the same as before
Summary: Daryl finds out you relapsed.
TW: literally no comfort, Self-harm(STAY SAFE!!), blood, curse world, basic TWD stuff, lots and lots of vent
World Count: 713
A/N: please, stay safe!! I promise you there are people out there, somewhere, that went/are currently going thru the same thing as you. If you need help there are phone line in your country you can call. Choose life. As someone that went thru this, I get it. It seems impossible to heal, and maybe it is, it’s true it DOES NOT get better, but you can manage. Talk to someone, maybe even a stranger on the train (talking to strangers about your problems is always better ngl), but MAKE YOUR VOICE BE HEARD!! You’re valid, you matter, you’re more than your mental health.
Self harm was a thing you struggled with, having a hard time not doing it. It took a lot to move on.
Daryl was aware of what you used to do before the outbreak, but he never judged you. After all, the two were bonding more every single day and he didn’t think you’d do it again. Because in reality, who would purposely hurt himself during an apocalypse?
..That is until you relapsed in private.
A brief knock to the door and Daryl walks into the room unannounced.
“Ya wanna tell me what this is ‘bout?” He asks, holding up a bloody bandage he found.
"what?" That’s all you could manage to say, as you looked up at him.
You knew he would eventually find out, but you wanted to delay that moment as long as possible. After all, you were in an apocalypse, bloody bandages pops out like rabbits.
Daryl’s eyes narrowed, his jaw tight as he stood in the doorway. His usual gruff demeanor was laced with something softer now—concern, maybe, or disappointment. He stepped further into the room, the door creaking as it shut behind him.
“Don’t play dumb,” he muttered, voice low but steady. He tossed the bandage onto the nearby table, where it landed with a wet sound. “Ain’t like ya got bit, so what the hell is this?”
You swallowed hard, heart pounding like you’d just sprinted a mile. You couldn’t meet his eyes, so you focused on your hands, clenched tightly in your lap.
“I… I just slipped,” you admitted quietly, voice cracking under the weight of the confession. “I wasn’t planning on it, it just… happened.”
Daryl crossed his arms, exhaling sharply through his nose. “Ya think I don’t get it? I know what this world does to people.” He took a step closer, tone softening. “But ya don’t gotta go through it alone. Not with me here.”
Your throat tightened, shame settling in like a heavy fog. “I didn’t want you to see me like this,” you whispered. “Didn’t want you to think I’m weak.”
Daryl crouched down in front of you, eyes steady and serious. “Weak?” he repeated, voice gruff but gentle. “Ain’t nothin’ weak about fightin’ a war inside yourself every damn day. But ya gotta let someone in, or it’ll eat ya alive.”
You blinked hard, trying to push back tears. The silence between you was heavy but not suffocating.
“It’s not that easy.” You simply said, avoiding his gaze.
It was like trying to explain something inexplicable, something’s that could have been experienced in your bones and your bones only.
It made you feel like the only person that ever lived this planet to ever go thru this, even tho you know pretty damn well it isn’t true, but for some unknown reason it feels like it.
Like running a blade on your skin and drawing blood will rip your soul away from the all the sins that grasped it so tight, like every drop of your blood took you a little closer to redemption in a infinite path that isn’t ever gonna end.
Every time you promised you wouldn’t, and every time you found yourself scattered on the floor between guilt and repentance, in a never ending cycle.
He sighed and reached out, placing a hand on your knee. “Next time ya feel like that? Ya come to me, yeah? We’ll get through it together.”
You nodded, feeling a lump in your throat as you finally let yourself meet his gaze. “Okay.”
In reality, you know you won’t.
Every time you promised yourself the same thing, that you would stop and it would be the last time and every time you fall again in the same disgusting pattern as before.
For you, this always were empty promises you did to keep others away from the thought of you keeping this coping mechanism, when in reality you craved it like an addicted.
Because that’s what you were.
Addicted.
You craved the feeling of being in control of something for once, you craved the adrenaline it shoots thru your sistem when the blood begin to come out of the wound you so attentively caused.
Sometimes it was calculated, and you waited maybe hours or day to find the right time and a secluded place to, sometimes it was just a need you had, like you were some kind of sick feral animal.
Daryl gave a small nod, staying close. “Good. ‘Cause I ain’t goin’ anywhere.”
Maybe you weren’t ever gonna heal.
But for now, staying between his arms was enough.
You were sick, and you probably will be forever.
And that’s also okay.