𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. XXXIV pt. II

oOo

He would not be allowing her to wallow in self-pity, that was something he could not tolerate. He accepted that she was mourning and trying to cope, but this was not the answer.

Daryl cupped her face between his palms and she stopped speaking at the suddenness. He couldn't help admiring the few scattered tiny beauty spots on her skin from up close. Some on her right cheek had the makings of a constellation he knew but could not name.

He felt a sense of security in her drunkenness, like he didn't have to be embarrassed by whatever he said. "There ain't ever a reason for bad shit to happen, it just do. And then you either let it bring ya down, or you stick your middle finger up and rise above it."

Her chin was trembling again, her bottom lip sticking slightly out, but she didn't cry, so he continued. His hold became gentler and he swept some stray hairs away from her face.

"I ain't sayin' it ain't gonna hurt, 'cause it will. Like fucking hell. But when times are tough, you gotta be tougher, and I know you are. I seen you shrug off the end of the world like it ain't mean a thing, and bring down two grown men like it was some minor-league shit."

"I cried 'bout all o' that," she admitted, looking off to the side, and Daryl could've laughed at her sheepish confession.

"Yeah, you gonna cry even more 'bout this." He swept her curls back and put his hands on her shoulders with a gentle squeeze. "That don't mean it won't get better.

It's gonna be harder, it's gonna take longer. But ya ain't alone. Ya got your brother and sister, ya got me, shit you even got the fuckin' ch- Glenn always on your damn tail."

"Oh," she said suddenly, her wide cinnamon eyes returning to his, and her fingers encased his wrist. "I'm sorry 'bout Merle."

Daryl huffed a breath of disbelief at her train of thought and nodded, pushing the subject aside. "Yeah. Get my point? Y'ain't useless, you the only family those kids got. Samuel and Irene were killed, it ain't nobody's fault, especially not yours. There's squat shit you coulda done-"

"-If I'd run faster," Diana interrupted with a hard voice, looking down.

"You only woulda hurt yourself," he reasoned, remembering thinking her lungs had been on the verge of collapsing as they ran back to camp by the way her breathing sounded.

"I shou- shoulda stayed behind," her voice became thick with tears once more. "Papá was so- so mad at me, so disappointed. Both o' them were. I-"

The tiny bit of resentment he'd felt towards her melted away. She'd sacrificed so much on his behalf; he couldn't hold her responsible for his brother's stupidity. He caught her eye. "One thing you can do to make it up to 'em."

"What?" she asked and dried her eyes on the backs of her hands.

Daryl tilted his head. "Ya gotta live."

Diana exhaled deeply, sounding exhausted, and took her time thinking over his words before nodding. If there was anything he wanted her to remember from that night, it was those three words.

"Thank you," she whispered, glancing up at him. Her hands cupped his jaw, thumbs gently caressing his stubbled cheeks, and she pulled him to herself until their foreheads rested together. Her skin was feverishly warm but not unpleasant.

Her hands then reached up and her fingers found his short hair again, digging into it, pulling slightly at the roots. A shiver ran down his spine, raising goosebumps on his skin and making his scalp tingle.

Daryl closed his eyes, his heart stopping for a beat only to restart at a gallop. He inhaled sharply, the scent of oranges and limes that wafted from her hair tickling his nose. Her warm breath on his lips made him wish to feel hers against his own, but he didn't think to move.