Bare Truths

I ran down the street as my vision blurred from crying. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault. It wasn't your fault. I said over and over again. I held onto my cheek, the area still tender and hot from the hit. My feet carried me down the road as I heard someone call out for me from the party. I think it was Lincoln, but it could have been Rick, I was too far away to tell. My stomach flipped when I thought about the conversation I'd have to have with Lincoln now. That very conversation I had avoided for so long. All my insecurities, guilt, and fear, creeping back into my brain from those few words. "He's dead because of you, Scar."

My feet carried me all the way back to our house. I barreled myself through the door and up the stairs to the bathroom, wanting to wash off today's events. I was undressed and in the shower before the water even turned warm. I don't know how long I stood there for, but by the time I got out the room was one big cloud of steam and my skin had been scorched. My body was numb, but I could still feel every ounce of the pain radiating inside of me. My only plan for the rest of the night was to sleep. Sleep would help. If I was asleep then I wouldn't have to think any longer. I wouldn't have to feel the terrible twisting in my stomach any longer. I could find relief just for tonight.

I slipped into some boxer shorts and a baggy tee before reaching for the door. When I walked out of the bathroom, my dress in hand, my eyes landed on the very last person I expected to see laying on my bed. Daryl lay comfortably in the middle of my mattress, the covers still neatly folded underneath him. One of his arms sat propped underneath his head while the other fiddled with a book I had resting on my bedside table. I stood still, watching him until he looked up at me. For some reason, some of that relief I craved came with the sight of him here.

"You made it up the stairs," I said, a little disbelieving in my tone.

He nodded his head slowly, his eyes returning back down to the pages of the book. "Aaron gave me a job. Asked me to be Alexandria's other recruiter," he said, his tone bored.

I dropped my dress down on the floor, any plans to put it back in my closet completely vanished as I walked closer to my bed. "Are you going to do it?" I asked. He could tell I was nervous but eager to know after I yelled at him to give this place a chance.

"Yer gonna be out there. I might as well be too," he shrugged. He didn't want to admit it to me, that he was trying, I could tell he was trying to be as carefree about the decision as possible. I smiled at his response anyway. I crawled onto the bed, not saying a word as I lay down beside him, my head resting on his forearm. Tonight had been awful, but this seemed to make it a little more bearable. It was silent for a couple of minutes, both of us comfortable with it until Daryl spoke up again. "What happened at Deanna's?"

I furrowed my brows as I lay there, not turning to look at him in fear that my face would give it all away. My words failed me just as much though as I began to stutter on them. "W--what do you mean?" I asked, my voice quiet. I don't know if I really wanted to talk about that yet with anyone. Although, I knew that the questions would come eventually when I would have to talk to Lincoln.

"You ran right by me at Aaron's house, crying," he stated. I then realized that's why he was here. He didn't just come upstairs to be upstairs, he came to check on me.

I sighed, "My sister-in-law lives here," I responded. I paused for a moment, contemplating in my head how much I really wanted to reveal about it. I felt mortified and guilty and ashamed and above all so much hurt that she thought those things about me. But, maybe I felt that way because deep down inside I believe what she said was true. "Can I give you the bare truth?" I asked.

"What?"

"I mean no bullshiting. Tell you exactly what I think," I explained.

"Don't you always do that?" he asked, but he wasn't trying to be funny or mean when he said it. He was right, I did speak my mind quite often, but I also censored a lot of my thoughts. I wasn't about to do that right now.

"No, I'm talking about the truths no one wants to hear. Not even me," I responded.

"Okay."

We both stared up at the ceiling as we talked, I couldn't bring myself to look over at him when I said it.

"Shannon is-- was Roy's wife. She told me I was the reason he's dead. I killed him. And I think she's right. I've gone over that day a million times in my head. I should have yelled out to him sooner, or yelled his name louder, or ran after him faster, or looked for him until I found him. She told me that he went back out looking for me, which means he knew it was me at some point. If I had tried harder he would still be alive," the tears brimmed in my eyes and rolled down the sides of my cheek when I finally blinked them away.

I could feel Daryl prop himself up on his side as his forearm slid out from underneath my head. I could see from the corner of my eye that he was looking at me and I tried so hard to keep my eyes locked on the ceiling. I feared that as soon as I looked at him I'd break down for good.

His voice was low, "Can I give you a bare truth of ma' own?" I stayed quiet, nodding my head slightly. My sight remained upwards, not even blinking as I waited for him to speak. "Unless you got the gun or knife in yer' hand, there ain't nothing you can do when it comes to people dying. We got no control over who lives and who dies and when it happens. We only got the people we have for as long as we can have them," he said. There was more silence as I took in what he had said. "Scar." I finally looked over at him and the tears rushed out of me faster than I could catch them with my hands when I realized how hurt he looked from hearing my truth. "Yer' brother ain't dead because of you." His voice was softer than I've ever heard from him before. "He died tryin' to look out for you. The same way Merle died tryin' to look out for me."

I finally cried so hard that my stomach began to hurt. I curled up into a bawl, choking on air as I tried to suck it into my lungs. For the first time, I didn't think about what he thought about me as I lay here and he watched me break down, I was just happy that I wasn't alone. I felt him place his hand on my back as he lay with me quietly. I think I cried for ten minutes straight before I finally began to calm down. There wasn't another word spoken between us for a long time, maybe an hour. I thought eventually I'd just fall asleep with him here, but then he asked something that not even death could keep me from answering first.

"Would ya do me a favour?" His voice still remained calm and low. I rubbed the stained tears from my face as I looked up at him. He was back in his previous position, one hand supporting his head as I lay tucked below him. His eyes didn't meet mine as he now looked like he was struggling to get out his own question. "Would ya ask me something personal… about myself?"

I furrowed my brows as I flipped over onto my stomach, resting my chin on top of my hands as I continued to stare up at him. Daryl barely ever revealed anything about himself that didn't involve what we could figure out ourselves. It was on the rarest occasions where he'd finally share something on his own, but never has he wanted anyone to ask him. "A bare truth?" I asked.

His eyes finally met mine as he pursed his lips together like he was making his final decision, "Ya."

I thought for a moment about all the questions I ever wanted to ask him. All those small details I selfishly wanted to know. And then I thought about why he all of a sudden wanted me to ask him this now. Was he just trying to make me feel better? Or did he genuinely want some to know him, for him? Not just the person, he lets us know him as now. Then I settled on a question that I truly wanted to know the most. One that would give me a little bit of that answer, how he became who he is.

"What was your mother like?"

I watched him intently. He smiled before his face dropped. His focus went to his fingers as he fiddled with them. "Ma' mother was… beautiful. But very neurotic, very cold. Ma' old man made her that way though. She died a long time ago. I was riding home on my bike one day and heard the sirens from down the street. Everyone was looking at me and I knew it was for my house. She fell asleep with a lit cigarette in her hand and the whole house went up with her in it," he explained. My eyes didn't leave him as I watched his face contort at the memory. All the hurt arose behind his eyes like he was living it over again right now.

I didn't know what to say. How could I respond to that? There was nothing I could do now to help the way he felt or the way he still feels. I scooted closer to him, grabbing onto the hand he couldn't stop fiddling as I placed my head on his chest.

"I'm sorry," I spoke softly, my voice barely above a whisper, "we've only got the people we have for as long as we can have them," I repeated his words back to him. That seemed like the only suitable response. It wasn't much, but I think it was enough.

The room fell silent again and my eyes grew heavy from the weight of the day. I could feel Daryl's chest begin to rise and fall much slower under my head as we both fell asleep.