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C A R L
Faint, cold wisps of the evening wind send chills down my body.
The breeze nearly whistling through fluffy strands of my hatless hair. My most unnatural state finally crept up on me during the welcoming party. My brief escape from civilization: the dock.
The elevated beams of wood hold me up over the small body of water. My feet dangle off the edge, similar to how I used to sit and waste away in the guard tower. Except the tower was much higher and much more dangerous of a fall than this.
Gentle creaks begin to sound out, and thudding vibrations disturb the wooden dock as someone else climbs up the ladder. I don't turn around to see who it is, as only one person cares enough to be around me. The only person in this whole place who isn't slightly uncomfortable in my presence.
The girl takes a seat next to me—in the nearby corner of my vision—letting her feet dangle off the edge as well. Silence over the gentle, lapping pond water rings tense with several things heavy on our minds.
"You missed initiation." The familiar girl jokes, raising her wrist and slightly pulling up her sleeve. She turns over the back of her hand, revealing the red A.
"You're wrong." I remark, lifting my sleeve and turning over my wrist as well. "Sam got me when I was on my way out."
Megan chuckles at my statement, trying so desperately to bat away the cloud of tense air surrounding us. The same air we've been surrounded by since I told her I was leaving.
"We're officially part of Alexandria." The girl mutters. "I think this calls for a celebration." A momentary, confident demeanor about her as she swings her pack from behind her shoulder.
Her pack crinkles with whatever's inside as she opens it. Her eyes land on whatever it is that she's searching for and both of her dainty hands reach into the pack. She pulls out two green cans of lemon-lime flavored soda, handing me one.
We place them down on either side of us, leaving a foot or so of empty space between us. Gentle clinking sounds echo against the hard wood of the dock as we do so. She then reaches one hand into her open pack and uses it to pull out two small bags of chips.
"Pick your poison." The girl says, holding up the two small bags toward me.
A smile rises to my face as I decipher between the two flavors. I wiggle my fingers a bit as I ponder, ultimately deciding on plucking the plain-flavored chips out of her hand.
"I wanted those." She jokingly rolls her eyes, accepting defeat.
"We'll split both bags. How about that?" I say, negotiating with her. The girl could have both bags of chips for all I care. I may be the one leaving, but she's clearly the one enduring the heavier end of the emotional toll. "Where'd you even get these?"
"I found them when I was on the road. There was more but I ate it." She starts, we both huff a little bit, laughing under our breaths. "I wanted to save some for you. So, even when I was hungry, I didn't touch them." She sighs. "Getting rid of it would've meant that I didn't think you were still out there. That I didn't think we'd find each other."
"What made you wait so long?" I ask, the girl is soon consumed with a look of furthered guilt, one that I didn't mean to cause. "I was starving back at that warehouse. We could've had them then." I joke, trying to repair what damage I'd just done to the girl's nerves.
"I was going to wait until you finally got your assignment so we could celebrate." She starts, the small bag crinkling in her grasp as she slightly moves her hands, somewhat using them to talk. "But I think we could both use a little cheering up, tonight."
"This doesn't have to be a sad thing, you know? There is something good coming out of all of this." I start.
"Oh yeah?" Her small voice breaks out, just above a pitiful whisper. "What's that?"
"We finally have our control. They need us here." I lower my head just a little, try to meet the girl's droopy eyes as she stares down at the water, avoiding my own. "Isn't this what we wanted? When we left?"
"When we left," She starts, a reluctant sigh breaking through her words. "We weren't thinking, Carl. They might've needed us wh—when—" Her voice abruptly stops.
Her words allude to enough darkness on their own, leaving no need for her to finish the sentence. She reminisces over the fall of the place we'd abandoned, and the probable demise of its people too. "Everything that happened back in Georgia, everything we've been through—I wouldn't change it. But it doesn't mean that we did right by our people."
"Who do you miss the most?" I start, hoping to comfort the girl by basking in her accumulating sorrow if only for a moment. "Back from the prison?"
"I don't know. I don't really like to think about it." She shakes her head before gently flipping her hair over her shoulder, finally looking at me. "Maybe Beth. God, what I would give to let her know that we're okay. Glenn too." She pulls her gaze away again, the tortured, far-away look in her eyes gleams with guilt. "What about you?"
"Michonne—my dad." I start, with an overwhelmed stutter. "I don't like to think about it either. Because when I do, I start to miss everything about it—and everyone." I shake my head as well, finally pulling my gaze away from the girl who once again refuses to meet it. "They're why I have to go. I have to stay true to why we left in the first place. I'm not doing that by having this safety that I don't deserve—that I didn't earn."
"I know it doesn't seem like it," Her gentle voice says, the raspiness evident as the girl has most likely been chatting profusely the whole night. "But I understand. I do."
Which part of it? My mind asks myself as my eyes silently ask her. How I'm feeling, why I'm feeling it, or how I'm dealing with it? The girl struggles with the denial of my departure. Her confident, relieved stature has been crumbling since the second I told her what Deanna asked of me.
"I really don't like it. But I understand it. I have to." She says, narrowing down the possibilities. What's not to like? The fact that I'm leaving tomorrow morning, headed straight for higher chances of my own death. "It's the only way I can handle it." Her voice cracks.
I pull my focus away from her words and finally take a thorough look at the mourning girl. We sit at the edge of the dock, accompanied by two unopened cans of soda and two sealed bags of chips. The unsettled feeling rising within us prevents us from touching Megan's findings.
Dolled up in Jessie's old clothes, her wavy hair freshly washed and trimmed. Fresh bags under her sad eyes, where glassy tears begin to build, edging the dry skin just underneath. The human side of her has always been present, despite how the world treats us. Despite everything I put her through.
It's only now that I get to see that side of her. She's always been pretty—intimidatingly pretty—and without any awareness of it. But now, her appearance is more of a choice as opposed to the lack of options we normally had of such things. The humanity she displays, being enough for the both of us.
The only thing stopping me from looking fully into her green eyes are the tears that cloud them. She then jerks her eyes away from my own, before covering her face with her small hands.
I reach my hand out across the short distance that separates us, and place it on her small back. The action of comfort leaves my tingling fingers gently running over the middle of her bony spine as she continues to hide her face full of tears.
"Hey," I start.
The sensation of my hand sending the girl into a quiet, muffled sob. My hand traces its way from her back to around her shoulder, careful to avoid her fresh stitches.
Guided by my gentle movements, the girl continues to gently cry into her palms, as she leans her head on my shoulder. Both of my arms now hanging around her small frame as she sinks into my attempt at a comforting embrace.
"No crying near the water. It scares the fish." I tease, gently squeezing her by tightening my arm.
The girl pulls her head out of the crest of my neck for a second, and takes her face out of her hands. She then uses her sleeve to wipe at her wet eyes, mustering a gentle laugh at my statement, before returning her head onto my shoulder. A quiet sniffle sounds out as she gently snakes her arm around my torso.
"This really sucks." She mutters, her chest jolts us a bit as she sniffles, sucking in another breath. "But saying goodbye would suck even more. And we're not saying goodbye. This is not your funeral, Carl."
"Then there's nothing to be upset about." Keeping one arm around both of her shoulders, I remove the other from her front side and reach my hand up to her face. A warm tear makes its way onto the skin of my thumb, before I pull my sleeve over it and wipe at her damp cheek. "I'll be back before you know it."
"I know."
"And when I do come back, you can tell me all about what you learned in the infirmary, okay?" I ask.
The girl reluctantly nods before I rest the side of my face against the top of her hair. The fresh scent of her pale hair along with its silky, soft texture comfort me unexpectedly.
"And then I'll tell you every detail about the run. And Deanna will give me a job and it'll all be normal again." I continue with the semi-realistic hypothetical. The unknown making my words sound more like that of a distant dream.
"Then we can laugh about how you cried over me." I jokingly conclude.
"I am being a cry-baby, aren't I?" The girl's body gently shakes the both of us as she laughs.
Her broken voice appears throughout the sound of her chuckle. The familiar—yet scarce—noise being something I didn't quite know that I longed to hear.
She then peels her head off of my shoulder. "Thank you."
Her small arm tracing from around my torso, to the center of my chest as she sits tall, looking me in the eyes. I subconsciously tighten my stature underneath the girl's unintentionally intimidating hand placement.
"For what?" I ask.
The phrase of gratitude not being something the girl and I say much to each other. Maybe once or twice—in passing. But her puffy, green eyes reach into the depths of my guilty soul as the silence lingers after the unfamiliar words.
"For making me feel better." The corner of her lip gently tugs to the side as she offers me a small smile from underneath her damp cheeks. "Although you're technically the one who made me cry." She sarcastically remarks.
"Righting my wrongs one step at a time." I joke, raising my sleeve to once again wipe at the girl's wet face. She subtly leans her face further into my hand before I can remove it from the surface of her skin.
"There's nothing wrong about you, Carl." Her small, splintered voice speaks out, the playful smile fading from her tear-stained face.
Now drying—her green eyes stay glued to my own, as I stare down at her, in confusion. Her face relaxes after her words as she takes a moment to breathe within my grasp. The palm of her hand stays planted against my chest as the other is slightly gripping at the fabric of my shirt bunched up against my side.
My breath hitches in my throat at the rawness of the moment, the embrace being foreign to the both of us. In the dim light from the moon behind me, her eyes gleam from underneath her wispy, dark eyelashes, threatening to reflect the gentle rays. Heavy silence consumes us for only a stunned moment, before my admiring eyes wander down her face.
The tip of her nose is stained with a little redness, along with the same brush of color against the tops of her cheeks, one of which, being held within the palm of my sleeved hand. My eyes then find her lips, slightly parted. The skin now being a dark pink, a result from her recent tears. A contrast evident between her lips and the skin of her pale chin.
I find her eyes once again, noticing her eyelids tilted slightly downward, as she stares at my parted lips. Normally, I might feel a bit self-conscious under the girl's gaze—as would she under mine. But the both of us sit, entangled within each other's desperate arms, our eyes doing most of the talking.
Her eyes gently close as I lean forward. Mine still studying the skin of her gentle face. I tighten my arm around her shoulders, bringing her in closer.
My lips find the relaxed skin of her forehead. The stress-wrinkles usually knotted in the skin, not being present in this forgetful moment.
Slowly pulling my lips off of her forehead, the girl lets out a shaky exhale, her green, gleaming eyes flick open to meet my own. She leans forward a bit, being pulled in by a similar magnetism.
Keeping my face close to hers, I meet her gaze before pressing my lips to the bridge of her nose. Her eyes fluttering shut once again, her wet lashes tickling my cheek, as she further relaxes under my touch.
I finally pull my lips back, inching my head farther away this time. After a moment, both of our eyes hesitantly open before they come together with the same look of anticipation.
My heart pounds in my chest, right under the palm of girl's small hand. The fear stopping me from closing the few inches of space between our lips. Something the girl and I both evidently have on our minds. The sounds of our nervous breaths, our chests rising and falling, our lips parted during this needy, selfish moment.
Underneath the palm of my hand, I feel the girl's face tilt upward, as her body inches toward mine. Her green eyes flicker down to my lips, and her head slowly tilts to the side as she makes the connection I had been too nervous to act upon.
The sudden, yet gentle clashing of our lips satisfies my rising curiosity about the girl sitting within my grasp.
We both sink into the foreign feeling, letting our nervous lips enjoy a deeper angle.
After a moment, the girl slightly pulls away, our noses brushing against each other. Our eyes remain closed underneath the heavy presence.
"I—" I begin. "I—um," I breathe out, trying to muster a complete thought. The girl—her unexpected touch—creating a jumbled mess in my brain, where my thoughts were once cohesive.
"Me too." The girl jokes, her breathy voice whispering, not even an inch from my face.
Her hand drags itself down my chest, before she removes it from my body, leaning away. My arm slips from around her shoulders and my other palm is left cold, no longer holding her cheek.
Once I realize that the girl is no longer in my grasp, my eyelids flutter a bit before they fully open, trying to absorb the surroundings I'd forgotten all about in the consuming moment. I turn my body towards the pond, after noticing that she did the same.
My curious eyes try to look toward the shy girl, for some type of immediate closure. Neither of us being granted any answers about the bizarre situation.
The girl clears her throat, pulling her eyes away from the water and grabbing the metal can from her other side.
"So," She starts, the liquid sloshing around in the metal can as she brings it into my vision. "How about some flat soda?"
☆
Here I sit, my legs lying across the backseat of Heath's van, running my thumb along the A imprinted on the back of my hand. Although some of the ink has faded, the letter still leaves its mark on my skin. The same ink that the girl also had on her hand, when she'd given me a somewhat disappointing send-off.
I've been reasoning with myself, trying to blame her obliviousness for not giving me the going-away hug I'd been looking forward to. Not once have I allowed myself to consider the possibility that she simply just didn't want to hug me.
Heath and I are now supposed to sleep in his van, the rotation of people leaving tonight to be our turn with the comfort of the seats. The others sleep on the floor of the closed garage that the van is parked in. Today was the day that Heath decided we'd ventured out far enough, and said tomorrow we'd begin to make our way back.
An excitement washed over me, knowing that tomorrow I'd only be a week away from Alexandria, from Megan. Although locked within the safety of this garage, and behind the doors of this van, I squirm about in the backseat, not falling asleep as quickly as I usually would.
Turning my body once more, something falls out of my pocket and lands against the seatbelt buckle with a clink. I panic a bit, scared to lose the small item in between the seats, but suck in a breath when my hands find it.
The small, metal, pull-tab from the can of lemon-lime soda the girl had given me that night. She didn't know I'd taken it. I don't know how she'd feel if she knew. But selfishly, I ripped it off of the top of my can when I told her I'd throw them away after we got into our house.
I needed something to hold onto, something to protect. Although small and minuscule, I needed something to remind me of her—of what happened on the dock that night.
"What's that?" Heath's soft voice echoes out from the front of the van. I look up from the piece of metal that gleams with a small ray of moonlight coming in from the garage window.
"It's nothing. It's stupid." I respond, seeing that the man is propped up in the passenger seat, his legs draped over the center console. "Did I wake you?"
"I'd have to be asleep to be woken up." The man remarks, joking with me. "Your tossing and turning kept shaking the damn van." His deep voice chuckles, the movement I can barely see because of the darkness of the closed garage.
"I'm sorry." I say. "I couldn't sleep."
"You're not scared are you?" The man asks me. "You don't seem the type."
"No." I start. "Just ready to get back to Alexandria, that's all."
"You missing your friend?" The man asks. Even through the darkness, I can almost imagine the sincerity in his demeanor.
"Is it that obvious?" I ask. The van shakes a bit as the both of us laugh.
"Nothing wrong with it. I miss people back there, too. All of us do." His comforting words accompany the memories of Megan that are floating through my head.
"Thanks." I say, relieved to find that I'm not alone.
"We'll be back before you know it. Now, let's get some sleep. It'll make the time go by faster." He says, using the same logic that one would use with a small child. However, the giddy feeling within me is entertained by the man's rhetoric.
"Okay." I say. "Night, Heath."
"Night, kid."
☆
"Who the hell is that?" Heath says, sitting in his own passenger seat as he'd opted out of driving. Annie—the woman with us—volunteered to take his place, as I continue to sit in the back with Scott.
I'd been asleep for the past few hours, sitting in the back with my head leaning against the window. I sit up, looking through the dusty windshield, picking up my hat from the seat next to me and placing it atop my head.
My heart beats louder and thumps harder when I realize that we're finally here.
The rusty metal wall of Alexandria slightly rolls open, revealing a few feet of the gate. An unfamiliar man stands covered behind the safety of the wall, peaking at us. Heath gets out of the passenger seat, with a slam of the door. I do the same.
As we approach, the strange man continues to stare at us through the bars of the gate. "You going to let us in or what?" Heath asks him.
"I'm technically not authorized, so I will not be doing so." The man says, his distinct accent elaborating every word.
"I'm Heath. We live here." Heath starts, confusion in his voice. "My team's been on a run the last couple of weeks."
The man moves the wall further, revealing himself. His head of black hair is slicked back into a mullet. The silly, random hairstyle I hadn't seen on anyone in a long time.
"I'm Eugene." He starts. "Aaron brought myself and my group here directly within that window, so we haven't had the chance to meet. And I can't exactly confirm your residenc—" The odd man saying, his words sounding more complicated than they need to be.
"Open the gate." I say. My greasy hair, my sticky skin and the blister from my overused boots—that I haven't taken off in two weeks—frustrate me every second that I'm standing here in the hot sun.
"If I do so, how do I know you won't attempt to kill me?" The man asks, his monotone voice seeming to be serious.
"Look," Heath cuts in. "We're not going to kill you. But the longer you make us wait, the more you motivate me to beat your ass, so—" He trails off. A smile quickly cracks across the chapped skin on my lips as I hold back a chuckle.
Without a word, the man opens the latch to the gate. A loud, metallic creak echoing into the woods around us before the men help each other slide the heavy gate open. With an intimidated pout, the seemingly childish man watches as the van enters.
Heath, Annie and Scott converse with Eugene, as my eyes don't hesitate to wander around the inside of the walls that I'm thankful—for many reasons—to see again. The girl trapped in my mind will not find her way out until I get to see her.
"Hey, Carl!" I hear a projected shout, instantly recognizing it as any voice other than Megan's.
Turning my head, I see Ron approaching me, heavy bags under his eyes. The ends of his greasy hair sticking out from under a beanie. His skin being more pale than I remember, almost sickly looking.
"Ron." I nod toward him in disappointment, trying to keep the simple gesture of a greeting alive, even when I can't care less. The boy walks a bit closer, standing just a few feet away from me.
"Your group's back, by the way." He haphazardly, sassily says.
My blood runs cold. My heart drops. "What?"
"Your group. They're here." He enunciates in a certain distraught tone.
"My group?"
"Oh yeah," He starts. "Rick," My breathing hitches in my throat, hearing my own father's name. "The baby, the old lady. That guy at the gate." He motions. "A bunch of your people showed up." His tone not sounding very happy for me, making it sound like their arrival is a bad thing.
"Really?" I ask, trying not to get my hopes up as if this were some sort of cruel joke.
He nods his head, furrowing his eyebrows, as his eyes burn into me.
The more adamant the boy is, the more I start to believe him. First comes the excitement of seeing my people again. Then, a heavy sense of relief, knowing that they're alive.
Shit.
We left the prison and found Alexandria. And now they know. They have to know. Maybe they confronted the girl and she's in trouble. Most of them never quite trusted her, and she'd get the blame a lot worse than I would. She might not even be here. Maybe they even threw her out.
"Does Megan know?" I ask him, my guilty eyes flicking up to meet his.
"Oh, yeah." He starts. "Everyone knows. Especially after what happened at the meeting last night."
"Where is she? I need to talk t—"
"She's in the infirmary." Ron's harsh voice cuts through my rushed words.
I immediately feel relieved to know that my group hadn't thrown her out. At least not yet.
"Is it busy today?" I ask, my feet taking a few steps toward the direction of the infirmary. "I need to see h—"
"No—she's a patient, Carl."
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4264 words
A/N
i love/hate my use of time jumping with the chapters but it makes everything more dramatic!!
i hope these scenes aren't confusing bc I use quite a few of them throughout the rest of my chapters :D
IM OBSESSED WITH THIS CHAPTER
☆vote for cargan kith ☆