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𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝐬𝐞𝐩𝐭
𝚜𝚝𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚗 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚑𝚎𝚊𝚍
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H E R
I stood at the bars of his cell. The sheet drawn across. I breathed in. Then out. And tapped my nails on the metal bars.
Terrible idea. Awful. Walk away now. This is bullshit.
"Come in."
I brushed aside the heavy curtain and ventured into the dimly lit alcove. It took a beat for my eyes to acclimate to the darkness, and then I discerned Carl's silhouette rising from his bunk, setting aside a comic book and flashlight, his features etched with confusion as I encroached upon his place of dwelling.
This is so awkward it literally hurts. Just walk out. Right into the jaws of a walker. That would be less painful than this. Why is this so awkward? It's unnecessary. Why are you even here?
"What are you doing here?" He asked, scratching his arm in an almost nervous manner.
"...Patrick said you wanted to see me?"
His eyebrows came together. "I never-" Then, he groaned, both of us coming to the realization that Patrick had played us.
Great. So this was a forced conversation neither of us wanted to have.
"I'm just gonna—" And then I tried backing away but he came forward, into the stream of light that came through his curtain.
"—No, no. Wait." He stopped me. "Clearly, Patrick set us up, but... He's right. This whole thing has been bullshit. But we should talk. About it. Obviously. Right?"
"Right. Obviously." I agreed, waiting for him to continue but he was just staring at me blankly, waiting, like he thought I was the one who had explaining to do. I lifted an eyebrow. "Go on."
