself, moving stiffly and awkwardly. A night sitting on the floor would do that to anyone, even a young and healthy person. She retrieved his phone from half way across the room, not explaining how it had come to travel that kind of distance. She tentatively slotted it into his hand and then resumed her spot on the floor, retracted her body into the same position.

Daryl had to hold the phone over his face and even then his brain didn't want to cooperate, blurring the numbers and buttons. Shutting one eye, he was able to punch in the password. First he text Martinez and then Merle.