In the Sound

I wasn’t sure what to say.

How do you ask someone for something after such a rocky meeting? He shot my dog. I punched him in the face. We weren’t exactly on terms to give each other favours.

I wanted to turn back. To never encounter another hick for the rest of my life. However short that may be. But my feet were grounded. Grounded in a thick stubbornness. Something I knew came direct from my Dad.

No more gun shots. I hoped that meant Rick would be back soon. Above me, the birds hummed sweetly. Pleased with the quiet. The tops of the tall trees whistled with them. Daryl’s tent stirred as the wind passed, carrying his groans with it every now and again.

I had to do this. I had to do this for Kit. If we could just find somewhere to stay, just until he healed. Maybe we could move on from being so sunken in quick sand. These people were pulling me under their strain. But I wouldn’t let them drown Kit.

Before I knew it, I found myself toe to toe with Daryl’s tent.
The door was flapping a little, but at least it wasn’t zipped shut. I edged closer, my feet cautious. My hand sailed forward, fingers lightly touching the tent door. My breathing was ragged. My heart thrumming inside like drums.

I pushed the tent door open like I was ripping off a bandaid.

“I mus’ be hella drunk, cause I think I jus’ saw you come in here like you was welcome.”

Not a good start.

Daryl was laying on his back, his shoulder blades and neck propped up by a few lumpy pillows. There was a thin tatty blanket shawled across his body. Shadowing his temple was a beasty looking bruise. A novel was perched open between his hands.

“Trust me, I’m not here out of my own choosing,” I said cautiously.

My eyes glossed over the dark cover. ‘The Case of the Missing Man.’ I couldn’t help the scoff that peeped through my pursed lips. I bubbled with giggles that threatened to escape me. Thinking of him sitting in his tent reading ‘The Case of the Missing Man.’

It was too much.

His eyes bore into mine, brows cocked like he was daring me to try. “What, think I can’t read or somethin’?”

I shook my head and sucked in a shaky breath. I’d double over in laughter at the slightest slip now. I could feel it rumbling at the back of my throat. So I allowed myself the smallest smile. It spread up my cheeks as quick as wildfire.

“Kind of expected to walk in on you playin’ a banjo or something.”

When it came out, I wished it didn’t. Daryl’s face fell into nothingness.

No anger. No surprise. No expression. It was even worse than after I’d just punched him. He just bore those dark eyes into mine. Not even the tiniest shuffle or twitch on his face. For a moment I watched his bulbs back. But I felt my lids flutter and my stomach twisted around inside me. The hairs on my arms prickled unpleasantly. It felt wrong. Felt scary.

Nobody ever looked at me like that before. Nobody.

His gruff voice broke the silence first.

“You best turn aroun’ Shaggy, I’ma be in a foul mood any secon’ now.”

"Please." I gulped. “Hear me out?”

Daryl’s eyes flickered back to the pages of his book. His dirty fingers grasping the old binder. I could almost smell old coffee stains and withered pages from where I was. I slipped my fingers underneath my thighs, gripping onto them tightly.

He flipped the book shut, pressed his lips into a firm line, and threw the book into a pile of his other things.

Not once did he mark a page. I wondered whether he was actually reading it or if he just saw me coming. I could imagine it now. He probably peeked through the gaps in his tent to see me trudging over miserably. He probably cursed to himself. Picked the book up and used it as a shield to fend me off.

I squeezed my thighs in thought. How do you ask someone a favour when they hate you? I stole a glance towards him again. That look. That expressionless look riddled his features again. There was a nervous rattle in my breath. God, I couldn’t look at somebody when they looked like that.

Daryl’s eyes were unmoving, I could feel it. So I just said it. I said it as fast as I could. My words tripped over themselves. Like puzzle pieces shuffled all wrong.

“I need you. I mean- to sleep with. Not me though- I mean to sleep with my dog. I need you to sleep with my dog. Wait- that’s not what I mean.”

Fuck.