𝒃𝒖𝒕 𝒕𝒉𝒆 𝒘𝒐𝒍𝒇 𝒔𝒖𝒓𝒗𝒊𝒗𝒆𝒔 ➪ «𝑑𝑎𝑟𝑦𝑙 𝑑𝑖𝑥𝑜𝑛»

ch. XXXV pt. II

oOo

Daryl's absence brought a certain clarity to her mind. She picked at the clumps with the fork absentmindedly, shoved them in her mouth and swallowed them without breathing. The aftertaste wasn't that bad, but her stomach was still sensitive and the smell was pungent enough to threaten to spill her stomach contents once more.

Diana's mind went to more sensible topics; her brother and sister, were they up already? Had they slept well? How were they doing? She felt so guilty to have been there thinking only with her uterus while they were suffering on their own. It was selfish of her.

When Daryl returned, the plate lied empty on the ground, and Diana had her legs curled towards her chest, the prickly blanket around her like a mantle, swallowing her entire body. Her head felt a little better, but she still drained the water as soon as he handed it to her.

He sat at her feet with a nod of satisfaction towards the plate, then accepted the empty glass back. He put it on the ground at his feet.

"Did you see my kids?" was the first thing she asked, now soberer than ever.

Daryl nodded and leaned back on the sofa, his hands resting on his thighs. "Yeah, they eatin' breakfast."

Diana looked down, inspecting an uneven seam on the corner of the blanket, and nodded. "Good. Eating is good." It sounded like absolute drivel, but Daryl still nodded in agreement, as if it was the most sensible thing she'd said since waking up. Which was probably not a lie.

She remained silent for some time, trying to string together what she remembered and what she wanted to ask of Daryl. He seemed to notice her anticipation and lent her time.

The first and most obvious question that came to mind was, "What... what happened last night?" she voiced it quietly, almost fearful of the answer.

Daryl's eyes jumped on her face, examining her hesitant expression, then he swallowed thickly and said, "You showed up here hammered, tryna pry open the door, thinkin' this was your room,"

"I remember that part," Diana commented, cracking her knuckles under the blanket.

"I let you in. Ya almost fell on your face, then laughed like it was the funniest shit ever. Started speakin' in foreign languages at some point, 'cause I ain't understand nothing you said." The amused curl of his lips fell and his hands flexed on his legs. "Then you... ya cried. About..."

"Mom and dad," she supplemented logically, her eyes downcast. She tightened the blanket around her, hugging her legs closer to her chest. "I'm sorry for the downer. We should've been celebrating our safety... I'm- I'm sorry I ruined that for you."

Daryl's hand found her covered forearm and he squeezed for her attention. "Don't. Ya didn't ruin anythin'." Diana's sheepish gaze found his confident one, and his hand retracted. "Ya got the right to mourn. Never feel bad about that."

"The thing is, I've been crying on everybody's shoulder," Diana spat out in self-hate, triggered by his words, "Mom and dad were worth every tear, but I wanna be stronger than that. I need to be stronger than that."

"Ain't nothing sayin' you can't cry and still be strong. One don't mean the absence of the other," Daryl said in earnest. His hand rested on the sofa cushion between them as if reaching out to her but not wanting to touch her.

He was right, of course. After all, hadn't she been the one to say that she wanted to maintain her soft core? That that was the essence of her humanity? There was no contradiction between the two concepts. But she still foolishly feared others would see weakness in her sorrow.