Trust Me | Daryl Dixon

Part 19

I sat on the couch in the living room of a place I still wasn't comfortable with calling my house, as I skimmed through a book I honestly wasn't interested in.
I thought, when I first showed up to this place, that it was the answer to all of my problems, but it seems like the exact opposite. Don't get me wrong, it's beautiful here and everyone- almost everyone is so nice but, I still feel out of place. Maybe it'll get better with time but for right now, I'm not counting on it.

I jumped slightly as I heard a light tap on the front door, causing scenes from every scary movie I've ever seen to flash through my mind.
I took a deep breath, knowing that a masked killer would be the least of my problems right now, before opening the door.

I furrowed my eyebrows at the sight of Daryl standing in front of me, a container in his hand.

"Yeah?" I asked, more confused than angry at his presence.

"Rick wanted me to bring ya this." He murmured, holding out the container that I could now see was filled with some sort of food.

I nodded, taking the container, "Tell him I said thank you."

He nodded back, turning to leave before I felt a guilty urge to stop him.

"I'm sorry." I breathed out, catching him off guard as he turned back around to face me, "I'm sorry for going off on you earlier and making fun of your bike and crossbow; just kind of been put through a lot."

I watched as his weary eyes studied my face before nodding.

I let out a sigh, nodding back, "Thanks again for the food."

I began closing the door before I was immediately stop again by Daryl speaking.

"How'd ya get so good with knives?"

I slowly opened the door back up, memories rushing through my head as I leaned on the frame, "It's a.. it's a really long story."

"Well ya said I should get to know ya," he shrugged, "So let me."

I let out a slow breath before nodding, opening up the door farther.

***

I slid the container of food into the fridge before walking into the living room where Daryl sat; his dirty clothes sure to leave an imprint on the material of the couch.

I sat down on the opposite side of him, my knees up to my chest and my back leaning against the armrest, "Wanna make a deal?"

"A deal?" He asked confused, looking over at me.

I nodded, "I'll tell you what you want to know and in turn, you tell me why the hell you chose a motorcycle and a crossbow."

He hesitantly nodded, leaning back against the couch, "Yeah ok, shoot."

I took a deep breath, preparing myself to delve into more of the past that I tried to forget, "When I was with my old group, I was friends with a kid named Mason-- well, he was actually only a few years younger than me, but he was the youngest of all of us." I began, "The people we were with weren't good people, but Mason, he was like you guys. He was smart and optimistic and knew what he wanted, even in a world like this." I continued as I thought back to the guy who made a 10 year plan only weeks before he got attacked, "He found these weird kinda throwing stars so long ago," I laughed as I tried explaining them, "And everyone else was just so.. mean to him for wanting to mess around with them and take his mind off of everything that was happening. So one day, I took him up on his offer to start throwing them at trees and whatnot; never thought it'd end up being an actual skill."

I looked up, seeing that Daryl was still intently listening before I continued.

"After all the wear and tear we put those cheap stars though, one by one, they finally gave out. Then, out of desperation to cure our boredom, we started throwing our knives; first at targets we made on trees, then at lone walkers. We got really really good, but that all ended about a year ago, I think, and I haven't used the skill much since." I shook my head, "Not very helpful to throw the only weapon you have to defend yourself."

Daryl shrugged, "Still something good to know."

"I guess," I nodded, "But now it's your turn."

He shrugged, "I hunted with a crossbow way before all this shit happened; it's quiet-"

"And your bikes insanely loud." I cut him off, kind of trying to get on his nerves a bit.

He ran his hand along his scruff again, "Ya got me there."

"Ok, but really, why the motorcycle?"

He shrugged again, "Grew up riding 'em-- working on 'em with my brother."

"Oh, I didn't know you have a brother-"

He shook his head, cutting me off, "I don't, not anymore."

I slowly nodded, the vibe in the room now different, "I'd say that I'm sorry, but I know it won't help."

"Yeah.." he muttered back, nodding as he stood up and headed to the door, "It's gettin' late-- I got another run to do tomorrow-"

"With who?" I asked confused, standing up as well.

"It's not for supplies." He said opening the door and heading out as I followed behind him.

"Listen Daryl," I sighed, briefly stopping him in his tracks, "I'm gonna do what I have to do to be ready enough to go back out there, and if you're willing to put up with me, I'd like to go with you."

I watch him as he looked back up at me, thoughts running through his head before he finally nodded.

"Then when you get back, let's talk again, like we just did; let's find a way to trust each other."

"Ok," he nodded again, "Deal."

I let out a small smile, beginning to close the front door, "I'll see you later, Daryl."

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