(Ally POV)
"Ally. Carl." Hershel called us over by him. Carl and I had just made yet another bet, and we were going to let Michonne in on it when she gets back. I'm planning to go on a winning streak, but you never know. "Help me clean up some things?"
We followed Hershel to the Emergency Care cell where I sat on the bed and Hershel sat at in the chair. That was our code around other people since Hershel wanted to frequently check on my shoulder. He changed the bandages, as always, with Carl's help.
"Anything else you need looking at?" I almost laughed, but Hershel was serious.
(could be a)Trigger Warning:
And I knew what he was talking about. Every time we're in here he stares at my arms, but never says anything. I shake my head, clearing my throat, rubbing my arms. "They're just scars." I whisper. "From before."
"What's wrong?" Carl asked, clearly concerned and confused.
Hershel and I both look up at him but don't say anything. "Can I..." Hershel hesitates, looking back at me. "Can I at least look?"
I hesitate, weighing my decisions. Eventually I nod, holding my arms out for him to examine. He takes them in his hands, closely searching my wrists and arms. You can't see them just by glancing at my arms. You have to look really close, but you can see them clear as day once you know they're there.
Little tiny scars of mini cuts up and down my arms. "They're just scars." I repeat in a whisper. Hershel nods, looking up at me with pain in his eyes. Carl looks over her Hershel's shoulder and his eyes widen. I quickly pull my arms away, wrapping them around myself.
"And that was before the apocalypse?" Hershel asks quietly.
I nod, staring down at my lap. "From before."
"Can I ask why?" Hershel says quietly, a certain pain and sympathy in his voice.
I take a deep breath, my whole body shaking. "I guess I should show you these first before I explain." I say, slowly rolling up my shirt just to reveal my stomach.
There are deep, hurtful bruises scattered all along my stomach. They all have a purple ring with yellow in the middle. But, most are scars I'll just have for the rest of my life.
I can't look up. I can't make eye contact with anyone. For some reason I feel ashamed. Like in some twisted way, this is all my fault. That I did this to myself. That's why there are scars on my wrists. Because I thought I was the bad guy.
I slowly roll my shirt back down but Hershel stopped me. I finally find the courage to look up at him, tears filling my eyes, but I don't cry.
"You were abused." He says, breathless.
I quickly pull my shirt back down, feeling self conscious. I nod my head, keeping my eyes on the floor. "By my most recent foster family." I mumble.
"That's why you have those scars..." Carl says aloud, piecing everything together. I nod, rubbing my arms, again, feeling self conscious.
"I'm sorry..." Hershel says, staring at me. I don't look at him, feeling a lump begin to form in my throat but I push it down.
"Just..." I begin in a whisper, because I don't think I have the energy to talk any louder. "Can we not tell Daryl?"
Hershel hesitates. "I don't like hiding things from that man." He says softly. "Especially if it's about his daughter."
I shake my head, looking up at Hershel, hurt in my eyes. "Please... he'll just blame himself. He already blames himself for leaving me."
Hershel then takes a deep breath, nodding. "Alright." He says quietly.
I look up at Carl who's staring down at me, concern filling his big blue eyes. Carl hesitates before nodding, his eyes beginning to water. "Yeah..."
I nod, looking away. If he cries, I'll cry. Then Hershel wraps my arms in bandages and that's all I let him do. After he says Carl and I can go, we leave the cell together. "I... I'm gonna go to bed." I tell him.
"Wait." He grabs my shoulder just as I'm turning around. "Can we talk first... please."
I hesitated, thinking it over. I don't really want to talk about it, but just looking into his glossy eyes and his grip on my shoulder, I give in. "Sure."
We go to my cell and we sit on the bottom bunk, facing each other. At first, we don't say anything. I don't have much to say and he's trying to figure out what he wants to ask.
"I'm sorry..." He begins.
"For what?" I ask. "You didn't do anything."
"No... But I'm sorry your life was Hell before. And still is."
"Who said my life was Hell?" I ask, staring at his pale face.
"What do you mean?" He asks, baffled. "We're in the middle of the zombie apocalypse."
I shake my head. "That's all that's bad." I shrug. "Besides the Apocalypse, for once I have people that actually care about me. I forgot what it was like..." I look down at my jeans, fidgeting with the ends of them.
Carl shakes his head again. "I'm still sorry."
"I don't want your pity." I whisper. He doesn't fight me on what I just said, even though I know he wants to. He keeps quiet, staring at me.
"Well... If you ever want to talk, I'm here." He tells me. I finally look up at him. I look up into his eyes and I was right. The people here actually do care about me.
Even Daryl.
I smile at him, taking a deep breath.
I nod. "I know."
He nods back and I wrap my arms around his stomach in a hug. It takes him a second to understand what's happening, but eventually he hugs me back. "I do care about you." He whispers.
I nod, my face pressed against his chest in our hug I never want to escape. "I care about you too."
And in this moment, I only have one thing on my mind...
I think I really, really, really like Carl.