Chasing Amy (Daryl Dixon/The Walking Dead)

Chapter 29 - Daryl Dixon

I tucked my knife back into my belt quickly, being careful not to stab myself, since it was a huge possibility with someone as clumsy as me.

Some of the group must have been in the kitchen, as not everyone was sitting around the dusty room. Not that they'd want to either, as the room felt like an indoor version of the forest surrounding us. The only people in the room were packed tightly against the walls, making sure to stay underneath the still-standing sections of the roof. Daryl seemed to be the only one brave enough to sit out under the stars, and he was also the closest to the warm flames.

I made my way towards him, my heart leaping with nervousness. It was hard not to be afraid, after all he'd said last time we had a conversation. I clumsily plopped down beside him, wincing as my bottom hit the hard floor.

Daryl shook his head at my clear inelegance, as he held his squirrel-stick over the fire to cook it.

He didn't bother to say anything about my company, as if he expected it.

And so the silence dragged on, as I searched every corner of my brain to find something I could talk to him about at that moment.

"Remember... Remember when I asked what your last name is? I figured it'd have to be something beginning with D. Because your knife had your initials on it, right? DD." I mentally slapped myself as he lifted his gaze from the fire to my face, in a look of utter annoyance. "W-Well... You don't have to tell me your last name, if you don't want to. I guess it doesn't really matter these days anyway."

I drifted off, waiting for him to shift his eyes from mine.

"Well, my last name is Wilson. Amy Wilson. If you wanted to know," I coughed, cringing to myself at how awkward I sounded. "I don't even know how old I am anymore. Isn't that weird? I think I'm still twenty-six... And I used to live in Philadelphia, in this crappy little apartment that had creaky floorboards and windows that wouldn't open. It was always really hot in there, and the entire building smelt like... Like cigarette smoke."

He was listening... Which was something. I missed talking to people, and that was probably why I was torturing Daryl with mindless details of how my life was before the apocalypse. I deliberately restrained from talking about my family, friends... For the obvious reasons. Instead I focused on the parts of my life that I didn't exactly miss.

I just kept thinking back to that day on the motorway, where he stood by me as the rest of the group had their little reunion. Glenn and T-Dog were nice to hang around with, sure. But with Daryl, it was different. For some stupid reason, his "go-away-I-don't-like-you" attitude only made me want to talk to him even more.

We were the only people who didn't have family here, or friends.

"I worked as a waitress, which was probably why I had, like, no money and that stupid hellhole of an apartment. I was stuck in this stupid rut... My life was just a constant cycle of work, sleep, eat, and go back to work. Well, I like to draw too. I should've been an art teacher. I love kids."

Was Daryl seriously still listening to me? He looked like he was listening, but then maybe he was just making himself look like he was listening. For all I knew, he could have been planning to throw me into the flames to try and shut me up. It didn't really seem like something Daryl would do. If he didn't want to listen, he'd just tell me to shut up.

Noticing my sudden silence, he glanced back up, only to find me watching him with nervous eyes.

"Where's this goin'?" He asked quietly.

"All this stuff doesn't really matter anymore, does it? I mean... This was usually how people'd get to know each other." I smiled a little, ducking my head down to hide my embarrassment. "You said you didn't know me, and that's true, we're basically strangers. But this is me... I'm not the most interesting person in the world. I'm not the strongest, or the smartest." I chuckled back a lump in my throat, after the painful reminder of my past life.