𝐘𝐨𝐮 𝐏𝐫𝐨𝐦𝐢𝐬𝐞𝐝 | 𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐥 𝐆𝐫𝐢𝐦𝐞𝐬

𝐟𝐨𝐫𝐭𝐲-𝐟𝐨𝐮𝐫

I allow the pain to flood in when I stand alone.

As the last pair of shoes, or so I thought, had disappeared upstairs, I slip into the bathroom. Ignoring the revolting reflection in the mirror, I turn on the cold water and stick my palm under it. A sting zaps throughout my hand, shooting up my arm, causing the dried blood underneath my sleeve to crack. Carefully, I slip off my shirt, hissing in agony when it grazes my fresh scar.

Knock, knock, knock. "Kendall..?" The unsure voice calls for me, and because of my refusal to answer them or the door, they open it. "Ken— oh!" I sigh and look away from the mirror. His cheeks slowly redden, turning away from my indecency and clearing his throat. "Sorry."

I scoff from his embarrassment, glancing down at my bra then up again, looking at the back of his head.

"I didn't mean to see, uh.." He breathes. "I mean, I wanted to check on you, but, uh.."

"Carl... could you, um, could you come in and help me with this.. thing?" I ask him hopefully, watching the hesitance of his movements. I lift my hand, showing him the scar that has yet to stop bleeding.

He steps in, quickly, shutting and locking the door behind himself. "Shit." He grabs hold of my wrist with a tight grip, raising my hand in the air and analyzing the scar with disgust.

"I think I cut my hand back at the wall." I sigh as he stretches his arm pass me to open up the cabinet, that hovers over the toilet, to grab the wrap. "Deanna already is hurt. I didn't want to be another problem, you know?"

"Mm." He hums, completely focused on my hand. Again, I hiss in pain while he dabs my wound with a damp paper towel. While Carl wraps my palm, he looks up at me, but when doing the same as him, he looks back down.

He didn't think I'd notice, but I did.

"Thanks." I murmur, dropping the weight in my hand and locking eyes with him. "I, um.. yeah, thanks."

"You said that already."

"Yeah.. well, thank you three times." I shrug, sliding my hand out of his.

His eyes burn through mine, burning away the darkness within them; my soul hops because of it. Instead of looking past me, like he has done as of lately, his eyes look at— he eyes find me. And every single feeling I have for him in this moment, he could see in my eyes. It makes me shiver.

I wanted to kiss him. I want to feel that fleeting
minute of passion, that fire within me when our lips touch. But, it isn't time for that, not yet. So when he leans in, I step away from him to clear my throat

"Thanks four times." I whisper, breaking away from his tempting stare. Motioning at the door and down my body, I say, "I should, uh, put on my shirt."

"Oh! Yeah.." He hums uncomfortably, opening the door.

I exhale deeply as soon as he was out of sight, lowering my head. "Ah hell." I mumble before picking up my shirt and throwing it back on. I breathe, again, giving myself a second to calm down the thumping of my heart before exiting, only to be met with an empty home.

Alone.. and wholly terrified, I kneel in front of the window and peek through the curtains with my lips dipped into a frown, watching the dead drone around mindlessly, in search of someone or something fresh. We're trapped, every single one of us— those who are alive— like mice. It was useless to do anything but just sit and wait to die. We're all dead. I am dead; sooner than I'd expected. At the same time, these thoughts, unlike the sight, were more relaxing than scary.