Arrowhead ➳ Daryl Dixon

e i g h t e e n

Daryl watched from his perch on dense branches of the tree as Michonne crept through town. Her dark skin helped her blend in quite well, especially since she was dressed in all black attire. While the last few times he had gone with her, she had insisted on going herself this time, because of yesterday. His hands clenched at the mere thought.

He has only been able to watch in horror when the Governor pulled Presley out into view. While clean, her already pale skin had been white as snow. He had gotten a glimpse of those blue eyes, dark and dull compared to their previous radiance. That was the Presley never wanted to see again. Broken, destroyed.

Michonne crept towards the window of the building that Presley had come out of the other night. She peered inside, crouched low to the ground. A patrol walked by, oblivious to the woman hiding in the shrubbery.

Daryl frowned when his bladder tightened. He'd been holding in a piss for the past twenty minutes, ever since Michonne had snuck past the fences of the small town. He glanced over at her. Hopefully he wouldn't miss much. As silently as human possible, he climbed down from the tree and turned, thinking he was undetected.

"You must've been holding in that one for a while." A male voice said as Daryl zipped his jeans. He spun, pulling a knife out of his holster. A figure leaned against the fence, eyes calm, despite Daryl's threatening posture. He didn't even know what to do, so he just stood there, standing a few feet away from the stranger.

"You and that woman have been sneaky... But I've been expecting you to come looking for the girls." He said, pushing himself away from the building. Daryl then got a good look at him. He was tall, probably an inch of two taller than himself. He was built and fairly thin, shaggy blonde hair falling just above his eyebrow. He looked clean enough, but Daryl sensed something was off Because of the blood splattered on the bottom of his jeans.

The man noticed Daryl eyeing his bloody jeans,"you were discovered. I disposed of him before word could get to the Governor." The man informed him. "My name is Stefan."

Daryl continued to eye him. "Why did ye help us?"

"Because..." He faded off briefly. "What they're doing to that poor girl, it's so wrong..."

"Presley? What are they doing to her?" Daryl demanded, taking a step towards Stefan.

"Whoa there cowboy, no need to get all threatening here. I'm your only hope of getting those two out of here." Stefan said, glancing over his shoulder.

"How do I know I can trust you?"

"You don't." Stefan shrugged. "But you don't have much of a choice, do you, Daryl?"

- -

Silence was loud that particular morning. Presley sat in her bed, trying to find peace within her own mind. In just a few hours the Governor would come in and destroy her virtue all over again. She shuddered, goose bumps adding texture to her pale skin.

Her hair was damp from her shower, and the shampoo she had used smelled faintly of strawberries. She inhaled the scent, bringing a tendril of hair up to her nose.

The silence was broken when she heard the door rattling. It could either be lunch, or the Governor coming in for an early date. She closed her eyes, fearing the worst. Her hands fisted around the sheet of her bed, so hard that her knuckles began to turn white.

"Here's lunch." The voice said when the door was cracked open. Relief was the first thing that came over her. She looked to see an attractive man. His brown eyes were friendly. He closed the door behind him, causing the smaller girl to freeze. She stared at him with wide doe eyes as he sat on the edge of her bed, a few feet away from herself.