ᴀɴɢᴜɪsʜ » ᴅᴀʀʏʟ ᴅɪxᴏɴ

{15} Black Funeral.

"Willow, " Andrea's cooing voice cut through my dull dream. Shaking me awake, I slowly open my eyes. Placing them onto a blonde beauty, her hands grip my shoulder, witnessing me slowly pull from out of my sleep. "We are getting ready to head out. Thought I'd wake you."

Fighting the urge to fall back to sleep, I manage to slowly sit up my aching and heavy body. Rubbing my eyes roughly with the balls of my palms, I try to adjust my blurry vision. The sun had barely made it over the horizon, meaning I've only gotten about two hours of sleep.

"Thank you, " My raspy tired voice murmurs. Andrea only shook her head, scooting from out of the small bedroom of the RV. Feeling worn out, I stand to my feet, moving my shoulders up and down. My muscles too stiff.

After pulling on my dirty and used button-up shirt over my tank top, I begrudgingly walk from out the RV, arrow glued between my thin fingers. The morning air is brisk, and the sky held a soft baby blue. Dale and Carol were gathering a few items that they had found last minute. Andrea still within the RV, reassemble her handgun. Once belonging to her father. Daryl, well Daryl is doing Dixon stuff.

He sat down beside Merle's motorcycle, wrestling with something with a dirty red rag.

Why not bother him first thing in the morning?

With a grin,  I tap the tip of my used arrow gently against the middle of my palm. Watching Daryl's shoulder slide underneath the same leather vest he wore two days ago. Two large white angel wings are stitched on the back, giving the illusion that he is an angel. That thing he does, where he tilts his head ever so slightly, gives me a glimpse of his tanned neck. Daryl's light brown hair is growing including the little hairs on his chin.

Looking over my shoulder to make sure Dale nor Carol is watching, I pull at the bottom of my button-up shirt and tiptoe to Daryl with caution.

"What you want?" Daryl questions as soon as I stop beside him. Dixon doesn't even look away from what he held in hand.

My brows raise as my orifices try to take a glimpse of the object he held in hand.

"What is it that you're working on?"

Daryl raised his head, shifting a bit to block my view.

"None of your business." Daryl pushes the object into the dirty rag. Wrapping the fabric around it to keep me from seeing. "What is it?"

"Well, " I start, remembering what I had said last night. "Here, " without thinking, I hold out one of the arrows he had given me the day before.

Daryl raises his head, glancing at the arrow, studying it with complexity. He doesn't take it. Doesn't even move, Daryl just eyeballs the arrow in silence. Something about his stare is weary, his face matching his weary eyes. Did he not sleep last night? Once we got back to the highway last night, Daryl did take watch. He couldn't have seriously stayed awake searching.

"I know you care about things. Like Merle, and obviously Sophia. I should have kept my mouth shut and let the fucker hang. Now you're short an arrow, so here." I pause, waiting for Daryl to finally move. "Can you just take it, please?"

Daryl gently wrapping his thick fingers around the shaft of the arrow. Never noticed how badly Dixon chews on his dirty nails. Is he always anxious?

I watch Dixon roll the metal arrow in between the tips of his fingers. They were the kind sold at Walmart. Flimsy and cheap, but works.

"I know it is long, but it gotta work, right?" I question.

"Yeah, but I don't need it. You do." Daryl hand me the back, standing to his feet. I watch as he throws his rag onto his broad shoulders. "I don't need your pity either."