There have been moments, still are though they're fewer and farther between, when being touched would make her jump. She likely would have now, except that for a beat she's convinced it's her imagination. By the time she's certain that it's real, there's no abrupt flinching, only stillness. The last thing she would want is for him to move, and she can't even manage to care that she's using his offered comfort as some twisted recompense for the hurt she's feeling.
One thing about growing up in a family of Southern church-goers, you learn to judge people. Carol spent far too much of her life doing that, and it's part of why she's still so hard on herself. There was always gossip around the tables at potlucks, women in their big hats chattering about who was running around on his wife or who the real father of Mrs. Wilkins' baby is. She always found it astounding that people would make those sort of impulsive decisions and wreck their lives and reputations, especially when she was always so careful, always planning, keeping Ed's punishments at the fore so she could calculate how far to push. Just plain lack of honor and willpower, those people who can't manage to follow a few simple rules, she'd thought.
But right now, with Daryl's hand on her back in exactly the right place, she gets it. How someone could let an impulse, a silly and selfish want, ruin everything. She never wanted anything more in her life than to pivot into his arms and yank him close, knowing he'd give whatever she asked and not caring what taking that kind of advantage would make her.
Instead, she releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and looks over at him. "I'm okay," she says quietly, knowing he can clearly see that she's lying, and not even very well. Fumbling for an excuse and settling on not wanting him to think he did anything wrong, she tucks herself against his side, her head ducking to rest on his shoulder, arms slipping around him for one gentle squeeze before hanging loose around his waist. Not the right thing to do, but not as wrong as what she really wants. It feels good, so damn good that she'd throw everything away for another few moments before he shrugs her off in embarrassment.
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One thing about growing up in a family of Southern church-goers, you learn to judge people. Carol spent far too much of her life doing that, and it's part of why she's still so hard on herself. There was always gossip around the tables at potlucks, women in their big hats chattering about who was running around on his wife or who the real father of Mrs. Wilkins' baby is. She always found it astounding that people would make those sort of impulsive decisions and wreck their lives and reputations, especially when she was always so careful, always planning, keeping Ed's punishments at the fore so she could calculate how far to push. Just plain lack of honor and willpower, those people who can't manage to follow a few simple rules, she'd thought.
But right now, with Daryl's hand on her back in exactly the right place, she gets it. How someone could let an impulse, a silly and selfish want, ruin everything. She never wanted anything more in her life than to pivot into his arms and yank him close, knowing he'd give whatever she asked and not caring what taking that kind of advantage would make her.
Instead, she releases a breath she hadn't realized she was holding, and looks over at him. "I'm okay," she says quietly, knowing he can clearly see that she's lying, and not even very well. Fumbling for an excuse and settling on not wanting him to think he did anything wrong, she tucks herself against his side, her head ducking to rest on his shoulder, arms slipping around him for one gentle squeeze before hanging loose around his waist. Not the right thing to do, but not as wrong as what she really wants. It feels good, so damn good that she'd throw everything away for another few moments before he shrugs her off in embarrassment.