Unstable (Sequel to Twisted)

Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

"You're making him too soft."

Ana had just finished tucking Harry in bed when she walked out into the living room to see the devil himself seated on the couch; a cigarette in his hand, lit and ready, and his dark eyes focused entirely on her. His cigarette was hanging limply from his mouth, and his lips were pulled back in a malicious smirk.

"Daryl," Ana hissed in a quiet whisper, "you know you can't smoke inside."

Daryl ignored her and exhaled deeply; smoke was swirling around his head and he chuckled huskily, his chest rumbling from the low, earthy noise. "See what I mean when I say you're making him too soft?"

"He's just a child." Ana protested with a disgusted sigh when she saw marks on his forearms, probably from fighting no doubt. "Honey, when are you going to get a real job?"

She tried the gentle approach, rather than throwing things at him, which was what she really wanted to do. She sunk down on the couch next to him, pulling back her hair out of her face.

"I do have a real job." Daryl replied slowly, his eyes never leaving her.

Ana had to struggle to contain her emotions, which were bubbling up inside of her. "This is not a real job and you know it. You're gone nearly all the time, and when you come home, you come home with these horrible bruises and cuts. It's like you come home looking worse and worse each time."

Daryl reached over to his right to douse the cigarette in the container sitting on the table. He flipped his hair out of his eye and scooted next to his wife, pulling her up against him, his arm wrapping around her. Ana's face winced a little; Daryl used to have a musky scent-now he smelled like cigarettes and...did she smell beer also?

Wait...there was something else.

"I just don't know if I can do this anymore." Ana murmured, her eyes tearing up. "Y-you have a son, Daryl, and you barely even look at him."

"Oh yeah?" Daryl was suddenly standing up. "What the fuck do you think I'm trying to do? You want me to make some hard-earned cash and here I am, getting the fuck beaten out of me to earn cash for my goddamn family only to come home and have my ungrateful wife tell me I don't have a real job? Well I'm sorry I'm not smart enough to get a job like a fucking lawyer or a police officer; I'm sorry for having to scrounge to keep us living, darling. Instead of sitting here telling me to get a real job, why don't you get off your lazy ass and get one? Hm?"

He scoffed at Ana, who had begun to cry softly, and left the room briefly to return with a bottle of beer. He leaned up against the wall across from her, taking a long swig, and sighing in relief.

"I know I have a son." Daryl replied calmly. "Speaking of which, where the hell is he?"

"He's asleep." Ana said quickly. "He has the flu."

"Oh, he has the flu." Daryl rolled his eyes and took another swig. "Tell him to shove it up his ass and grow some balls."

Ana got up from her seat, "Don't you dare talk about him like that."

"Don't raise your voice to me," Daryl snarled suddenly and pointed his finger at her; Ana flinched from the sudden movement and sat back down on the couch. Tears were streaming down her cheeks, and she was unable to stop them. She didn't mean to make him angry, she was just tired of him coming home like this.

"I want to see my son." Daryl suddenly decided, stumbling down towards the staircase.

"No, he's sick." Ana was quick to rush after him, but as soon as she actually got close to him, he whirled around and backhanded her sharply across the face. Stunned by the sudden yet familiar blow, Ana fell back and clutched onto her face, a low sob escaping her. She was momentarily blinded by the overwhelming pain, but she could vaguely hear his heavy footsteps up the stairs.