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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C A R L
CARL GRIMES ALWAYS THOUGHT that he knew better than to find comfort in this world. The boy lived easily under the premise that nothing good could ever last, so he shouldn't ever expect it to. But the boy was facing every emotional repercussion of getting too comfortable, as he stared down at an unconscious Alice.
With the help of the antibiotics scavenged from the nearby college, she was going to be just fine. Hershel told the boy that her body had been under a lot of stress from the intubation, and that she needed lots of rest for the medicine to work. She'd not been awake for over a day, but the boy continued to watch as her labored chest rose and fell.
Carl secretly wished that the guilt of knowing what happened to Alice's father was the only thing keeping him waiting anxiously by her bedside, but it wasn't. For whatever reason, he desperately wanted her to be okay.
Ever since the girl had lost consciousness yesterday, going limp between his gloved fingers, Carl did everything in his power to aid the situation. That included sneaking Hershel back to his ripened elderberry bush and mowing down a horde of walkers with his father.
Part of the boy was relieved that he'd been too preoccupied witness Hershel intubate Glenn and Alice. But the other part of him felt responsible for everything that'd happened to her.
Carl nearly felt silly for allowing himself to take a liking to the girl. She wasn't so bad after all, and he hated that. He hated that he didn't hate her anymore. And he hated that the girl would soon hate him, again, when she would eventually find out the truth about her father.
The same cycle of thoughts continued to run through the boy's mind as he anxiously awaited her opening eyes for several layers of reasons. But no matter what would happen to him—to them—when she would awake, Carl would just be happy that she ever woke up at all.
The boy sat on the table in the girl's cell, his hands fidgeting with her gun and his lower legs dangling, slightly kicking back and forth. But as his emotions became too much, his kicking feet came to a stop and he ran his tongue over his lower lip.
"I'm sorry." Carl quietly spoke, slowly dropping his gun-wielding hands into his lap. He knew that she couldn't hear him, but he still meant it anyways. "None of this should've ever happened."
Of course nothing bad should ever happen, but that wasn't what Carl was talking about. He should've never happened to her.
