Crestfallen ↬ Carl Grimes (old version)

L O S T

CHAPTER EIGHT : LOST

❝It is true that I am endowed with an absurd sensitiveness; what scratches others tears me to pieces.❞

  ❝No matter how much I hate saying it, it will always be the horrible, undeniable truth. I, Milah Taylor, needed Carl Grimes to survive in this godforsaken world, for if he died, I would too. ❞

  ➳

The girl in front of me was different than the last time I saw her. To me, the differences were barely noticeable, but they were still there. Her cheekbones were higher, face hollow, her porcelain skin tight on the sharp parts of her bones. Every inch of her body was trying to warn her, plead with her that it could barely hold on anymore. She was malnourished. She couldn't even remember the last time she had a drop of water touch her dry lips. How could she let herself slip away this bad? She had wandered around like one of the corpses outside, not bothering to do anything to help herself. All because her mind was lost in it's own thoughts and broken memories.

The large red shirt that usually covered most of her body was now discarded on the floor beside her, her undergarments barely fitting her small, fragile shoulders. The shirt hid everything from sight. The pale white lines that were scattered around her body in an unorganized matter, the yellowed bruises that have failed to heal over time, and worst of all, the sickly hollowness of her stomach, each every and bone of her ribs and hips poking out in a revolting manor. But there was one main difference that stood out to me. The lack of blood on the girl's pale hands. I could barely remember the last time the girl in front of me had clean hands. Was it the last time she smiled with actual meaning? Was it the time she cried? Was it the last time she showed any actual emotion instead of blood lust and insanity? Just looking at her made me want to cover my eyes and hide like a little child in the corner of the room, not coming out of my little hiding spot until the sick girl left. But she wouldn't leave until I did.

I wanted to smash the mirror in front of me, to flip it over and watch the glass spill out in shards around my feet. I wanted to add to these faded scars with these glass shards and laugh as the weakness pours out of me. Nothing else would be better than having blood on my hands again. I've already broken rule two, why not break rule one? Ever heard of the saying "rules are meant to be broken?" But doing so would gain the attention of the people around me.  Something I hadn't had to worry about for a while now.

I want to stop remembering my past. Every moment with Carl is a moment where I'm forced to relive my worst memories and unveil the hidden ones. But no matter how much I suffer this horrible torture, I could never say that I could live without the blue eyed boy. I needed him around. I needed him to keep me sane, to keep me alive. When I'm around him it's almost as if no matter how much I'm in pain I can deal as long as it's him. If I need to torture myself to be with Carl Grimes, then that's what I'm going to do.

But he's never seen the real me. The Milah who's a bloodthirsty killer, the one who's starving herself because of her own selfish thoughts, the Milah that's fading away ever so slowly, shattering into small pieces as she does so. But no matter what, I'm still a girl, with blood on her hands and a mind that's helplessly lost in it's own thoughts. The girl who I was pretending to be was nothing but a lie. All of my problems were hidden by a stained red too-large shirt and a mask for a face. I wanted to take a break from being that girl. I wanted to see what the real Milah looked like before I had to shut her up again. I couldn't forget about her.

But the truth was, I'm just a broken girl standing in front of a broken mirror, with nothing to lose except for the small amount of sanity I had left. Could I help this girl in the mirror? Drag her to her feet and give her false hope and fake promises? Telling her that not everything is lost in the grey abyss that has eaten away at her thoughts, that there is still a chance of hope out there. Or would I just hide? Hide away in my shell and wait until the girl left, her heart sunken, her face showing just how crestfallen she really was. It was the easiest choice, the less painful route to take. It's the only choice I have.