↳ 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'm awakened early in the morning by Carl shaking my shoulder. The first thing I can think of is how surprised I am to have gotten any sleep at all. I push myself into a seated position and see Carl hovering over me, clearly having been awake for at least a few minutes longer than me. That's when I realize that it isn't morning at all and it's still dark outside from just one glance out the windows.
"What's going on?" I ask, my voice groggy as I frantically rub the few remnants of sleep from my eyes. I hadn't expected to fall asleep so deeply, considering I hadn't expected to fall asleep at all.
"You need to get up and come talk to my dad," is all Carl says to me as I reach for my face to rub the puffiness from my delicate eyelids. For a second, everything seems fake until reality hits me sharply and jars me from my temporary daze.
I know that talking to Carl's dad will inadvertently lead to me having to speak with my dad.
A wave of nausea washes over me, but I manage to settle the uncomfortable feeling long enough to right myself. My elbows throb dully as the memory of the pain that had been inflicted upon them returns. The tingling in my fingertips follows as I set my hands on my lap in full view and examine the white tape stuck to them.
"I don't know if I'm ready," my meek voice admits, even though it pains me to say as much.
"You don't have to be," is all Carl says as he reaches a hand to my hair and pushes a stray curl behind my ear where it stays tucked neatly with a cluster of others. "But I don't think it's good for you to ignore it, either."
I know he's right. Something about that angers me for just a split second before it's drowned by other emotions I don't have the power to describe and I'm finding myself looking Carl straight in the eye.
"You're right," I say softly. There's a breath of hesitation that I'm having trouble controlling until a singular sentence manages to begrudgingly escape my lips. "I think . . . I think I might be ready."
The statement catches me off guard, even though I'm the one who had said it to begin with. Carl nods, keeping his gaze tightly in mine. I feel like it's suffocating, but then again, there's a sense of comfort that comes alone with it that is nearly indescribable.
"Are you sure?" Carl asks, a tinge of warmth in his voice. I pause for a minute, but eventually nod my head in agreement. I feel as though I can't wait any longer. It won't get any less painful the more that I leave the dilemma at an arm's reach without addressing it.
"I have to. I . . . I know that now." I stumble over the words for hardly a breath before I blink my eyes tightly in a beat of confirmation to myself. No matter what, I can't seem to access the reality of this concept and I don't understand what else I could possibly do in order to help me with that much.
