Home Is Your Heartbeat ('Home Is' Book Two - Daryl Dixon)

Chapter 7 - Thats When I Think Of You (1927)

NATE

'So, what the fuck was good about that day....you absolute Derpa?'  I hear you all ask in stunned horror.

You were almost raped and killed, for fucks sake!

***

The realisation of the good came, when I carefully sat up on the bed about half an hour later.

I'd been replaying the events on an endless, slow-motion loop in my brain. And I can tell you folks....it sure as fuck wasn't  a cathartic exercise.

But on the final rerun, the last bit that'd been eluding me....finally clicked.

I recognised the arrow and would know it anywhere. It was my Daryl's.  One of his hand-carved jobs with the special turkey-feather fletching.

Daryl had been in this house, eaten some food from the cupboard....and maybe even slept in this very bed. Only a day or so ago? Not much more, going by the condition of the food remnants in his discarded jars.

The old bod was ahead of my brain, and before I could order it to stop? It tried to smile and laugh. But ended up doubled over in pain and whimpering instead.

My man is alive....I knew it! Love it when I'm right!

Oh Jeez! My ribs, my wrist....my....everyfuckingthing  😬

Reached over to my bag and retrieved the slip of card I'd brought with me. It was a photo. Glenn had found a Polaroid instant camera. And shortly after that, he took a couple of happy snaps of us.

I have one, and so does Daryl.

In mine, he's sitting behind me on one of the tables. While I'm kneeling on the seat between his legs, with his arms wrapped around me....hands clasping my bottom. My head is resting on his chest as I peer up at him goofily.

Daryl is gazing directly at the camera with that gorgeous, smug little smile of his.

Glenn had caught him at THE  most perfect of moments.

Looking at it made my heart flip over in lazy somersaults. I gave it a gentle kiss and placed it safely back in its plastic covering.

He's alive!

Just having that one photo? Made my prison stalk through the Walkers and up to our home, covered head to toe in goo....all the more worthwhile.

Rising from the bed, I slowly reached over to cover bubby up.

Hopefully, she'll stay asleep until I've prepped us to leave. There was no way we'd be staying here tonight! Couldn't take the risk in case any of Psycho Cop's buddies turned up to look for him.

When the quilt moved....I glimpsed splodges of blood. When I risked a look at my thighs, I realised where they'd come from.

And my head went into a red rage again.

I used that fury and the accompanying adrenaline to make it through the task of gingerly cleaning myself. Got dressed, avoiding any mirrors.

Time enough for that  later.

Then I painfully moved from room to room, packing things up and ferrying them out to my Jeep. Pausing every now and then to land a wobbly kick on that bastard's corpse.

Once it was done, I drove over to the vehicle and siphoned the gas from his tank into mine. Then parked as close as I could get to the porch steps.

Picked Juju up and gently nestled her in the passenger footwell, swaddled in blankets. I was just about to climb in myself....when I heard that whine again.