Alice was not worried of the unknown. She was worried of what she already knew. She was worried of the promises that the new people were making to her-the ones bringing the people of a fallen Woodbury into their own settlement. The girl felt sorry t...
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A L I C E
ALICE DUNLAP ALWAYS WONDERED what death would be like. The concept was always in the back of everyone's mind, as they had to maneuver their way through a deathly world. Luckily, for the girl, she was still on earth, left with the ability to wonder about something that hadn't yet consumed her.
She was fine. Alice didn't know how, but her symptoms vanished. The girl was still sickly, though, and was resting on the bottom bunk, having somehow made her way up there from the cold floor.
Having no context about her own safety, the girl assumed that Carl was the one to put her there, as he'd been keeping her company during her everlasting bedrest. She had no idea how long she'd been sick or even how long she'd been sitting there with Carl by her bedside.
Their time spent together was no longer saddening. It was as if Elliot and Patrick didn't just die—as if chaos wasn't tearing apart everything that the group worked so hard to establish, at the prison. Grief was no longer in the air, although the girl was well aware that Elliot and Patrick were no longer around. The feeling—or lack thereof—held a resemblance to the effect of drugs, which might've been given to the sick girl. It was odd, but Alice wasn't going to question it.
"Your face is finally getting some of its color back." The boy raised the back of his de-gloved hand, pressing it all over the girl's face. First it went to her cheek, then her forehead, before over-turning cradling the other side of her face. "And your fever isn't as bad."
The girl, however, did not feel the fever that Carl Grimes was talking about. She felt nothing but an immense comfort from the soft, fresh sheets she was entangled in and the warming touch from the boy's soft hand. The ever-so-innocently intimate contact was nothing like anything Alice and the boy had ever experienced with one another.
They'd previously held hands in a moment of desperation, but that was out of fear—the thought that the two might never see each other again. This time, it was different. It was welcoming and subtle, as if the two had become so familiar that they depended on one another.
Alice never thought that Carl Grimes would show such concern over her lowering fever, but she also never thought that the boy would cast a blush upon the tops of her cheeks. That of which burned with an obviousness, but the girl wasn't embarrassed. She wanted to speak, but her eyes carefully studied the boy as he pulled his hand away.
"You seem tired." Carl offered the girl a soft smirk, looking down at her as he continued to kneel next to her bed.
He was hatless, letting his hair dangle forward as he watched the girl with intent. After a few moments, the boy grabbed two fistfuls of the warm sheets that were on top of the girl, pulling them away from her body. Alice still felt warmth surrounding her legs, as though the sheets were still tucked firmly around her.
