Bethany Sutton Chapter 4

“I think you’re right about Daryl being a whore,” Beth said.

She was lonely and grateful that Michonne and Rick had accepted her invitation to dinner. She’d never forget the shock or confusion she’d felt upon seeing Daryl dressed as a priest. Then that trashy bitch with the mean eyes cruel laugh had come and Beth realized the truth: He was wearing a costume.

“Oh?” asked Michonne.

“I invited him to lunch but he said he had plans. I went back over to invite him to dinner another night and that’s when he opened the door dressed like a priest.”

Rick started laughing from the living room where he was installing a new window air conditioner. Michonne was grinning as well.

“That’s too much,” she said.

“Oh, and you should have seen his client,” Beth added, and began to describe her. “I don’t know why but I think of Cruella de Vil when she comes to mind. I’ll bet he’s still with her.”

With a thoughtful expression, Michonne watched Beth slicing cucumbers for a salad.

“You were really disappointed when he turned down your invitation, huh?”

Beth tried to shrug it off but she wasn’t fooling Michonne. It didn’t make sense to her why she’d been bothered that Daryl had turned her down. He was friendly, he was good-looking, but he wasn’t her type. He was too old for her anyway, and he slept with women for profit. She knew, as she felt Michonne’s knowing gaze linger on her, that she wasn’t fooling the older woman. Hell, she couldn’t even fool herself that she was interested in him, regardless of how she tried to rationalize why she shouldn't be. Thankfully Michonne didn’t press the issue.

“How does someone have sex with another person for money?” Beth wondered aloud.

Michonne considered it and took a drink of the white wine she’d brought over for dinner. “I guess they learn how to shut certain parts of themselves off,” Michonne said. “Or it could be that they have a different view of sex than most people do. Or,” she added, her eyes meeting Rick’s, “maybe they’ve learned to just shut their feelings down completely, so that everything they do becomes an act that has no real feeling behind it.”

Rick looked away, seemingly stung by Michonne’s words, but Beth caught the exchange between them. For the first time she wondered if there was more to Rick and Michonne’s relationship than work.

They ate dinner in somewhat tense silence. Beth spent the time wanting to ask them what was going on between them but she held her tongue. After dinner, Rick helped her clear away the dishes and they left when the sun was beginning its descent, turning the sky brilliant hues of red and gold.

Beth slipped her phone into her pocket and decided to walk the halls of the building. She used to go for walks after dinner with her parents, sometimes with Maggie, and she missed stretching her legs. Her eyes went to the door of the unit across from hers and she wondered if he was still with her. After that, she wondered why she gave a damn.

Beth explored the building, finding a laundry room on the first floor at the end of the hall. She wondered if perhaps not all units had a washer and dryer as hers did. She wondered if Rick or Michonne would bite her head off for going outside and decided they probably would. Instead she headed upstairs, finding that the third floor was exactly like the first and second, with one exception--there was a door that led to the roof.

Curious, she went up the weakly lit staircase and emerged onto a roof that had been finished in a bare courtyard and set up with a couple of small tables and plastic chairs that had seen much better days. Beth wouldn't have trusted a single chair not to collapse had she sat down. She walked to the side of the building and looked out onto the town that stretched out before her.

The stonework had absorbed heat during the day and now released it. Beth felt a light sheen of sweat form as she leaned against the wall of the courtyard. She thought her father would have liked this town. It was bigger than Senoia but a lot more thought had gone into planning. The town itself looked like it had been decorated for tourism. Antebellum architecture was popular, as were cobblestone streets and street signs carved from wood. There seemed to be a great deal of wrought iron gates and fences, and brickwork.

The door to the courtyard opened and she thought maybe Michonne had come up to check on her. Instead it was Daryl Dixon. His priests outfit was gone, replaced by a pair of gray sweat shorts and a simple white tank top. She tried to tell herself he didn’t look good, that he didn't have really nice legs, but it was a waste of time. He did look good and his legs were strong and sexy.

“Hey, Sutton,” he said.

“Call me Bethany, please, Father Dixon.”

He smiled at that, which managed to put her at ease and mildly arouse her at the same time.

“I like to watch the sun set from here,” he said. “There’s a lake due north. You can see it right about now because it looks like a puddle of molten gold. Look.”

He pointed straight ahead and Beth’s eye easily caught what did indeed look like a big puddle of gold that shimmered in the dying rays of the sunlight. The street lights had all come on, glowing with soft white light. Soon it would be completely dark. Since they were in town Beth thought it unlikely it would be easy to see the stars. She was right. Only the brightest managed to show through the canopy of artificial light that covered the town.

“How far away is it?” Beth asked, regarding the lake, after a long break of comfortable silence between them.

“About fifteen miles out. You can't see all of it from here, though. It’s called Glory Lake. It’s big, makes me think of the ocean in some ways. You should see it.”

“Maybe I will.”

Beth and Daryl shared a few moments of comfortable silence. She tried to be discreet while she watched him gazing out at the small town he called home by choice, and that she called home because her choices had been taken from her.

“May I ask a personal question? I understand if you say no,” Beth queried.

“Do I get to ask a question in return?”

“Sure. That’s how people get to know each other, right?”

Daryl nodded and leaned on his left elbow to face her. “Right. Ask away.”

“Why were you dressed like a priest?”

Daryl knew she would be curious about that. He considered making up a lie because he wanted, for reasons he had yet to fathom, Bethany Sutton to like him. He decided to be honest. He didn’t know if their association would go anywhere, be it friendship or more, and he didn’t want to start out on a foundation of lies.

“I’m a male courtesan. A cavalier servente, if you will. Ophelia likes a religious theme on Sundays.”

“A courtesan,” Beth said. She didn’t think she’d ever heard that term.

“I’m a long-term, paid lover,” he elaborated.

“Oh, so you’re a…a…”

“Whore,” he supplied, though without anger in his voice.

“Whore seems like a strong word,” Beth said, feeling embarrassed. This made Daryl laugh. She was trying to be courteous when most people would pass judgment. He appreciated that and it made him like her even more.

“I don’t just sleep with however many women I can in a day. I don’t pick them up off the street. I have three clients that I service long-term,” he explained. “I also work for Parrish Interiors painting rooms and moving furniture as a sort of ‘day job.’ I’m a licensed masseur and give massages for a living.”

“You’re a jack of all trades?”

He nodded. “Master of none.”

“I would have to disagree on that last one, lover. You are a master at sex.”

Ophelia had come onto the courtyard and she was dressed in some kind of ugly getup that looked like her skinny body was wrapped in strips of gauze, making Beth think of a mummy. She was clearly naked underneath.

“New client?” Ophelia asked, looking Beth over with a critical, callous eye. “Honestly, Daryl, she doesn’t look as though she could afford you, though I must say, my dear, he is worth every penny.”

Beth took offense at the woman’s attitude. Normally Beth avoided confrontations, but this woman had managed to get under her skin and rile her up after only a few words. Beth would have been impressed with the woman's ability to be obnoxious enough to royally piss her off so quickly had she not been so angry. 

Rather than respond harshly, Beth simply smiled sweetly and said, in a sugary voice, “He said he’d fuck me for free. I guess young pussy that can get wet without a bottle of lube is a turn on.”

Daryl’s mouth had begun twitching and Beth was sure he was going to smile, if not outright laugh. Ophelia was outraged and shouted, “Bitch!”

 She let out a loud screech and suddenly lunged at Beth. Her claw-like nails slashed down the right side of Beth’s face and neck, drawing long, thin lines of blood.

“What the--” Beth said, unprepared for the attack.

Ophelia was stronger than she looked. She shoved Beth down and grabbed hold of her ponytail, trying, it seemed, to rip it from Beth’s head, all the while screeching like an enraged barn owl.

“Ophelia!” Daryl shouted.

“You stupid girl! You stupid, stupid girl!”

Daryl worked to force Ophelia to release Beth’s hair. The door crashed open and Beth saw that both Rick and Michonne had emerged onto the rooftop courtyard, searching for her. Daryl hauled Ophelia away while Beth tried to catch her breath.

“Truth hurts, don’t it?” Beth shot back, feeling the scratches burn and tears sting at her eyes. She wanted to strike back so badly but Daryl had finally managed to subdue her. She decided to let it go.

“What the hell is going on here?” Michonne demanded.

“This is none of your concern, you black bitch!” Ophelia shouted.

“That’s enough, Ophelia!” Daryl shouted.

She pulled away from him. “How dare you dictate to me? Have you forgotten I own you?”

Beth honestly thought for a moment that Daryl was going to strike her. He didn’t. He stared Ophelia in the eye and crowded her, his blue eyes stormy and threatening. She began to back away from him, caving, cowering, realizing she’d gone too far.

“Nobody owns me, especially you. Do you understand? Nobody owns me. Say it.”

“Nobody owns you.”

“And?”

“Especially me,” she added meekly.

“Get your ass downstairs. Not another word.”

Ophelia obediently left, slipping past Rick and Michonne with her head down. He looked at Beth, who now stood with Michonne.

“You okay, Bethany?”

She nodded. “I’m fine.”

“I’m sorry for what happened. I’m sorry for what she said to you, Miss,” he added, looking at Michonne.

“Michonne Kelley. This is my partner, Rick Grimes.”

Daryl nodded at Rick and then left. When he was gone, Rick began looking over Beth’s wounds.

“Come on. I’ll clean these scratches.”

Beth took out her phone when the alarm sounded. She pressed a button and a second later Rick’s phone began to ring. He answered it.

“Just checking in,” she said, before hanging up and walking away.

Her life, she decided, had gone down the toilet and she didn’t think she’d ever get back to something normal.

*~*~*

Beth sat in Rick and Michonne’s apartment while he got a first aid kit out.

“What was that all about?” he asked.

“After dinner I went around to explore the building and I found the roof courtyard and was up there when Daryl came up. We were talking but Ophelia interrupted and got rude. I said something back and then she scratched at me, started screaming, and attacked me. Daryl was trying to pull her off and then you guys came up.”

“Her name is Ophelia?” Michonne said.

Beth shrugged and then hissed when Rick began to swab rubbing alcohol over the scratches to disinfect them. “That’s what Daryl calls her.”

“These don’t look too bad,” Rick said. “They’ll scab over and be gone in a week’s time.”

“I can’t believe her. She’s a nutjob,” Beth said, tenderly touching at the scratches. “I may not get the job at the Flower Street Café because of this.”

“Wear a scarf and put your hair down. They’ll hardly be noticeable,” Michonne said, as she sat down at the computer. “I’m going to run a sweep on Ophelia, see what her story is.”

Beth nodded. “I hope I don’t have any more issues with her.”

“Try to avoid her. If she attacks again we’ll be there,” said Rick.

“How did you know when to come tonight?”

“We monitor your vitals. If you’re in distress we receive text alerts and an alarm sounds. We not only know where you are, we know if you’re distressed.”

Beth swallowed. “Um…what if I meet someone, though? What if I’m…intimate…with them. Will that read as distress?”

Rick and Michonne chuckled. They could understand her concern. The last thing Beth would want is them busting in on her while she’s in bed with someone.

“If you’re going to be intimate with someone text us the number 632. We’ll know not to come running to your rescue.”

Not for the first time, Beth realized just how messed up her situation was. She couldn’t have a normal life until Negan was put away. She was going to have to live being monitored, checking in and sending texts before she can have sex. There was no privacy in her life. It was depressing and made her angrier than even Ophelia’s attack.

“I’m going to bed. I’m going to walk the application down to the diner first thing in the morning,” Beth said. She was telling Rick, not asking permission. She’d be damned if she would live her life unable to even make a simple trip half a block away without asking permission like she was a ten-year-old. He simply nodded and, feeling better, Beth headed to her apartment.

She’d just opened her door when the door to 2A opened and Ophelia exited looking red-eyed and angry. She stared at Beth with the utmost contempt but didn’t speak. Daryl had a stony look on his face as he watched her go. That look softened when his eyes met Beth’s. He gave her a small smile that she returned.

“Good night, Sutton,” he said, once again using her alias last name.

“Good night, Father Dixon,” she answered. They were both smiling when they finally closed the doors to their apartments.

Beth locked her door, leaned against it, and then broke into laughter.

Damn it to hell if she had developed a crush on the man in the apartment across the hall. She climbed under the covers feeling warm and sexy. As Beth lay in the relative darkness of her apartment, she allowed her hands to wander, one into her underwear, the other under her tee-shirt to rub and pinch softly at her nipples. She pretended it was Daryl’s hands that touched her, and brought her much needed release. Even though she forgot to text 632 to Rick and Michonne, neither one came knocking on her door.

*~*~*

Beth was up early the next morning, awaking at five a.m. to turn on the local news while her coffee brewed. She’d forgotten that it was Memorial Day until the anchor mentioned it. She would have had the day off since her old boss, Gayle Miller, was a Veteran and would have closed the pharmacy for the holiday. She would have spent it at home with her father and Maggie, had her life not been interrupted by this business with Negan and Martinez. They would have had a barbecue in the back yard that night with friends from town and neighboring farms coming over to celebrate.

Such thoughts were on Beth’s mind as she filled in the application, careful to use the information she’d learned in the file for her new identity, before she took time to sort through the closet to decide what to wear. She decided on a dark blue denim miniskirt with a fuchsia tank draped over a tighter fitting white tank. She wore white flat sandals and strung some beads over her neck before letting her hair down and adding a scarf to try to cover the scratches on her neck. Beth rarely wore makeup, but she lightly applied some color to her eyes and cheeks before grabbing the employment application and heading out.

It was a warm, humid morning when Beth emerged from the building. She breathed in the fresh air and started a leisurely stroll down the street. As she started to pass the parking lot exit of her building a motorcycle came to a stop to allow her to pass. She knew it was Daryl even before he turned to face her.

“Morning,” she said.

“Morning. What has you out so early, Sutton?”

“I’m going to drop off this application. I need a job if I’m going to keep the rent paid,” she said.

His eyes wandered over her from her head to her feet. His gaze communicated interest but not criticism and she felt herself warm. The look was a like a physical touch on her skin and her nipples hardened embarrassingly. She crossed her arms but it was too late--he’d seen. When his eyes met hers there was amusement mixed in with something else that she thought may have been desire.

“Good luck. I’m sure you’ll get the job.”

He continued on, heading the opposite way up the street. She watched him go, wondering what it would be like to hop onto the back of the bike and ride somewhere with him. She had that thought on her mind when she crossed the street at the corner and went up to the doors just as the woman from the day before, Ruby, was passing by inside. Beth held up her application and she unlocked the door to allow her in.

“Come in, Doll,” Ruby said kindly. “Sit down at a table, breakfast is on me. We don’t open until seven on Sundays and holidays.”

Beth ordered simple bacon, eggs, and toast and had orange juice to drink while Ruby sat across from her, smoking a cigarette without asking if it would be a bother to Beth. She was accustomed to being exposed to smoke, at least a little, since her father had been prone to toking on a corn pipe once in awhile in the evenings ever since she could remember.

“So, tell me a little about yourself. What brings you to Springston?” asked Ruby.

“I’m striking out on my own. I want to become my own woman,” Beth said.

Ruby nodded. “I left home at seventeen. I had a handsy stepfather, if you know what I’m saying. Is that your problem?”

Beth shook her head no, even while she felt pity for Ruby. “No, nothing like that. I just want to be on my own.”

“Good for you. A lot of kids your age are afraid to leave home nowadays. Can’t blame ‘em with the economy what it is. It’s hard to make it. Have you worked before? I don’t see the work history filled in on the application.”

“No, ma’am. This would be my first job,” Beth said. She’d seen nothing of a work history in her file. She prayed to God that whatever genius had made her a poor, high school dropout with low ambition, hadn’t forgotten to put any fake jobs Bethany Sutton may have associated with her equally fake past into the file so she wasn’t left with egg on her face if Ruby checked her out. 

“I detect an accent that isn't from Georgia,” Beth noted.

“I was born and raised in the Bronx,” Ruby explained. “I never lost the accent completely. As to this being your first job, well, you couldn’t have picked a better place to work. I own this little joint and I’m a kind boss.”

“Ha!” came from the kitchen.

“Shut up and get to work, Dale!” Ruby hollered back.

An older man with a kind face was peering through the window between the grill and the counter with a big smile on his face. He winked at Ruby before nodding at Beth and disappearing back to his domain.

“He has a crush on me,” Ruby whispered.

“Do you have one on him?” Beth inquired leaning forward and speaking in a conspiratorial voice. She was answered with a coy wink from Ruby and they both giggled like schoolgirls.

Beth was hired on the spot and then given a short tour of the café behind the scenes. Ruby explained the job and promised that she would start Beth off light, keeping her behind the counter so she could learn the register. It wasn’t easy pretending not to understand how to work a cash register but she pulled it off and earned praise from Ruby on being a quick learner. She was also introduced to the waitresses when they came in.

Bianca Salas was a middle-aged Latina, the same woman who’d served Beth and Michonne on their visit the day before. She was kind and liked to laugh and talk about her children and her recently deceased husband. Both subjects made her eyes mist over with a mix of sadness and affection. Two of her three kids were away at college and her third child was a high school junior.

Then there was Kylie Henry, a pretty black girl in her early twenties who was going to school at night to earn her degree in business. Kylie was friendly but not overly so, and Ruby told Beth that Kylie took a bit longer to warm up to someone before opening up about herself.

Dale Horvath worked in the kitchen, along with his friend George Platt. Dale was easygoing while George didn’t so much as look at Beth for more than a second before going back to work. Beth was told that this is just who George was and that it was also the reason he wasn’t allowed to work out front. This comment drew laughter from Dale and a small smile from George.

Business was slow starting off but it picked up around ten a.m. From there time flew by. Ruby was able to help wait tables while Beth took over the counter. It was nearly two in the afternoon when she excused herself to go to the bathroom to make her check-in.

“How do you like your new job?” Michonne asked.

“It’s hectic and I talk to a lot of people. I love it,” Beth said with genuine enthusiasm.

“Good,” Michonne said, sounding pleased. “We’ll see you this evening. Rick and I thought we’d take you out for dinner to celebrate.”

“Sounds fun. See you later!”

She hung up the phone and stepped out of the bathroom. She was just about to approach the counter. Daryl was coming in and she wanted to say hello. Her eyes, however, were drawn to a man standing at the counter, and the floor seemed to disappear under her feet and she was in free fall.

The man at the counter was Negan.

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