AT WORLDS END || Daryl Dixon [1]

nine.

Connie closed her eyes and allowed the water to fall over her.

Her strands of dark hair clung to her newly cleaned skin as she slowly moved in a circular motion underneath the shower head.

For the first five minutes of her shower, the water had run off her body in a murky brown colour. Apparently the lake in the quarry wasn't as clean as she'd thought it was.

After letting out a small sigh, Connie shut the water — the hot water — off and grabbed a fluffy blue towel from the rack she'd hung it on. She dried herself off then slid on the old black jeans and tank-top she'd previously been wearing. Connie wrapped her hair up in her towel, then nodded to Shane as he wandered in with a bottle of whiskey in his hand.

Connie wandered down the hall to the room she'd left Holly in, rolling her shoulders as she went. As she walked into the room, she covered her mouth to keep herself from letting out a yelp.

Glenn had previously helped her get a cot out of storage for Holly, and when Connie had left, she was fast asleep curled into a blanket, Peanut, and her thin sweater.

But now, it had changed.

Holly was still fast asleep, but she was curled up on top of Daryl — who had an arm behind his head while the other hand was gently laid on her back — the two of them sleeping quite peacefully. The top of her head was tucked carefully under his chin, strands of her frizzy hair getting caught in his stubble. Holly had one hand holding onto Peanut, while the other was clinging quite tightly to the collar of Daryl's shirt.

It was quite cute.

She stared at them for a moment, smiling softly to herself before she grabbed a thin blanket and draped it over them. Then she pulled the towel from her hair and dried the ends of it before dropping it next to the door. Just as she was about to lay down on the couch, she heard someone clear their throat.

"She woke up just after you went in," Daryl murmured, his eyes squinting as they adjusted to the somewhat dim lighting. "Came out and said she was cold — don't know how she could be — but I figured I'd give you a break and come in to help her. I'll leave if you want."

"No, no, Daryl it's fine," Connie murmured, sinking into the old, worn out couch cushions. "I think she'd kill me if I made you leave." She stared at them for another short moment and smiled. "Just come and wake me up if you need anything."

Daryl studied her carefully for a moment before he nodded and shifted slightly on the bed to make himself more comfortable. "Will do," he muttered.

Connie smiled faintly again and laid down, making herself comfortable on the worn out cushions. Moments after her head hit her makeshift pillow — a wadded up dry towel she'd found in the closet at the other end of the room — she was out like a light.

🧠🏹🦠

The next morning, Connie woke up and immediately bolted for the bathroom.

She'd barely gotten in front of the toilet before all the wine she'd drank the previous night — at least three full bottles — was coming right back up. She braced herself against the floor as her stomach lurched. She felt a pair of hands hesitantly pull her hair away from her face, and she silently thanked whoever it was.

When she had finally stopped wrenching, Connie slouched against the cupboard door of the bathroom sink, attempting to catch her breath. She glanced up, and tried to hide the surprise she felt when she saw Daryl Dixon standing there, looking incredibly uncomfortable. He was looking down at his mud covered boots while silently holding a hand out to her.