The sun scorched your skin as you walked through the long itchy grass. Your shoulders were already burned bright red and the continued exposure to the sun wasn't helping. But you enjoyed the solitude of walking through the fields outside the prison by yourself. It gave you a chance to think, a chance to breathe, and a chance to be away from everyone's wandering eyes.
It wasn't a secret that you were in a toxic relationship with a man who you shouldn't have ever been with. The bruises and your expressions were clear, even if you never addressed it with anyone. Everyone knew, and their judgement and pity only made you feel worse.
You were trapped. You couldn't leave him. You couldn't a year ago, and it was harder now when you all lived together for survival in an old prison.
Looking out at the vast field of green and the sky that sparkled a soft blue, you bend down and take a seat amongst the long grass. Feeling the breeze, although warm and humid, blowing over you. The prison felt suffocating, from the cold cement walls to the people gathered all together. You couldn't breathe, but out here in the warm summer air you could.
Running your fingers gently over the red turning purplish marks on your wrist, you let out a shaky sigh. It wasn't the pain that made you feel nauseous, you were used to the physical pain by now. It wasn't the way he controlled you in everyway, you were used to his ways by now. It was the way people looked at you that made you feel sick. They looked at you as if you were weak. A girl who got into a bad relationship and didn't have the strength to get out. Their judgements and their unspoken opinions burn into you just as the sun shining above does. And the worst part, was the idea that maybe they were right.
Standing up, you turn and begin to walk through the grass the way you came. Looking downward at your feet with each step, until you stop when you notice a set of boots standing a few feet before you.
Looking up, Daryl stands a few steps ahead of you. His crossbow gripped tightly against his shoulder, and his tan skin glistening with sweat.
"What are ye doin out here?" He asks you, shielding his eyes from the sun shining bright behind you.
"I needed some time alone." You tell him, and begin to walk again. Passing by him, but feeling him following you.
It wasn't that you didn't like Daryl, because you did. You probably liked him the most out of everyone at the prison. But he frustrated you. His slightly icy and stand offish demeanor was irritating. He would talk to you one day and the next act as though you never had. You felt safe with him, until he chose on his terms to ignore you.
You felt with Daryl, as though you both shared sinilarites no one could understand. You knew of his scars, whether he knew you did or not. You knew he hid away all his pain just as you did. You two were alike. In more ways than one.
"Ye shouldn't be out 'ere without--" Daryl begins to scold you as he rushes behind and takes hold of your wrist to get you to listen. But as you yank your aching wrist away from his grasp, he stops.
Cradling it close to your chest, you avoid his gaze. Knowing exactly what he's thinking as his eyes skim over your brushed skin.
"Didn't know." Shaking his head as an atempt to apologize, you roll your eyes.
"Stop looking at me like that. Please." You whisper and find the courage to look at his face.
"What way?"
"The way everyone does. As if I'm some weak little girl for not standing up to him."
"I ain't."
"Right. I can see you staring at the marks, wondering how I can keep letting him do this to me." You suddenly can't stop the tears building in the back of your throat and swelling in the corners of your eyes.
"I don't judge your scars, you are in no position to judge mine."
Your voice shakes with every emotion you can't express to anyone else. Your anger. Your pain. Your sadness and grief. It all come out as you accuse Daryl of something he isn't even doing.
When you look back at him, he isn't appalled by your outburst. He isn't angry for bringing up his past. He doesn't even look at you with judging eyes. His emotion is calm and even.
"I ain't judging ye, and I don't think ye weak." Daryl says, his gruff voice low and steady.
"I do judge that sick loser ye with though. No real man hits a woman. If anyone's weak, it's him."
His words make the tears you've held in for so long finally stream one by one down your face. His sudden compassion towards you makes you feel seen as yourself and not some abuse victim.
"We all got scars. Don't nobody got the right to judge each others."
It's those words that make you sink to the ground, low sobs escaping you as you cry for the first time in a long over due time. Daryl's shadow looms over you but you suddenly don't care that he's witnessing your breakdown. If anyone had to see it, you were glad it was him.
His shadow grows darker as he steps forward, resting his hand on your shoulder. After some time, he sits down in the grass beside you. And all you can do, is lean your weakened and tired body against his stiff and steady one.
He's right, everyone has scars in one way or another. The pain of those scars can be overwhelming, but as you sit there with Daryl, you realize something. You realize that facing the pain with someone rather than facing it alone, makes them slowly begin to heal. Makes the pain a bit more bareable.
A/N: I like parts of this one, others I'm not so sure. Hopefully it's not too bad!💜 Happy Easter Everyone!💕
