'A' to 'Z' Rarl

N → Naif

Carl Grimes has made a deal with the devil.

He's had to. So far, everything has gone his way, and it's been an entire week since he slipped under my sheets.

Somehow, no one has noticed the hickies I left, and if that isn't a miracle of god in and of itself (not that "god" would approve, hence the "devil's" involvement), I don't know what is. He simply left through the window and continued to strut around Alexandria like he owed the place. This happens every morning, because every night, he shows up on my roof, begging to be let in so he could sleep in my bed again.

Not that I'm complaining. I, for one, enjoy sleeping tucked under his chin with his arms around me. My only complaint revolves around the fear of being caught.

The likelihood of my mom or worse, my dad, walking in is risky as shit, and that's just my family. I don't doubt Carl's dad's love for his son, but he doesn't strike me as the type to support his son's fruity endeavors.

Not that I've verbalized any of this. Actually, all of this has been stewing in my gut since the first morning, and I'm eager to get it off my chest, and what a better time than now?

"Oh, you fucking ASSHOLE!" I shout from the bathroom across the hall, and thank fuck we're the only ones home, because the curses burst from me without forethought.

He doesn't even reply, probably snoozing on my bed after the particularly heated make-out had out back behind one of the smaller houses at the end of the impounded cul-de-sac.

The welt on my collarbone, pinkish red, turning purple, is prominent and slightly swollen, thanks to the mouthy jerk and his affinity for kissing anywhere but my lips.

I let go of the collar of my t-shirt and march with purpose to my bedroom, where I find him on my bed, hat covering his face, with his hands behind his head. He hadn't even take off his boots before laying down, and the mud-caked combats are propped up on the mattress.

Naturally, I hit him with the nearest object; a lone pillow tossed to the floor, undoubtedly, by the man himself.

He grunts, peeking out from under the ranger's hat grumpily.

"We need to talk," I say.