Things We Said Today

Daryl led me down a small trail through the woods. With a few broken sticks and leaves that had been squashed into the mud it looked as if the small path had been walked through before, but only a handful of times. I stepped where Daryl stepped. He said that he had someplace to show me. Surprisingly, he wasn't against my idea to find booze, but instead, told me to follow him. After days of being at odds with one another, we had finally found something to agree on. I believe it was because finding alcohol was such a simple task. There was no harm done if we didn't find any, and if we did find some, it would be a nice reward. That's what I mean by an easy task. It wasn't like looking for food, or water, or the people we loved. All those things would end in a heavy disappointment if we came up short.

For the first time in days, I found myself smiling. A small half-grin looping up the right side of my face. Daryl walked out into a clearing, exiting the small man-made path into a much larger one, similar to a driveway.

"Found this place with Michonne," Daryl said, dropping his crossbow to his side.

I looked up to see a very small shack-like house. The shrubbery had grown so high around it that I could barely see the house hidden behind it. From what I could see the place had been trashed. Not trashed in the sense that a group of scavengers had torn it apart looking for supplies after the apocalypse. Instead, this was years of neglect from whoever once lived here. The roof had holes in multiple locations from the shingles rotting off, the screens encasing the front porch had been ripped and sliced through, and the front yard was littered with any storage item they couldn't fit in the garage.

"I was expecting a liquor store," I answered, confused as to why he brought me here.

"Nah, this is better," he grunted before taking off towards the house.

He led me around the back to what looked to be a tiny storage room, like a shack you'd find in a backyard but this one was attached to the house. Daryl's body blocked the entrance into the storage room, but I could hear bottles rattle and clack against one another as he picked something up. He turned to face me, a wooden box in his arms, filled to the brim with clear liquor bottles and jars tilted on their side and stacked on top.

"What's that?" I ask.

He hands the box to me, letting me know I'm going to be carrying it into the house, "Moonshine." He brushes past my shoulder knowing he's done his job on finding me some alcohol, but just before he's out of my sight I could see a small smile creep upon his face.

Walking into the one-bedroomed shack, the inside was so much worse than I could have imagined upon first glance. There was stuff everywhere. And what I mean by stuff is just as simple as the word, there was nothing in here that was of significance. These people were hoarders. Newspapers littered the carpet, the sink that also sat on the right side of the living room had been piled high with dishes, and there were boxes upon boxes of random household items stationed at every available space along the wall. I stepped over a fan that had fallen out of the ceiling to get to the kitchen table in the centre of the room. I placed the wooden box down and the circular table teetered before settling.

Daryl walked by me, peering into the single bedroom on the opposite side of the house before declaring that we were safe to stay. He swayed back over to me, blowing out the dust from the inside of the glass before pouring me a shot.

"That's a real drink right there," he said, placing the drink down in front of me. I stared at the cup for a moment, hesitant on taking the first sip. "What's the matter?" he questioned.

"I've never had moonshine before," I answered, furrowing my brows. But the reason for my hesitation wasn't because I was nervous about the taste. I was thinking about Glenn. I was thinking about what could possibly be my favourite night I've had since the world went to shit. The two of us sat alone in the CDC's rec room, playing games, sharing stories, and overall just feeling safe together. Before I made it too obvious that my mind was elsewhere, I picked up the cloudy cup and slammed back the shot. My nose immediately scrunched up, a sharp sting sliding down my throat before there was a tingling feeling in the pit of my stomach. "That is the most disgusting thing I've ever tasted," I coughed before instantly going to pour out another one.

"Woah, slow down," Daryl interjected.

I looked up at him, "This one's for you."

"Nah, I'm good," he declined my offer, waving his hand out in front of him. He looked uncomfortable like he was worried about letting his guard down.

"Why? We've been on edge for days," I tried to convince him.

"Someone's gotta keep watch."

"So, what? You're like my chaperone now?" I asked, continuing to look up at him from my seat. He swayed awkwardly.

"Uhh, just drink lots of water," he grunted before walking past me, back into the connecting living room.

"Yes, Mr. Dixon," I responded, rolling my eyes, displeased by his response.

The following hour went by quietly. Daryl searched around the house for things he could use to board up the open windows, while I continued to drink. Each sip down the hatch became smoother and smoother, and the taste almost became tolerable. Eventually, I became bored with the silence hanging over us and began to snoop through the boxes.

I laughed when I found an object hiding behind the only loveseat in the room. "Who'd go into a store and walk out with this?" I asked as I dropped the large pink metal bra in the middle of the living room. It was designed to be a massive ashtray, and this thing had been well used. There had to be at least a hundred butts in the tray alone.

"My dad, that's who," Daryl snickered as his eyes landed on the tray. I looked up at him in a stupor. He's talked about his dad to me briefly before, but it was always a shock when he willingly brought him up. "Oh, he's a dumbass. He'd set those up on top of the TV set, use them as target practice--"

"He shot things inside of your house?" I questioned. The liquid courage allowing me to respond with the questions I actually wanted to ask.

"It was just a bunch of junk anyway?" Daryl threw his hand up, his head shaking a bit. It was like he realized what he said and my reaction to it. What was normal for him came as a massive shock to others. "That's how I knew what this place was. That shed out there, my dad had a place just like this. You got your dumpster chair. That's for sittin' in your drawers all summer drinking," he stopped for a moment as he pointed at the ratty loveseat I sat beside, to see if I was listening, "Got your fancy buckets. That's for spitting chaw in after your old lady tells you to stop smoking." Then he stopped and picked up one of the many newspapers that littered the room. "You got your Internet."

The sound of low gurgles caused Daryl to instantly drop the newspaper. I stood up from where I had been crouched on the floor. My heart raced, the booze causing my brain to become a foggy mess and the situation actually excited me.

"It's just one of them," Daryl exhaled in relief.

"Should we get it?"

"If it makes too much noise, yeah."

I looked down at the multiple jars of moonshine, a smile plastering across my face. "Well, if we're gonna be trapped again, we might as well make the best of it," I said, picking up one of the jars and holding it out to him. He looked across at me, his eyes boring into mine as his mind pondered on the idea. "Unless you're too busy chaperoning, Mr. Dixon," I smiled, holding eye contact with him.

There was a silence between us. I had created a situation that I knew would have been uncomfortable if I was of the right mind, but I didn't care. He scoffed before finally grabbing the jar from my hand, "Hell, might as well make the best of it." He plopped down in the floral loveseat, making himself comfortable as he twisted off the lid. "Home, sweet home."

It didn't take long for the moonshine to take its toll on us, I also had a head start of course. Seventy-five percent alcohol mixed with malnourishment was a pretty simple equation to figure out. Daryl still sat comfortably in his chair while I made myself busy by dragging the coffee table over to his feet.

"What are you doing?" he asked. There was a hint of amusement in his tone.

"We're gonna play a game," I answered. I plopped down onto the floor, opposite the side of the table from Daryl. I made sure I had my glass and an extra jar of moonshine placed in the centre. "It's called Never Have I Ever." He watched me intently, not obliging to my suggestion so I continued. "So first I say something I've never done and if you have done it, you drink, and if you haven't, I drink. Then we switch." He chewed on the skin around his nails, his eyes trailing along my face. "You really don't know this game?"

"I never needed a game to get lit before," he responded.

"Wait, are we starting?" I asked, confused if he was answering me or staring the game off.

"How do you know this game?" he squinted his eyes at me.

"I've been drinking a lot longer than I care to admit," I shrugged my brows. "Okay," I shook my head as we were getting distracted, "I'll start. I've never killed a deer." I started the game off simple.

"Ain't much of a game," Daryl muttered as he took a sip of his drink.

"That was a warm-up. Now, you go." He thought for a while, mumbling under his breath that he didn't have anything to say. "Just say the first thing that pops into your head."

"I've never been out of Georgia," he stated.

"Really? Okay, good one," I said, taking a sip of my drink as I reflected on our one-time family trip to Mexico. "I've never… been drunk and did something I regretted," I said. I was being strategic now, trying to word my questions in a way that I could maybe get more information out of Daryl. Most of it was just courage though, courage from the moonshine on my breath to push the limits with this game.

Daryl dropped his hand from his mouth and took a hefty gulp from his cup, he swallowed hard before saying, "I've done a lot of things."

I believed him and I wanted to know more, but the knowledgeable portion of my brain, as cloudy as it was, told me to drop it. "Your turn."

"I've never been on vacation before."

"What about camping?" I asked.

"No, that's just something I had to learn to hunt," he shook his head.

"Your dad teach you?" I asked softly.

"Mm-mh," he muttered. I accepted my defeat and took a sip of my drink.

"I've never… been in jail," I said and Daryl's eyes immediately met mine. Although this wasn't his usual stare, he was shooting a dagger straight at me. "I mean as a prisoner, we just left jail."

His fingers rubbed together, agitated, as his elbow rested upon his knee, "Is that what you think of me?" he asked, his glare not allowing me to break away from him.

"I didn't mean anything serious. Loads of people have been to the drunk tank before. You just said you did a lot of things you regretted." I defended myself, but I worried that it was only making things worse.

"Drink up," he pointed at my cup, telling me that he's never done it.

I sat there awkwardly, feeling the tension that I had created between us. Daryl was three feet away from me and I could practically feel the anger radiating off of him. And it was all directed towards me.

"It's your turn," I nearly whispered once the cup left my lips.

"I'm gonna take a piss," Daryl responded, standing up abruptly as he latched onto his jar. He walked over to the corner of the kitchen, slamming the jar down on the ground as he now used the extra hand to unzip his pants. The jar instantly shattered, a sharp noise rebounding off the claustrophobic house walls as pieces of glass bounced across the tiled floor.

"You have to be quiet," I said. My heart was beginning to race, I knew he was angry with me now.

"Can't hear you! I'm taking a piss!"

"Daryl, don't talk so loud."

"What, are you my chaperone now?" He looked over his shoulder at me, his eyebrows raised. He was in defence mode and I pushed him there. "Oh, wait. It's my turn, right? I never… never had one big happy family. Never had a pet dog named Butters." He swiped his hand across the kitchen table, knocking over anything that laid on top. "Never relied on anyone for protection before. Hell, I don't think I've ever relied on anyone for anything!" He pushed over the chair that sat in front of me.

"Daryl."

"I sure as hell never contemplated taking my own life. Standing in that damn CDC like a deer in headlights!" he shouted before his breath fell short. The tension in his face loosened up as he released everything that was inside of him, even if it was at the cost of my feelings. There was silence for a moment, all I could hear was his deep intakes of breath. Then a thud on the door. "Sounds like our friend out there is trying to call all of his buddies," Daryl called out, kicking up some of the newspaper on the floor before grabbing his crossbow.

"Daryl, shut up," I gritted my teeth at him.

"Nah, come on. This is gonna be fun," he said. Before I had time to object he grabbed on tight to my arm and hoisted me outside. Kicking open the door, he two-stepped down the porch steps. His crossbow raised in one hand and the other wrapped around my wrist.

"Daryl, enough," I shouted, stumbling through the shrubs until we found the walker along the side of the house.

"Dumbass!" Daryl yelled out to it, finally letting go of my arm. "Come here, dumbass!" he called out again. He then released one of his arrows from the bow, pinning the walker through the chest and up against a tree.

"Daryl," I pleaded, trying to get him to stop.

"What? You want to shoot?" he asked. He was so frantic I had little time to react to anything. Before I knew it he had spun me around so my back was pressed up against his chest, he dropped his right arm over my shoulder and positioned his crossbow in front of my face.

Mustering up as much strength as I could I squirmed out of his hold. I turned to him, shoving his shoulders as hard as I could. "No, I don't want to shoot!" I yelled back.

"Come on, it's fun!" He reloaded his weapon after shooting the walking in the right leg. "Eightball," he mumbled as he pulled the trigger once more, now hitting the walker directly in the heart.

"Just kill it!" I screamed at him. It's been a long time since I've seen Daryl like this. He was angry. He had no regard for anyone else around him. It was the same Daryl I met up on top of that mountainside campsite in Atlanta.

"Come here, Red. Let's pull these things out and give us some more target practice," he disregarded my pleas and began to walk over to the walker.

I was now reaching my own boiling point. It could be argued that this whole situation was my fault, but I never intended for the day to end up like this. I brushed past Daryl before he could reach the walker. I swiftly pulled my knife out of my belt and lodged the blade into the walker's skull.

"What the hell you do that for? I was having fun," Daryl shouted at me.

I finally turned to him, no longer feeling sorry for what I said in the house, "No, you were being a jackass! If anyone had found my brother or yours--"

"Don't! That ain't remotely the same."

"Killing them is not supposed to be fun."

"What do you want from me, girl, huh? Why do you care so much about what the hell I do?" he shouted, his face was no further than an inch from mine.

"I want you to stop acting like you don't give a shit about anything! Like nothing, we went through matters! Like none of the people we lost meant anything to you! It's bullshit!" My lungs hurt from how hard I was screaming at him. Everything I thought over the last few days was all coming out at once.

"Is that what you think?" he asked, stepping up to me.

I stumbled backwards from him, the tears threatening to come out, "That's what I know."

"You don't know nothing."

"I know you look at me and you just see another one of your loved ones dead. I'm not Merel. I'm not Rick. I'm not Carol. But you look at me and I can see that you are afraid to lose me. I know that because it is the exact same way I look at you--"

The rest of my words were completely taken from me. Daryl grabbed on hard to the sides of my face, pulling me in for my lips to meet his. He was crossing a line that I didn't think he'd ever cross between us. But he did. My body melted into his for the fraction of the short-lived kiss. The initial shock quickly withered away as a feeling of comfort overcame the rest of my body. He dropped his hand from my cheeks, stepping away from me and putting space between us once again.

"I ain't afraid of nothing."