Chapter Thirty One

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31. Better Off Dead

 Better Off Dead

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He scrambled to make sense of what just happened. Something primal and instinctual came over him and words spilled out that he never would've dared to say before.

"All you gotta do is say when," he had murmured, and she greedily took her opportunity. He had grabbed her rougher than he meant to, squeezing her skin and biting her lips until they were sore, taking what he wanted from her until she was left breathless, and he cursed himself for treating her that way. She deserved everything soft and tender in the world, and he was the last person on it who knew what to do about that. His sexual experiences were limited, laced with alcohol, in bar bathrooms or a seedy motel. He never bothered to pay attention to the women's faces, and they didn't exactly care to know his name. Then he and Merle would be gone the next day, the women a distant memory by the time they hit the road.

With her, everything had changed.

He could hear Merle now, laughing at him in his head. You sorry sum' bitch, what makes you think a girl like that is gonna go for a shit stain like you? But she had kissed him just as roughly as he did, she made the first move. She had wrapped her long legs around him and took him in, she folded her fingers into his own. Maybe that little voice inside him was wrong.

"How's Carl doing?" He felt a strange need to fill the silence between them as they made their way back to Alexandria. He knew the boy spent most of his time with either her or Enid, sneaking out of the walls when they thought nobody was looking. Daryl knew, and he watched them from afar. If anybody could understand the urge to be out in the woods, it was him.

"He's restless," she murmured, fiddling with her knife in her nimble fingers. He wondered if she really knew just how restless he was. "I told him if Rick said he can go on a run with me then I'd take him, but I knew Rick would say no. I just didn't have the heart to tell the kid myself."

He cleared his throat, stuck in an uncomfortable position between wanting to keep Carl's secret, and never wanting to hide anything from Zepp. "Aight," he stuttered, catching her off guard. "I'm gonna tell you something but you can't get pissed." She raised her eyebrows and slid her knife back into it's holster. They slowed their pace but didn't stop.

"Shoot," she whispered, eyes narrowed.

"Carl's been sneakin' out," he admitted. "With Enid." He looked over to gauge her reaction, mentally preparing himself for her wrath.

"Daryl," she groaned, shoving him lightly. "Why didn't you tell me? How often?" She shook her head in annoyance like a disappointed mother.

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