Perfect Storm || Daryl Dixon

32: personal space rules

"You can't trust everything and you can't let people too close which is kind of sad in a way, but it's true." - Oli Sykes

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Erin was the first up the next morning, regretting her choice to sleep in the bed of her truck as she awoke aching all over from the awkward position the weapons forced her into. Rolling over, a wordless groan escaped her mouth involuntarily as she felt her back hit the butt of her rifle. She felt damp, her jacket keeping a thin layer of sweat trapped between it and her skin. The sun was barely risen, but the heat around her made the air like a sauna rather than a refreshing breeze.

She already knew it was going to be an unpleasant day...

Groggily, she sat up, pushing the gun away and stretching out her arms, hearing her joints complain via an orchestra of cracks and creaks. No matter how many times she manoeuvred her neck around, beginning to feel like one of those nodding dogs, the crick that resided at the top of her spine refused to budge, painfully cramping the muscles surrounding it.

Letting out an agitated sigh, she wriggled her legs around to get the blood flowing in them before shuffling her ass down to the edge of the truck and hopping down the three foot drop, her feet only giving the slightest bit of resistance as she landed. As she found her bearings, she flapped the edges of her jacket a bit in an attempt to get some fresh air flowing through it, brushing her sweat tangled locks away from her face and blowing out a breath to cool her forehead.

It honestly felt like she'd bathed in sweat throughout the night, the salty substance lingering all over her face, invading her mouth with bitterness as she darted her tongue over her dry, chapped lips. She swore she'd never felt so sticky and gross in her life before or post-apocalypse and she really needed a shower, but just as the thought crossed her mind, she heard an alive sounding groan come from on top of Dale's RV.

She looked up to find Daryl sat on the roof, wiping the tiredness from his eyes with a tatty sleeve of the t-shirt he was wearing. It had completely slipped her mind that he was supposed to be keeping watch overnight - she had offered to take his place and let him sleep, but he was stubborn.

By the looks of it, he should have taken her advice and slept because it seemed he'd dozed off, meaning they'd all been defenceless for however long he'd been out. If a walker had wandered into their midst, it would have turned at least half of the camp before he woke up and grabbed his crossbow.

He hadn't noticed her just yet as she headed over to the vehicle, careful to avoid the passed out form of Merle that was sprawled out beside the back wheel of her truck, drooling on the grass beneath his cheek. Carol had yelped loud enough to wake the dead when she found him, clearly thinking he was deceased until Daryl assured her he'd just smoked too much meth - again, Erin was hardly surprised.

"Sleep well?" She laughed as Daryl almost leapt out of his skin, his hands immediately going to his bow before he looked down and saw her.

"Wasn't asleep..." he argued indignantly as she raised an eyebrow at him, placing a hand on her hip. From her distance, the sheen of perspiration on his forehead was visible, indicating that the heat was affecting him just as much as it was irritating her.