ALL THE LOVELY BAD ONES | CARL GRIMES

five. hold back the flood

Nothing.

Impulsively, muscle memory of how I would wake my brother, I placed my free hand on his chest and gently jostled him. A shriek of surprise almost left me when a warm hand took hold of my wrist with a vice like grip, moving my palm to his left, right over his heart. I felt the rapid beat of it through his ribs, his shirt, against my skin. I had pulled away immediately, upon lifting my eyes to see his own slowly blink open, a pale blue velvet in the dusty morning light.

"What?" His voice had been a little rough, deep and heavy with sleep.

I swallowed, trying to remember how to speak. "I saved you some breakfast."

His tired eyes had drifted down to the plate in my inoffensive hand, then back up to mine, a soft smile formed across his lips. I suddenly felt overwhelmed. Warmth flooding my body at it all. The simplicity of this boy, nestled in bed and smiling at me. Nothing rough or coarse about him, he had almost been dreamlike. I flushed at the then recent memory of his heart beat against my palm. So ethereal.

"Also, it's laundry time." I had added, trying to bring reality back into the conversation.

"Ah," He murmured, sitting up, the softness he had displayed now volatile as he became more alert. Still, the boyish charm remained, as did the flutter in my chest it gave me. "So, breakfast is your bribe?"

And the corners of his lips lifted in the impertinent ghost of a soft smile, like the sun shining small beams through the clouds after a heavy rain. I wish it was something I could save and share with the world so I could tell the universe that this was what it was like: getting to know Carl Grimes.

But I just shook my head. "No. We're scheduled and I'm not going to let you screw me over. The breakfast is so I don't have to hear you bitch the whole time." This was a little untrue, he didn't exactly whine but he easily became annoyed which was easy to poke fun at him for.

"I'm gonna bitch either way, if you don't want to hear it just ask to be teamed up with Patrick or Lizzie or someone." His voice had been teasing but it was almost like the look in his eyes was asking me a question. Wanting to see if I'd take the offer and do my chores with someone else.

Of course, I wouldn't want to do chores with any of the other children. Carl was the only person I didn't have to go back and redo the work for. He usually did everything right the first time, which made us a pretty good team.

Carl and I were the only two kids who didn't attend Story Time and for some reason, we always ended up together. Washing dishes. Hanging clothes out to dry. Almost like the adults were pushing us towards each other. They probably were.

We talked a lot during those times. At first, I thought it was best to steer clear of topics that might be sore to him which made it rather difficult to hold a substantial conversation but I soon realized he didn't really mind too much talking about the past. About Before. We both had charmed childhoods full of colorful characters but truly, we were only really telling ghost stories. Tales of a life gone by, of people we once knew who were dead and gone. While we never mentioned it, the fact of it clung to us, was intended.

However, we mostly just bantered back and forth. Arguing and teasing, never really crossing into serious territory. Keeping it light. Almost in our own little world.

From the time the morning sun would ascend, casting its gentle rays upon the prison, I found myself engaged in the timeless ritual of domesticity alongside Carl. With deft hands, I gently unfurled the wet linens and the boy, being that he was now taller, would suspend them upon the clothesline, where they billowed around us like ghostly sails in harmony of the wind. He didn't wear his hat much anymore, leaving his dark curls unruly, framing his sun-kissed freckled face. His hair had gotten so long, he could tuck it behind his ears easily. I wondered when he would get a haircut.