Death, Blood and, Somehow, Love

A Broken Home

                          Jayda's P.O.V.
            I didn't know where we were going. I don't think any of us did. Daryl kept looking around trees and bushes, like he was looking for something. Probably walkers. Beth had carried my bow while I slept, swaying in Daryl's arms. I stayed there a moment, peeking through squinting eyes at him. I trusted him not to drop me. And he didn't.
               Finally, Daryl, who had been leading us, stops. We follow suit.
             " You girls ready?" he asked.
             " Is there walkers?" Beth returns the question.
             " Worse."
             " The... Governor?" I guess.
             " Even worse. "
             " What could possibly be worse than that?" I say, my voice iced in sarcasm.
             " No, " Daryl looks away, his eyes sparkling with shame, " My home. A home left in shambles. "
             He mumbles the last word. Despite his anger at this old place, I smile and move vines away so I can see. The rugged, rotting simplicity of Daryl's childhood home is beautiful to me. I finally see who the asshole was before hell came alive.
                        Daryl's P.O.V.
               Jayda looks around curiously at my broken childhood. There wasn't much left to it. My dad was a heavy drinker, bottles of whiskey and moonshine lined the shelves. Bob, a guy I met in the prison, he liked to drink, too.
             I walk up to the front door, my crossbow at ready. Kicking the door open, I scan the first room for walkers. Nothing.
             Jayda enters and searches the next few, then Beth clears the last rooms. I stare at what people would call a disgrace. To Jayda, it was beautiful. My mother liked to smoke in bed. I was out with my friends, they had bikes, Merle and I didn't. We would run with 'em. We heard sirens and my friends chased them. By the time I got to the curb, everyone was looking at me, with damn pity in their eyes. It was my house they were there for. My mom'd been smoking, fire started. Nothin' left of 'er. Burnt down to what she meant to me. Nothin'. I cried. But I didn't know any better, I was just a kid, nowhere to go in my eyes.
                     But then Merle and I landed here. In my drunk father's house. Dammit. We had food and water, but our father, he didn't give a shit about us. We ran away from him whenever we could. I'm not sure what happened to him, but I'm only gonna be pissed if he's alive.
                          Jayda's P.O.V.
                A few jars of liquor, whiskey, and moonshine lined the wooden shelves that weren't lying in pieces. I can't believe that Daryl lived here, in this atmosphere. That kind of explains why he seemed like a jackass when I met him in the mini mall. I trust Daryl Dixon. It's hard at times, but I do it.