Skin Contact

Chapter 4: Four Walls And A Roof

(Trigger warnings for physical/child abuse in this chapter, so tread lightly.) 

Their relationship hasn’t surpassed stolen kisses and hidden, lingering touches until Rick made the decision to take up residence in that suburban house they’d cleared out a few days ago. The nights were growing long and cold, so it was about time they found a place they could wait out the winter in. The house is nothing special, two-storey and white-panelled, with oddly cheerful red shutters and somewhat intact curtains. It may have been the last place on earth that resembled a real home.

They search the house for food and supplies. A few canned goods and jars of jelly—Carl had even found and called dibs on peanut butter—are stored inside the kitchen cupboards, hidden in cereal boxes and under overturned buckets by someone before them. They still have a pretty good stash of food leftover from the general store, but the more they had the better. And after Rosita manages to open the metal gun locker in the garage with a blowtorch the group scavenge two low-powered hunting rifles, a standard-issue Beretta handgun that Abraham is quick to claim, and a few cases of ammo. They use sheets of plywood and rows of picket fencing to board up the windows and doors. It’s a damn fine haul, the house has strong foundations, and they have enough food and set enough snares to last a few weeks. Rick proposes holding out here for as long as it works and the decision is unanimous: they’ll stay.

The beds are in good condition, almost clean enough to sleep in after airing the sheets out, snapping them free of dirt. The living room couches and wooden chairs are in good nick too, pulled into a semi-circle around the sturdy tepee of tinder in the cavernous fireplace.

The group are dead on their feet by sundown. They can hardly stay awake after a feast of strawberry jam and lukewarm baked beans, blinking furiously and rubbing eyes to fend off the lure of sleep. It’s the presence of four walls and a roof, shielding them from the ugliness of outside, and a real place to lie down and get a decent night’s rest which awakens the feeling of fatigue and weariness in them. They congregate in living room, amassed around the small, strong fire burning in the hearth, a scattered, soft glow of candles illuminating a path throughout the house—kitchen, the front door and other vantage points, bathroom, designated sleeping areas.

Carl calls it quits first, taking the teenage boys room upstairs—full of comics and action figures and movie posters—with Judith. Daryl is pleased with how Rick and his son are taking a more active role in Judith’s care instead of leaving it to Beth to handle. She certainly likes doing it, and loves Judith with all fibre of her being, and the girl wouldn’t say no if Rick asked her for help, but Judith ain’t her kid. She’s not her responsibility, not her burden.

Michonne and Tyreese take the couch, saying they’d take watch for the night. Noah joins them quickly, curling up on an window seat with a woollen blanket. Abraham, Rosita, Tara and a reluctant Eugene bunk in the adjacent garage. Carol hasn’t wandered upstairs since she stumbled across a frilly pink girl’s room, sending a fresh wave of grief coursing through her, and so she joins the group downstairs. Two rooms are left, and Beth thinks she would've to bear sleeping with Maggie, Glenn and Sasha in the girl’s room, and that Rick would take the master bedroom and leave Daryl on the living room floor with only his backpack for a pillow. But, Rick gets up and wipes his jam-sticky hands on his thighs, saying that he’s going to spend the night with Carl and Judith. He doesn’t feel right leaving his kids alone just so he can sleep with a pillow under his head. And then he offers the master bedroom to Daryl.

Beth’s heart pounds at her ribcage at the thought of Daryl sleeping in a bed that was far too big for him. They had yet to have sex, to do more than share ten short minutes together late at night or early in the morning before Judith launched into a fit of crying or a walker trigged their boundary line.