Never Apart by love4books
The family has settled in comfortably at Alexandria. But Daryl remains shrouded in grief that pulls him back to where he lost his hope: Grady Memorial. There he finds an abandoned ward. The stains of the one he lost long rubbed away. But in its place he comes across a letter, addressed in clear handwriting, reading: Daryl.
It wasn’t difficult to determine that the car in front of him was the same one where he made the most fatal mistake in his life. It took him days of non-stop walking, avoiding walkers, and sneaking by groups of nomads to finally come face to face with just one of the many images that have stayed with him like a curse, condemning him for his actions against Beth.
Yet, with all the trekking he endured and prior determination to face the facts, his hand remains frozen on the latch to open the trunk, unable to reach the finish line. He’s out in the open, in broad daylight, back exposed, but he doesn’t move or try to protect his vulnerable blind spot. He can only look down at his shaking hand and feel the tremor in his knees, knowing once he opens the trunk, he’ll either have the peace he needs to move on or will fall further into a pit of despair for the girl he lost.
He continues to stare down at the trunk, wishing to open it like he would rip off a band-aid. Swiftly to avoid too much pain. But his fingers are slicked with sweat which scuffles with the latch, and as the click sounds indicating it’s opened, his hand stills once more in panic. Daryl’s palm keeps it from flying open any more than it already has. He takes this moment to breathe in through his nose, trying to detect any smell, but none comes. He ignores the thudding of his heart that beats in his ears to listen for any sign of life, and yet again is greeted by nothing. Curiosity fueling into courage, Daryl flips open the lid to the trunk.
He’s not sure how long he stands there before he slams the lid with a force that has it springing back up. He does it again and again, his biceps flexing with each push, anger fueling his muscles into action. The latch of the already beaten-up car now broken from his brute strength.
the reality slaps him in the face and becomes too much for him to bear. The weight of the truth having him slink down onto his knees, chest heaving, and forehead leaning on the bumper.
She’s gone. Gone.
Beth… Where are you?
