'A' to 'Z' Rarl

D → Dance

 Carl Grimes avoids people like he is avoiding death himself. Promises of food and alcohol had undoubtedly lured him to Deanna's house like it'd done me, but as people laugh and smile around him, swaying to the music that drifts through the house, I begin to notice that the ex- sheriff's son was growing more uncomfortable by the second. Each time he blinks, those blue eyes open, filled with just a bit more fear. His breathing grows erratic, and I would give anything to know what is on his mind; what he is thinking.

 The beer I'd convinced one of the adults to give me is cold in my hand, and my gaze flicks between the lip of the bottle and Carl Grimes, unsure if it would be my place to step in and ask if the long-haired boy was alright, if he needed to step outside for some fresh air.

 Before I can make a decision, he is pushing through the small crowd and for the stairs, and just like that, he is out of sight. I wait. Surely, he would only be a minute. Surely, he's just using the restroom. My feet are glued to the floor, and my eyes to my shoes.

 Why the fuck do I care? Why am I so obsessed with him? It sends shivers down my spine and butterflies to my stomach just to think about him, and I am starting to despise it. I barely know him, and I already care too much. Minutes pass, and I argue with myself the whole time, debating following the outsider up the stairs, finding out exactly why he's so secretive and scared.

 It's been almost 10 minutes now.

 Fuck it.

 My feet unglue themselves and I set my drink down on a table as I pass, sneaking into the hallway and up the stairs. Adrenaline buzzes at the base of my neck and in my gut as I reach the top of the wooden stairs, turning down the long, dark hall with a nervous spring in my step. There; the bathroom door was shut. With a tentative hand, I reach out slowly and knock. The only noise in reply is a choked hiccup and what I swear sounds like... crying. I swallow the lump in my throat, speaking.

 "Carl?" Turning the handle to the bathroom door, I get scared as he jumps at me for the second time in only two weeks. Only, this time, he drags me in, slamming the bathroom door before shoving me aginst the counter of the sink.

 I don't worry about it, though, because I'm more focused on the steak knife that is pressed into the soft flesh just under my chin. I go pale as a sheet in an instant, staring at the tear streaked face of Carl Grimes, who's actually threatening my life without speaking a word.

 I start whispering, hands clutching at his wrists.

 "Carl," My voice is shaking. I'm scared of this boy now. I don't understand, I don't know why he's doing this. "Please, Carl- Carl, what's wrong? Please-"

 Slowly, the rage in his gaze fades, and the knife clatters on the tile. I don't let go of his hands, searching his face for even a hint at what is going through this boy's head, a hint at why he's so scared.

 "Why do you have a knife? Why are you in here-?" He cuts me off, speaking through grit teeth.

 "Get out."

 I start to protest, but he yells in my face, spittle flying. "GET OUT!"

 I run, shutting the door behind me as quick as I'd opened it.