Dark Serenity - Carl Grimes

•Chapter Twenty-Nine•

Playlist// Staying Up - The Neighborhood

*Greyson's P.O.V.*

Traditionally, I don't spend the night in houses with men that are twice my age. But while were speaking metaphorically, I also don't smash an inhuman creature's skull with my foot either.

I bounced my foot up and down underneath the wooden table as I thought of a plan to find people. Survivors.

"What're you thinking about?" Daryl asks, leaning against the kitchen counter. I look up at him, pondering if I should actually tell him what was on my thoughts.

"You know, the usual. Zebras, belly button lint, and the occasional thought of banana peels." I shrug, smirking afterward.

He shakes his head with a small chuckle escaping his lips as he does so. He turns around, scavenging around the cabinets. He grabs something from the far right one, reading the label as he brings it to me.

"Vodka." He mutters, setting it down on the table in front of me. "Take a sip."

I stare at him as if I actually was a 15 year old girl in a normal world. There are no rules. No ones going to arrest me for drunk driving.

He places his hand over it, shrugging as he does so. "Suit yourself."

I quickly place my hand over his, bringing the bottle back down. He takes his hand off, holding both of them up as if I were holding him at gun point. I decided if Daryl was going to try to get drunk, he couldn't get drunk off the air in the bottle after I drink it all.

I stay looking at him while bringing the bottle up to my lips. He's raises his eyebrows, ushering me on.

The moment I take a sip I set it back down on the table, a little bit spilling in the process. I start coughing up a storm as if I had just taken a hit on a cigarette.

"Strong." Is all I can get out before coughs over power me. He nods, laughing after.

He reaches for it again and I decide once more my only choice is to take another drink. I bring it up, taking a big swallow this time.

"Someone's eager." He says, taken aback.

I smile as I slam the bottle down again, the hot liquid flowing down my throat slowly. Like a medicine.

Daryl menaces around the room, examining every item as he passes it.

"It was hard before this, yah know?" He asks, stopping in front of a old, rusty leather chair. It looked as if a dog had it as a chew toy. The ash tray next to it not giving off a positive vibe either.

"Believe me, I know." I say, drinking another sip voluntarily.

"No," Daryl says. "Much worse than living in a home with a family who all got around the Christmas tree and showed their love through disappointing socks and ugly sweaters." He takes the bottle from me, taking a swig at it. A large swig. "Try growing up knowing your parents didn't care if you came home the next day. Or getting a bottle of Vodka," Another swig. "And a brand new pack of cigarettes for Christmas."

I heard the pain behind his words. I knew Daryl had a rough past the moment I saw him. He was already broken in many ways few could explain. But yet he still had such a big heart.

"That bad?" I say as more of a statement. I stand up, leaning against the wall next to the table.

"That's not even the rear end of it." And, you guessed it, another drink. Drink after drink Daryl drank away his sorrow. Something about this house reminded Daryl of before, and he wasn't happy.