↳ we aren't who we were anymore...
oc x carl grimes
season 7-8 (sequel to who we were)
TW: Depression, thoughts of suicide, use of drugs/alcohol, use of tobacco, detailed gore, use of weapons, death, and mentions/suggestions of assault.
DISCLAIMER:...
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"I . . . uh . . . I didn't finish what I was telling you earlier - about the Sanctuary, I mean," Carl said, his heart beating quickly in his chest as he attempted to fully come to terms with what he was about share with Emmie. He could think of about a billion different outcomes to this conversation. Sure, her father being alive was something she would most likely be glad to hear, but finding this out after not getting to see him for almost three years would be completely sickening. That wasn't even the tip of the iceberg, either, because the most interesting part of the story happened to be the fact that Cole was also a part of the Saviors, and a very respected member at that.
"Yeah. Keep going," Emmie said, hovering beside the kitchen sink, her eyes slowly making there way around the counter as if confused. "Do you . . . do you know where the dish soap is?"
Carl stopped moving the broom that he had been using to sweep the crumbs off the ground to see Emmie with the bottle of soap right in front of her in the same place that it always was. "It's . . . it's right in front of you, Em." Emmie paused, squinting through her pale skin to locate the soap, gripping it with her hands, and then going back to whatever she was doing as if nothing had happened, asking Carl to continue speaking even though he was more worried about whether or not she was okay.
"I'm fine," Emmie replied, grabbing the rag from the basin, trying not to bat another eyelash at the situation. Carl gripped the broom in his hands tightly, looking away from her sickly skin that had seemingly begun to accentuate the dark rims beneath her eyes. "Keep . . . Keep talking . . ." Carl furrowed his eyebrows, slowly diverting his attention to the floor, even though all his worry was consumed in the girl he cared so much about. She never admitted if something was wrong, no matter how much he wished she would.
As Carl swept the broom across the kitchen floor, he couldn't tell if Emmie would reach her arms out for a hug once he told her the news, or opt to crashing to the floor in a heap because of the surprising news. Before Carl could even formulate a full sentence, Emmie had gone crashing to the floor anyways.
"Emmie?" Carl asked, dropping the broom, which had hit the floor with a clatter. He rushed around the island where she was, laying on the floor, her hair haloed around her, adorning the small gash that had been inflicted on the soft skin of her forehead. "Emmie!" He fell to his knees, gently shaking her head, but there was no response. Her eyelids remained sealed shut, the only amount of color left in her face being the blueish bruise printed on her cheek along with the slow trickle of red that had started to drip from her forehead. "Emmie!"
