129. Somethings.
When Rosie got back to Hilltop, she put her new books into her backpack and shrugged of her jacket, leaving it with her stuff, considering the fact that the sun was beating down on her and she felt like she was being cooked in an oven. Then she decided she'd get something to eat. But as she thought about eating, she thought about Ian, Henry, and the girl in the cells. Were they getting anything to eat? She didn't know about Ian and Henry, but she doubted that Daryl was giving the girl anything. So, just in case, Rosie grabbed two plates and stacked up as much food as she could fit on both of them. When she was sure that Daryl wasn't watching her, she went down into the cellar.
First, she went to Ian and Henry's cell. She set down one of the plates on the ground next to the bars, then sat down crisscrossed on the floor. "Hi," she said, avoiding eye contact with Ian. Henry sat on the other side of the bars while Ian stayed back, sitting on the cot in the corner. "I didn't know if Daryl brought you anythin'. He's kinda pissed," Rosie said, gesturing to the plate.
Henry began to take pieces of food off of the plate and eat it gradually, but he kept looking back at Ian, as if looking at him would send the message that he wanted him to eat, too. After a minute or two of awkward silence between the three of them, Henry cleared his throat. "You guys need to talk. I know you don't want to, but you have to. This is unbearable," he said, gesturing between the two. Still, neither of them would say anything. "Oh, my God," Henry murmured, rolling his eyes and shaking his head.
Not wanting to talk about anything, Rosie decided that she was done sitting with the two boys. If she was going to talk to Ian about any of it, Henry sure as hell wasn't going to be sitting there listening to the whole thing. So she got up with the other plate of food and brought it over to the other cell. The girl's eyes were wide and she was backed into a corner. Rosie set the plate of food down outside of the cell, close enough so that the girl could reach it.
"I'm Rosie," Rosie said, fidgeting with her necklace. The girl seemed a little less afraid, seeing as it was Rosie who was outside of the cell rather than Daryl. "I doubt Daryl's lettin' you eat. So, here," Rosie said, pushing the plate forward. Hesitantly, the girl began to move towards the bars. She kept her eyes on Rosie, being careful, but trusting at the same time. She took a piece of the food and ate it. After that, she seemed a bit more calm.
"I'm Lydia," the girl said. Rosie gave her a small, barely noticeable smile. She didn't think she could trust this girl- Lydia- in the slightest, but she knew she wasn't dangerous when she was behind bars. And, either way, she was just a kid. "Henry said Daryl's your dad," Lydia said, her voice quiet and nervous. She had been talking to Henry? "Is he... is he always like that?" she asked.
"No. He's just mad at me," Rosie said, shaking her head. She took a piece of food off the plate, too, and ate it. Lydia did the same.
"What'd you do?" Lydia asked. She looked up at Rosie, meeting her eyes, and Rosie took a deep breath because she was starting to feel anxious again.
Rosie looked down at the plate and swallowed. "He thinks I'm lyin' to him," she said, fiddling with her shoelaces.
"Are you?" Lydia questioned.
It took Rosie a moment to answer. She chewed on her lip, feeling frustrated with herself. "Yeah," she eventually muttered out. She didn't want to lie, but she didn't know what else to do. But it felt nice to admit it, especially to someone who didn't even know her. The fact that Lydia didn't know anything about her was comforting, somehow. Like she couldn't judge her for all of the things she had ever done wrong. "He hates when I lie," Rosie murmured.
"So did my dad," Lydia whispered, looking at the ground with a distant sort of look in her eyes. Rosie wondered if Lydia's dad was like David, because the look in her eyes reminded Rosie of herself. After a moment, Lydia looked at Rosie again. "Why do you call him Daryl?" she asked.
And Rosie's chest began to hurt. She hated that question. She hated it every time anyone ever asked because she didn't want to admit to anyone who her real dad was or what he had done to her. But everyone always seemed to have the same question. Why do you call your dad by his first name? Sometimes she wondered if it bothered Daryl, too. She wondered if he wished she would call him Dad rather than Daryl. She never asked, though.
"He's her second dad. Like my second mom," Henry chimed in, filling Rosie's silence. Rosie almost forgot that they could hear her, too, but it didn't really matter. Both Ian and Henry already knew everything she was telling Lydia.
"Oh," Lydia whispered. She dragged her finger against the wall, looking at the cement rather than at Rosie as she thought up her next question. "Why don't you call him dad?" she asked.
Sighing, Rosie brought her knees up to her chest. "I, uh... I tried to," she said quietly, shrugging her shoulders. She glanced up to see that Lydia was looking at her again, so she looked back down. For some reason, it made her nervous. "I tried to call him that for a little while, when I was twelve. And again when I was, like, fourteen, I think. I tried real hard, but I couldn't. 'Cause my-" Rosie paused for a moment, trying to think of how to refer to David. Was David her real dad or was Daryl her real dad? Because David was her father, but he wasn't really her dad. He wasn't like Daryl. So what was he? "My..." she tried again.
"Your dad from before?" Lydia prompted. Looking up again, Rosie nodded.
"Yeah. My dad from before was an asshole. Made callin' anyone else Dad a real hard thing to do, I guess," Rosie murmured her half-assed explanation. And she had tried to call Daryl Dad. She tried, but somehow, it made her anxiety worse. It also made the nightmares about David become more frequent. The word must've triggered something, somehow.
Lydia nodded in understanding. Rosie was glad for that, because she didn't want to do any more explaining.
It was disheartening just to think about it. She would do anything to be Daryl's blood, but she wasn't. Maybe she didn't deserve to be. Maybe if she were his blood, then all these things that were wrong with her wouldn't be wrong anymore. Maybe then she'd like Ian back and maybe she wouldn't have to try so hard not to lose her shit- or to self-regulate, as Maggie had always called it. Maybe then Rosie wouldn't be telling so many lies. She still hadn't even told anyone that she had seen Negan outside of Alexandria. She didn't know who to tell or how to tell them. Usually, she could just tell Daryl, but now she didn't really want to tell him anything. She was worried that if she told him one thing, it wouldn't line up with all the things she had lied about, and she'd get in trouble. She shouldn't have been down there talking to Lydia, either. She'd have to lie about that, too.
Only, Rosie didn't know that Daryl knew she was down there, and he knew she was talking to Lydia, and he knew that she kept lying to him.
"My dad was an asshole, too," Lydia said, sympathy in her voice. Rosie pressed her lips together and nodded. The plate was almost empty now. "I like your necklace. The blue one," Lydia said quietly, changing the subject.
"Thanks. My brother gave it to me," Rosie said, lifting her hand to rub her thumb along the lapis necklace that Fraser had once given her. She looked at Lydia again, searching for something she could compliment her on in return. But Rosie found herself wanting to compliment Lydia's eyes, and she wasn't sure if that was a normal thing to compliment people on, so she kept her mouth shut about it.
"You have a brother?" Lydia asked, raising her eyebrows a little bit.
"Used to," Rosie said, her small smile fading away. "I don't really feel like talkin' about that, though."
"Ok," Lydia said, nodding her head. Just as the word came out of her mouth, they heard the door to the cellar being opened. Lydia's eyes widened and she scrambled backward into the corner of the cell while Rosie began to pick up the plate. She went back over to Ian and Henry's cell and crouched down to pick up their plate as well.
Before Rosie could gather everything and get up, Daryl was standing beside her. Rosie looked up at him with wide eyes. Was she in trouble for talking to Lydia? No. Daryl threw something down onto the ground next to the dishes. When Rosie's eyes followed, she saw that it was the pack of American Spirits. Her heart started to beat faster. "Get up," Daryl said, his voice rough and angry. But Rosie was frozen, staring at the pack of cigarettes. Daryl grabbed her arm, just like he had earlier that day, and roughly pulled her up to her feet.
When they got up the stairs and out of the cellar, that was when Rosie was sure the yelling would start. But it didn't. Daryl kept hold of her arm and kept them walking. "I'm so-"
"We're not doin' this here," Daryl said. His voice was quiet, but he didn't fail to get across the fact that he was pissed. The further they walked, the faster Rosie's heart was beating. Daryl had been mad at her before- she'd broken rules several times before- but never you've been lying to me about almost everything for the past three days mad. Even when they got to the gates of Hilltop, Daryl kept walking. He kept walking until they were far enough away that no one could hear them, then he let go of her arm, and Rosie sort of shrunk in on herself. "You wanna tell me why the fuck you got a pack a' cigarettes in your jacket?" Daryl asked. He wasn't quite yelling yet, but his voice was loud and furious.
"I'm sorry! I'm re-"
"No! I asked you why the fuck you had that shit in your pocket. I don't give a shit if you're sorry," Daryl shouted, staring Rosie down with a look that didn't only express anger, but also disappointment, and it just made Rosie mad. He was being a hypocrite.
"Why the hell do you care?! You said you been smokin' 'em since you were 15!" Rosie shouted, getting defensive. She didn't understand why it was just fine for him to smoke them when he was 15, but it was bad for her to smoke, like, two cigarettes when she was 17. It was bullshit. "There ain't no difference!"
"Yes, there is!" Daryl yelled at her furiously. His entire body was tense and Rosie could tell that he was trying hard to control himself and his anger.
"No, there isn't! I only tried it, anyway. Not like I'm smokin' 'em all day, like you did!" Rosie spat, glaring at him. Her glare only made him grow more and more pissed off.
"Yeah, that why half the fuckin' pack is gone?!" Daryl asked. Rosie didn't know what to say. She didn't know how to tell him that it was already missing some when she got it, because then he'd ask where she got it, and she'd have to tell him that Gage made her try it, and then he'd ask about what happened, and Rosie wouldn't know what to do other than to tell him the truth. Daryl could see the hesitation. "You're lyin' through your fuckin' teeth every damn second. I don't know what the hell's goin' on with you 'cause ya won't fuckin' tell me anythin'. We ain't never had this problem before, Rosie. What is goin' on?" he asked.
Rosie huffed out a few heavy breaths, trying to keep her composure. "You shouldn't've gone through my shit," she said. She needed something to be mad at him for in return. That was the first thing she could think of.
"I didn't go through your shit. I was puttin' your stuff with mine so ya wouldn't fuckin' lose it. Puttin' 'em in your pocket's a pretty shitty hidin' place, Rosie," Daryl said.
"I wasn't hidin' 'em. I didn't think you'd give a shit," Rosie mumbled, looking away and trying to focus on something else. The longer she looked into his furious eyes, the angrier she felt.
Daryl scoffed, shaking his head with disbelief. "Ya didn't think I'd be mad at you for smokin' the same shit David smoked?" he muttered.
"No! I didn't! 'Cause you do it all the damn time!" Rosie shouted, gesturing towards him exaggeratedly.
"It's different with you, Rosie!" Daryl shouted back.
"How?! How's it any fuckin' different?!" Rosie asked, raising her eyebrows.
"'Cause it's gonna fuck with your head!" Daryl practically screamed at her. Rosie was silent, frozen in place. He had yelled at her, but she wasn't sure if he had ever yelled at her like he was yelling at her now. "You think everyone gets those- those fuckin'," he took a moment to think of the word for it, "those episodes you get? Where your head's goin' so fast you can't fuckin' breathe? That shit ain't normal, Rosie, and it scares the hell outta me every time it happens 'cause I don't know how to help you. Smokin' cigarettes is only gonna make it worse. I don't give a shit if you're 15, 16, 17, 18- I don't give a shit if you're grown; I'm not lettin' you do that to yourself," Daryl ranted as Roise stood there, staring at him with wide, watery eyes.
At first, Rosie didn't know what to say. She took a moment to process his words, and now she understood why he was so angry about it- why it was so bad. It made sense. There was something that made it so that she couldn't breathe sometimes, something that made it hard for her to self-regulate, something that made it so smoking was extra bad for her and her brain. Maybe it was the same something that made it impossible for her to like Ian the same way he liked her. Or maybe there were several somethings.
Rosie was quiet for a moment, which made Daryl worry he had hurt her feelings or made her mad. But she took a breath and looked down at her shoes. "Can I tell you somethin'?" she asked, tugging at the end of her shirt.
"Yes. You know that, Rosie. That's why I get so pissed with you for lyin' to me," Daryl said.
So Rosie took a moment to think through her words, deciding that she was going to tell him all of the things that she didn't want to tell him. Because maybe, just maybe, Daryl would know what to do.
"I think somethin's wrong with me. Not the thing that makes it so I can't breathe sometimes, but somethin' else. 'Cause when everyone was drunk, 'cept for me, Ian..." Rosie stopped and sighed, squeezing her eyes shut. She didn't want to talk about it. It was too weird. It shouldn't have been too weird, but it was. Because something was wrong with her. She pressed her palms into her eyes, because for some reason, covering her face made it easier for her to say this. "Ian kissed me and I think- or, I know- I shoulda' liked it, but I didn't. He's nice and he's funny and he has cool hair or whatever, and that should make me like him the same way he likes me, but I just can't. I tried to. I'm tryin' to, but I can't."
"You can't control who ya like, Rosie," Daryl said, shaking his head.
"No, 'cause I do like him. I like everythin' about him, but that doesn't mean I wanna kiss him or- God, I don't know," Rosie said. She sighed, chewing on her lip as she tried to figure out how to explain what she wanted to explain. Daryl waited to speak because he could tell that there was more she wanted to say. "When I was little- I don't know why I remember this so well, but I do- I remember when Fraser liked this girl and he said he got butterflies, which apparently is like a good stomachache, and I made fun a' him for it. But I don't get that with Ian or anybody at all, and I'm scared that I'm never gonna get it with anyone."
"You can't rush it, Rose. And it doesn't gotta be Ian," Daryl said. He wasn't good at this kind of stuff. He was still trying to figure it out himself. How could he tell her what to do if he didn't know what to do either?
"But how am I s'posed to tell him that? I don't wanna make him feel bad or anythin'," Rosie said. She dropped her hands back down to her sides. She didn't want to have to hurt Ian. "It's like everyone understands this kinda stuff 'cept for me. And I don't know why."
"You just gotta tell him. The longer ya hold out on it, the worse it's gonna be. But he's gonna get over it, 'cause he's gotta," Daryl said. Rosie nodded, but she really just wished there was another option. She wished she could do something to make it better, for her and for him. But there wasn't. She just had to be honest. All this lying was getting her nowhere. "You wanna tell me what else you were lyin' 'bout?" Daryl asked. He could tell whenever she lied. She wasn't one for eye contact, most of the time, but when she was lying, he noticed that she made an effort to maintain eye contact. It was her tell.
"Gage was the one who made me try a cigarette, but ya can't be mad at him, 'cause then he'll just be even more of an asshole. And I didn't just try one. I tried three... or maybe four. But I didn't smoke the whole thing. Just some," Rosie admitted, feeling guilty about the whole thing now that she knew it scared Daryl.
Daryl, of course, wanted to go find Gage and throw him into one of the cells, but he didn't do that. Instead, he raised his eyebrows. "You promise me you ain't ever gonna touch that shit again?"
"Yeah. I won't. I promise," Rosie said, nodding her head and pulling on the end of her shirt.
Negan. What would he do about Negan? Negan wasn't hurting anyone. He was moving on. Maybe Rosie would tell Daryl about Negan another time. This has already been a lot. And, either way, with the alive people wearing dead people's faces, Daryl already had a lot of shit to worry about. Michonne would get back to Alexandria and she would deal with it.
Rosie looked down, letting her hair hide her face as she began to wrap her arms around her stomach in a self-soothing sort of way. She took a deep breath, in and out. "None a' this shit mattered before. Now it all matters for no reason and I don't know how to deal with it, but I'm tryin'. I promise," she said.
"I know, baby," Daryl said, much calmer than before. He put a hand on each of her cheeks and made her raise her head. He rubbed his thumbs over her cheeks and Rosie's eyes began to burn. "You're gonna figure it out, Rose. Maybe it ain't gonna be now, and maybe it ain't gonna be soon, but you will when you're ready to," he said, pulling Rosie towards him. He put his hand on the back of her head, holding her to his chest as he ran his through her hair. "Hell, I'm old as shit and I still ain't figured it all out," he said, hoping to get a laugh out of her.
In a wobbly voice, Rosie managed to mutter, "You ain't- you're- you're not old."
"Why? 'Cause I don't drive a truck no more?" Daryl asked jokingly.
"What?" Rosie asked, looking up at him with her face scrunched up to express her confusion.
"Nothin'," Daryl said, shaking his head a little. He kissed the top of her head and hugged her a little tighter. It was in moments like these when she seemed so little and so big at the same time. He could hold her to his chest and kiss her head to comfort her just like he did when she was small, but the reasoning behind her need for comfort was so different than it used to be. He wished he could take it all away- every little thing that bothered her. He wished he could take it away and make it his own, but the best he could do was help her with it, so that's what he did.
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Brought back the "baby" because you guys freaked the fuck out last time he said it 😈
Also here's some more amazing art by Peoloaz of Rosie in chapter 126. American Spirits
She is my baby
Lmk what you think about this chapter because idk how I feel about it just yet 🙏🙏 I had to rework the argument scene about 15,000,000,000 times
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