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M E G A N
Throughout the past seven days, I've tried several things to curb my endless thoughts about the boy.
While he's out in the unknown, I'm left with inevitable radio-silence. The most painful part is returning to the home that I'm supposed to being sharing with him. The house instead glooms with deafening silence as it's taken me a few days to realize that the friend I've found my home in is far, far away from the small, two-story structure.
I've been spending nearly all of my free time with Jessie, or her two sons.
Sam and I finally got those cookies I'd promised to ask for and Ron and I have gotten along surprisingly well. Considering I work under Pete, I've taken a liking to every member of the Anderson family, and they've even come as close as to include me as one of their own.
It was difficult to admit to myself that it was easier to mingle without Carl being within these walls. Knowing that he is out finding his purpose—if he isn't dying—makes me feel less guilty to selfishly enjoy this place. In a way, we're both fulfilling ourselves. Although, I'd probably be avoiding him after what happened at the dock, it is definitely not ideal for the boy to be outside the walls for this long.
It's just how it's got to be.
My thoughts shut off—just like the light in the infirmary as someone flips the switch.
The place I spend time to avoid my empty house, is now only illuminated by the morning light coming in through the windows. I've been staring down at Pete's annotated medical textbook for the past few hours, trying to get familiar with the material he so kindly outlined for me.
"Time for your study break." Ron says, his voice making the statement, not giving me room to answer it as if it were a question.
I groan, slumped over the desk with an open, bright yellow highlighter in my hands. The plastic cap in between my teeth. My eyes take one last look at the complex paragraphs of words that I'd missed out on learning when the world went downhill.
"C'mon Meg." Ron starts. "You spend way too much time in here. And on top of that—working with my dad." The boy says. He's never quite understood why I enjoy being around his parents. I never really figured it out either.
"I thought I told you not to call me that." I remark, taking the cap out from between my teeth. The last time he called me that nickname, I objected, saying it was an old lady name and that I didn't like it.
"What are you going to do about it, Meg?" The boy teases, enunciating the foreign nickname.
"That's it." I roll my eyes and stand up. Ron already knows what's coming as by the time I turn around, he's no longer in the room.
His careless footsteps grow distant in the echoing infirmary. Running across the dark room, I peek my head down the hall to see the boy run out the front door.
Ever since Pete took my stitches out a few days ago, I've been less afraid of moving around. I embrace my new mobility, nearly sprinting down the porch stairs and across the yard after a frightened Ron. The distance between us grows shorter as I gain on him, my feet pounding against the grass.
The boy runs too close to the walls, not leaving many choices of direction. He stops as he's cornered and I stand my ground, ready for any of his potential sudden movements. Now facing me, he turns to look my in the eyes.
"Did I tell you that you look pretty today?" The boy says out of his own playful fear.
"Oh, do I now?" I can't help but let a playful smile cross my face as I approach him, causing him to wince and raise his hands in defense.
Over the past few days, the boy's figured out how to push my buttons, and I've figure out how to push his even harder.
I close the space between us and he backs into the metal wall. My stiff hands jab into the boy's sides over and over again as he squirms, trying to swat them away.
The quirk of discomfort, I learned of while trying to teach the boy how to hold a gun. Of course, this distracted us from the lesson.
My arm brushed against his side while showing him the position, causing him to involuntarily wince. Ever since, it's been my favorite thing to use against him—only when prompted.
"Okay! Okay!" The boy calls out, breathlessly. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry!" He profusely apologizes, surrendering to me, as he playfully drops to the ground in defense.
"What's my name?" I ask, taking a break from jabbing my hands at his side. Although my stiff, flat hand stays raised in his field of vision, showing him that I'm not opposed to doing it again.
"Meg—an." He enunciates.
"That's what I thought." I laugh, retreating my once-threatening hand. As a bit of a truce, I overturn my hand and hold it down to the boy on the ground. He grabs onto my forearm and pulls himself up.
"So, are we going again today?" Ron asks as he sarcastically tilts his head. "Or do you have to study?"
"I guess triage can wait." I shrug, pretending to be upset about not being able to study, when the two of us know I'd prefer to take a break.
"What's tree-odge?" Ron's eyes squint a bit and his lip cocks to the side as he tries to pronounce the word.
"Something your dad thought I should learn." I playfully avoid his question.
It is true, though. Pete thought it was important that I learn the harsh reality of medicine in this world of limited resources. After he taught me the basics, of course. "It's like if people were to come back from a run, and some of them were hurt. It's the process of deciding which people are too far gone and who could survive if they got treatment first."
"So like—if one person was bitten, and the other was shot. There's not much you could do about the bite, although the person who's shot could die first without proper treatment." He starts. "You'd wait until after dealing with the gunshot to make the person with the bite comfortable?"
"Kind of, yeah." I mutter.
The boy's curious example etching deeper into my surface as I realize that the possibility of that happening is very likely in this world. I've seen it with my own two eyes, back at the prison, with different outcomes between Hershel's leg and Lori's labor.
The history of my past with triage only hurts so much as I realize that there is a group out on a run right now. That these injuries are still possible. But that the possibility of the people coming back is even less than getting them back in several pieces.
"They're fine, Megan." Ron's serious voice says. The boy's tone that I don't hear very often as he—as well as I—prefers to keep things upbeat to the best of his ability. "You don't have to worry."
"I still do."
☆
"I have no idea why she's so against it." Ron whines.
The two of us not minding our volume as we carelessly wander through the walker-less woods just outside of the walls. We've been traveling beyond them as an ongoing favor I'm doing for him.
Teaching him, exposing him. He asked me to do so, so he could understand why his girlfriend secretly leaves Alexandria often.
"Probably because you still have a lot to learn out here." I retort in a joking manner, however my statement is painfully true.
"I tried to get her to let me go with, but she immediately shut it down." The boy whines once again as he whacks a branch out of our way.
"When you care about someone, you want them inside those walls for as long as possible. Keep them from what happens, you know?" I say, the telling statement not being fully thought through. I wince, anticipating the boy turning this into another lecture on how I don't have to worry about Carl.
"Oh is that why you let me come out here? You don't care about me?" He pretends to act offended, putting a palm to his chest, his other hand wielding his small knife.
"No—" I start with a laugh. "I care about you enough to show you how to be safe out here. It's either that or death at this point." My joke going over the boy's head, as just that: a joke. He has no idea of the truth behind my sarcastic statement.
"I'm just messing around," He scoffs, sensing my defensiveness. "Enid and I aren't really like that anyway, I think she just doesn't want me bothering her."
"What do you mean? Not like that?"
"Our relationship doesn't really include a whole lot of the caring part. You know?" The boy asks me, slightly slowing his pace before stepping over a log. I do the same.
"No?" I trail off, meeting his suggestive gaze. Only I can't tell what mischief he's suggesting.
"We did care, in the beginning, but now it's just—" He starts. "It's the end of the world. And people get lonely."
"So you're only together because you're both lonely?" I ask. "Not because you like each other?"
"Sort of." His eyes gleam with mischief as he soaks in my words. " I like her. I just don't love her. What we have is more of a way of passing time." He hints, suggestion in his tone once again.
"So you're both just lonely and bored?"
"Bored is one word for it."
"Is it obvious that I'm confused?"
"Yes." He laughs at me, shaking his head and looking to the ground. "Look Meg—" He starts, trying to stifle his contagious laughter.
"What's so funny?" A curious smile creeps onto my face as the boy clearly avoids telling me what he's talking about.
"So you and Carl never," He starts, his eyes trying to signal my understanding of the rest of his statement as he trails off. I blankly stare, waiting for him to continue. "You know how you said that I have a lot to learn out here?" He asks.
"Yeah?" I widen my eyes a little and sarcastically nod my head.
"Well you have a lot to learn in there."
☆
After failing to find any practice walkers for Ron, he and I decided to call it a day and head back the Anderson house.
There, the boy was able to pass his knowledge onto me. The talk—the boy said, was similar to one his parents had given him. Including all of the awkwardness.
The history of the universe now makes sense to me as I make the connection between Ron's advice and a similar talk that Jessie and I had earlier in the week.
Just a few days prior when I woke up in the Anderson's guest bedroom and the sheets were dusted in scuffs of dried blood.
Now, I sit in Aaron and Eric's kitchen, with the concept of sex fresh in my newly-exposed mind. The vision of the boy's stash of a secret little blue box of condoms momentarily burned into my eyes. Similar to the feeling I got when Jessie gave me a handful of tampons. The new concept still not quite making sense in my brain.
The men in front of me speak amongst each other, practicing a bit of nervous small-talk before they tell me why they actually called me and Deanna here to meet. They have no idea where my mind is, as I navigate my way through the empty conversation.
Raspiness echoes out and the voices go silent as I realize that Deanna has cleared her throat.
"So you're saying you think you have a lead on them?" She starts. "Their people?"
The sinking gut feeling drowns out all of my senses when I hear her words. Although the woman nodded toward me when she said it, I need to be sure of what I think they're saying.
"Back on that street, where I met Carl," Aaron starts, the absent boy's name finally being brought up by someone who isn't me. "I dropped the photographs when we saw Eric's flare. So today, I went back."
"And you saw one of them?" My quiet, concerned voice catches the attention of the man.
"Nothing is certain, but there were quite a few fresh walkers. So someone was there. Someone who knew how to take care of themselves. If not one of your people, maybe it's someone else who'd be an asset to this community. We won't know until we track them." He starts. "Eric and I are heading out after brunch."
"You guys need to be careful out there." I start. "Your safety is more important than a small chance of finding someone helpful."
"We always are." Aaron smiles, a cheeky one.
Eric grins with a gleam, looking at his smiling boyfriend. The two happy men entangle their fingers, holding hands after Aaron's statement. A wholesome bond between two people that I'd never really been exposed to before.
Amidst my admiration for the cute couple, the talk that Ron and I had replays in my brain. The boy told me what inevitably happens between two people who love each other, and loving each other was something these two clearly did, a lot. Although, Ron never mentioned anything about what happens when two men love each other.
My mind ponders over the possibility when I decide on simply asking him about it later.
After exchanging small talk over a simple brunch—something I'd recently learned was a breakfast meal that took place closer to noon—with the departing men, Deanna and I helped the couple on their send-off, wishing them luck and safety as they ventured beyond the front gate. Soon after, it was time to meet up with Pete and head to the infirmary, where I'd continue my studying.
I now carry my bundle of tense nerves around with me as I bounce my leg around, completing my shift at the infirmary. My shaky hands practice sewing up a hole in one of Jessie's old shirts she'd given me. A makeshift template for practicing sutures, which my boss said I'd need steady hands for.
"Why don't you take a break? Even the best surgeons get tired." Pete says, circling his tall body around the tray of tools I've been working with for the past hour. I guess he's noticed my focus—or lack thereof—on my studies today.
"Well, I'm clearly no surgeon." I huff, letting the needle clink against the metal tray as I drop the materials from my grip.
"Don't say that." He says, a charming smile along his confident face. "One day you'll be the best makeshift doctor out there." The man says, using his large hand to tussle the top of my wavy hair, which I've chosen to leave down for the past few days.
"You think?" I ask, quickly blowing a few strands of the tussled hair out of my eyes.
"Of course." He starts. "It's only been a week, and you've learned more about medicine than I could get Ron to in his whole life." He chuckles, referring to the stubbornness the boy only seems to have when it comes to his father. Similar to another parent-child relationship I know.
I laugh, looking down at the supplies before scooting my rolling chair away from the tray. My nerves now creep up on me after the distracted moment, and I stand from the stool, not being able to stay still.
"You're worried about your people. That Aaron won't find them?" Pete assumes, looking to me for an answer. "You've had it hard out there. If you need anything, a day off, a place to stay, don't hesita—"
"It's not that." My guilty voice breaks out. "I'm worried what will happen if Aaron does find them."
"Why's that?" The man asks, using his arm to move a pillow off of the small, makeshift hospital bed in the middle of the room, before sitting on it.
"They'll be disappointed in us. Me and Carl. Probably mostly me." I sigh, avoiding eye contact with the man across from me.
"They probably wouldn't—"
"We let them down. We did something stupid. Really stupid." My guilty words are left dangling throughout the silence of the infirmary.
"Whatever it is, I'm sure they'll just be happy to know that you two are okay." The man says, placing his hands on his knees before standing up from the mattress.
"Don't sweat it, kid."
☆
As a result of the bloodied sheets in the Anderson's guest bedroom, I now sit, freshly bathed, in Ron's bed. Jessie would need to wait until it was her day in the laundry room to wash the sheets. A system put in place to conserve energy and water.
The boy sits on a blanket on the floor of his own bedroom, accompanied by his very own pillow, whose case matches the sheets of his bed, which I selfishly took over. He hesitantly let me sleep in his bed for the night, after the combined guilting from both his parents and I.
The Anderson couple and Sam have long since gone to bed, and Ron and I have stayed up into reasonably late hours of the night, talking. The usual nonsense of our conversation leaves us trying to quiet down our obnoxious laughter.
"I did not need to know that." I quietly retort, laughing.
"You asked." Ron raises his hands. The long sleeves of his oversized pajama shirt flow around as he moves. "There's nothing wrong with two grown men having sex."
"Stop saying that." I retort, cringing at the word.
"What? Are you against same-sex couples?" The boy teases, gasping and acting shocked.
"No!" I quietly shout, grabbing a pillow and throwing it at him. The boy effortlessly catches the pillow as a result of my pitiful, flustered throw. "I just don't like that word and I'd appreciate it if I never had to hear it again."
"What word?" Ron pretends to act clueless. "Sex?"
I inhale a sharp breath, half of my obvious discomfort being sarcastic, the other half being mildly scarred from what the boy taught me about earlier.
"For the love of God, Ron." I whine.
"Okay, I'll stop using that word." He says and I nearly sigh of relief. "If you give me the scoop on you and Carl." His words take a sharp turn into territory he's been trying to enter since this morning.
"What scoop?" I ask.
"What did you two do out there all by yourselves?" He starts. "You know, if you weren't having—the word I'm not allowed to say."
"We were surviving." I state, an immediate sense of discomfort washes over me. The survivor card was something I'd quickly learned I could pull when I wanted to get out of awkward situations with the Alexandrians. "And we most certainly did not do that. You and Enid might, but we aren't like that."
"Then what are you guys like?" The careless boy continues to pry.
"We aren't like anything, Ron." I quietly growl, being a bit rude to the boy. "Now can you stop making something out of nothing?"
"I just thought you'd like to tell me about him. You know, until he gets back." Ron admits. "Thought it might make you feel better about the whole thing. You try to hide it, but I know you're scared." His words cut through my false reality like a sharp blade that's tearing away at my inner core.
"What do you want to know? About him?" I give in, the relief of finally being offered a platform to talk about Carl. Whether it be how worried I am about him, how we got to Alexandria or how I'm beyond anxious upon the boy's safe return.
"Tell me anything. He doesn't seem to like me much, so I don't know really anything about him." Ron scoffs, offering me a smile out of pity. The boy deprecates himself as his usual, playful form of sarcastic comfort.
"No." I start. "He doesn't like you. Not yet." I laugh, humoring the boy's curiosity.
Whether the curiosity is a facade purely for my own benefit or not, Ron offers me a series of endless questions about the boy who I currently long to have back.
☆
My robotic movements guide me as I sterilize the needle I'd been using for more practice sutures. The gravity of my sleepiness being a result of Ron and I staying awake until sunrise, only granting us a few hours of sleep.
With a pinky promise and some good faith, last night I'd told the curious boy nearly everything. I went on and on about the group from the prison. The boy now has a better insight on my anxiousness about Aaron and Eric's search for my old group. Which lead me to admit to being in the prison before, which I hadn't spoken of with anyone besides Carl.
Ron now knew every little detail, except how I'd ended up in there. He was specifically shocked at my obliviousness to sex when I'd explained the bathtub story, the reason why I am now comfortable being around Carl in only a towel.
I didn't regret opening up to the boy. After knowing him for only a short time, I'd seen a lot of myself in him. We developed a bond similar to the one I had with my old foster sister. Except I felt like I was now the one who needed guidance from the older sibling. And older he was, by nearly a year, which we realized after we'd exchanged our birth dates.
My tired hands fumble with the clean needle, before placing it back in its box. Then, placing the box in the medicine cabinet and twisting the key to lock it. Simultaneously with the click of the lock, the infirmary door swings open.
In the entrance stands a smiling Aaron, his sudden burst through the door alarming me of his presence.
"You're back." I say, the sleepy feeling leaving my body as I shuffle across the room, hugging the returned man.
He quickly brings his arms around me, hugging me back. I suddenly remember where we are, and what my job is. Feeling stupid as to flatter myself thinking that the man would want to see me as soon as he got back, leaves me pulling away from the hug, looking him up and down. "Are you hurt?"
"No." His smile gleams.
"Is Eric?" I ask, aiming to find out why the man stands in front of me after having shortly returned from his run.
"Why don't you take a break and come with me?" He says, opening the front door and stepping aside.
"Okay." I reluctantly say.
Our feet walk for a few moments down the streets of Alexandria. Several people stand in front of the open gate before it slides shut with a loud, metallic clank. As we approach, I look over at Aaron, wondering why he's bringing me to this meeting. He meets my eyes, giving me a hopeful look.
"Do you like what you see?" He asks, our footsteps continue to walk in sync, closer to the people. Who I assume are Alexandrians.
Confirming my suspicions, I look around. Nick, and two of Deanna's sons, Aiden and Spencer stand around. The group must be leaving for one of their small runs.
According to Deanna, there'd been more than one run group, but a few of them died—others exiled, as a result—before Carl and I got here. The reason for Aaron and Eric were out looking for new people that day.
My eyes scan through the faces of the other people, not quite recognizing them. They must be the ones who turned in early the night of the welcoming party.
One woman stands coated in dirt. Her black pigtails dangle under her tan, military hat that blocks out the blaring sun. My eyes find their way to a second battered woman that I also don't recognize. They both stand next to a large man with red hair and a matching fiery beard. Each of them gripping a large gun, something we aren't permitted to have inside the walls, unless checked out.
"Before we take this any further, I need you to hand over your weapons." Nick says. The crowd of people standing in front of me are evidently new here, probably found and brought in by Aaron and Eric.
Ignoring Nick's babbling and focusing on each of their weapons, my eyes dart from person to person. Their hands clutch onto their weapons. I was the same way when we'd arrived. One of the weapons was bigger—proportionately—than the skinny, lanky kid who was holding it. The kid probably being older than me and Ron.
Another man stood behind him, holding a small pistol. This man being the odd one out in terms of weapons as well as attire. The black suit with the white collar of a priest uniform coated in dirt and splatters of blood. Standing next to him, a man, wielding a black, greasy mullet.
It isn't until Aaron clears his throat that I notice that Nick has stopped talking and I have many sets of eyes watching my every move. I look to the man by my side, before turning back to the new people.
A dead possum catches my eye. More-so, the person holding it, along with a black crossbow. The familiar arrows, being replaced with some having feathers of green and white. The shorthaired woman stands to his side, eyeing me as well.
In front of the series of new faces, stands the inseparable couple. The people taken by the governor long ago. The asian man and the pretty girl. Next to them, the katana-wielding woman, the one who first warned us of the governor. Behind her, the woman who once stood beside the governor, the one with the impeccable aim, standing alone, without her teddy bear of a brother in sight.
In front of the group, a sound catches my attention. The babbling of the pale, blonde-headed baby. Her big eyes looking to me as she squirms within her father's grasp.
"See, Rick? He was telling the truth." Maggie's comforting, familiar southern voice sounds out amongst the tense silence. The accent similar to that of Hershel's and Beth's, who are both nowhere to be seen.
After studying the group that gawks at the sight of me, I breathe out a sigh of relief, seeing anything but anger in their exhausted expressions.
The man, the leader partially responsible for whatever happened back at the prison, stares back at me. His familiar blue eyes sit just below his bushy eyebrows but above his dirty, tanned cheeks and his jungle of a beard, which tilts to the side with a gratifying smirk.
"Where's my son?"
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4566 words
A/N
i am NOT a Pete apologist, I'm just elaborating on the fact that abusive people can appear very nice and charming to outsiders !! I'm not humanizing that SCUMBAG
don't worry, we WILL get justice
also if you've seen 2x7 of euphoria... this chapter gets so much better lmfao
once again, THANK YOU GUYS SO MUCH for reading along as I edit?? I LOVE U
fun fact: I first uploaded this chapter right when I hit 1000 reads and I chose my face claim
it's literally bizarre how much my face claim changed this book for me?? (if you've seen my tiktok, I'm sure you know what I mean)
☆vote if Pete is a bitch ☆