𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐩𝐢𝐭𝐫𝐞 𝐯𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐭-𝐡𝐮𝐢𝐭
𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚏 𝚒𝚗𝚏𝚕𝚒𝚌𝚝𝚎𝚍
╚═══════════════╝
H E R
Here is a painful fact about me:
I don't know how to keep anything to myself.
Here is another one:
The only feeling I could bring myself to process over this entire endeavor was guilt.
The next few days were excruciating. The urge to tell someone was unbearable. I was raised Catholic, I was used to confessing my sins to rid myself of them. And as much as I had come to respect Father Gabriel, it didn't feel right telling him. While I didn't exactly regret my actions, I knew it wasn't something God would be pleased about but I couldn't even fathom what Maggie and Glenn's reactions would be.
Those two had done nothing but watch out for me and care for me like one of their own. Their only rule had always been: Be careful. And what had I done? Gone and stamped all over it with my damned hormones and stupidity. Especially whenever Maggie stroked my hair like she had used to do to Beth or how Glenn and I snuck the last of Abraham's favorite cereal and shared the bowl in the bathroom as to avoid getting caught. The words were constantly on the tip of my tongue. I was always quite the chatter-box, and having something I couldn't talk about was a rarity. I felt like they could tell, could see the difference in me.
Mostly, I tried not to think about it. What Carl and I had done was far more than kissing. We could not just abandon all thought of it from our memory, well, at least I couldn't. Sometimes I'd catch my brain wandering towards it, reaching out hesitantly in the hazy direction of that night. My breath would catch in my throat. A shiver would send up my spine. And all I could fathom of was Carl. How he felt. What we did. Gentle warmth, soft touches, lips ghosting over mine, his skin—
Stop. Don't think like that. Seriously. Stop. Stop. Stop.
I couldn't think on it and I definitely couldn't speak on it. Not to anyone. Not even Carl.
I suppose in a small way I was avoiding him. Well, not exactly him but the topic of that night. Neither of us brought it up, though. Although sometimes I caught it in his gaze—despite actively avoiding it—and there was this way his eye darkened, I would wonder what his mind wandered to when he allowed it.
But, like most things, it was now unspoken of. Why was it so easy to just go on like nothing happened? Wake up the next morning and go about our life like usual? Keep a safe two foot distance between us as if we hadn't already been as close as two humans could ever be?
Whatever.
It didn't matter.
(Maybe, he had forgotten about it. Or it just didn't matter to him. Like he didn't care.)
(Ouch. The idea of that kind of hurts.)
So I kept my mouth shut. And that was that.
x-x-x-x-x-x
Carl returned to his house in a little less than a month after the accident. No longer needing to be consistently monitored, finally off bed rest. Although, he was still pretty medicated. Sometimes heavily medicated: to help him sleep, not feel the constant pain he was in. He mostly muddled around a little foggy, but he was up and that's what mattered. That was progress.
He was still stiff and sore, but mentally aware and competent. Although he had not completely returned to himself. There was still that strange part about him. Something cold and hard I had seen glimpses of in the prison. It made his lone blue eye blaze, his demeanor unapproachable. But it wouldn't last for long and he'd soften up whenever I called him back to reality with his name.
We spent most of our days together as usual, I was not sure how to really spend my day away from him anyways. He was back to being an extension of my being, albeit he was more quiet and tired and easily aggravated and unhappy. Still my built-in companion.
And then there was nighttime. Sometimes, I slept fine, wouldn't awake until morning. Other times I couldn't stand the lonely dark. Thinking of how it was always those nights in the past that, somehow, Carl would feel the same way and appear at my window, despite the fact that it was an unspoken rule that we were not allowed in each other's rooms at night, one we have vehemently disobeyed over and over again.
There was just something comforting about having him breathing a foot away from me on the mattress.
Since Carl was not in any shape to be climbing my lattice, I ended up being the one doing the seeking. His bedroom window had a sturdy branch hung near that I managed to maneuver my way up to and scoot across, then step a nervous distance away until the toe of my boot made contact with the window sill.
I didn't do this every night but I did do it often.
I'd make my way across the floor to his bed where he'd be waiting. Awake. And I knew why. On particularly bad nights, he was afraid to face his nightmares alone.
Before, he'd sleep through until morning no matter the dream. But now, he'd wake up thrashing out, sweating, and crying. His chest heaving as he fought away the terrorizing dreams on his own, fingers pulling at the roots of his dark curls. Disoriented and muttering. I don't know what frightened him so. What made him call out for his mother, his father, Michonne, Judith, myself, in his sleep. He never told me what they were about, anymore. And I knew better than to ask.
My heart ached for him, his pain. How I wished I could pick up all his pieces and put them back in place, which is exactly why I feared our relationship in the first place. No matter, it was too late now. Here I was, trying so hard to hold him together, someone who was bursting silently at the seams and falling apart.
But I could not abandon him, I knew what it felt like to be left behind.
On one particular night, one where I just couldn't stand staring at my ceiling any longer, I had come in while he was already sleeping which had never happened before. However, he had left the window open knowing I would make an appearance. I wondered if he had waited up for me until he just couldn't stay awake anymore, the idea of that made me a little sad.
I pulled aside the sheets, peeled off my boots, and slipped in beside him. Figuring just being close would help me get a couple hours of sleep. But I felt the tension in his body immediately. His frame trembled, already troubled.
"Carl?" I whispered, reaching out for him. My finger tips were just brushing his freckled shoulder blade when suddenly he was shoving me away from him, hard, with a hand to my neck.
"Get the hell off—!" He growled out, still caught in a nightmare.
I gasped out, shocked, and just as quickly as it had happened he was pulling himself away, on the other side of the room pressed against the wall as he moved like a ghost.
"Who the hell are you?" He demanded, not the Carl I knew, someone else. The cruel creature that overtook his psyche in the most unexpected of moments. The one who was lost in a rampage of memories. "Where am I?"
"It's me. It's El." I told him, even though my voice was shaking. "You're home. This is your room."
"El?" He repeated, trying to catch his breath. "Eleanor." He said my full name and I watched as the storm in his eye faded, leaving it murky and miserable. His fear seemed to leave him, being replaced by his mournful repentance. "I didn't mean to, El, I didn't—"
"I'm sorry, I'll leave, if you want." I kept my voice soft but my knees shook, breath tight. I wanted to reach out and hold him, comfort him the way he comforted me. But he probably wouldn't have let me even if I tried.
"I sleep and all I see is red. God damn red." His breathing escalated, he was still trembling. "I'm awake and all I want to do is disappear into the woods and never come back. I'm not- I don't-..." He shook his head hard, trying to find his sentence. "I hurt you."
"No, you didn't. Carl, calm down. Everything's okay." It was a bullshit thing to say and it definitely didn't help.
"I feel like a ticking time bomb. I'm gonna explode." He pressed his hands against either side of his head, like he was warding off a migraine. He probably was. "I'm gonna blow my fucking brains out or something."
"Carl, hey, Carl..." I stepped towards him, hesitantly. "It's okay..."
"Stop saying that." He nearly snarled, letting out a strangled breath, his enlarged pupil meeting mine. He tucked his arms close to him, making himself small.
"Carl?" I reached out and took his hand, to see what he was hiding.
Down his wrist were three lengthwise, superficial scrapes. Varying from four to seven inches. Just beginning to scab over.
"Jesus." I muttered, pulling his arm to me. "Were you- did you get scratched?" The words caught in my throat, heavy like lead.
"No." He whispered out between ragged breaths. "I couldn't feel. I was- I was numb. Wanted to feel something even if it hurt. I was numb."
"Oh, Carl." He had a habit of scratching his arm idly, a nervous habit. But never had he scratched so hard and deeply that he drew blood.
"I didn't mean to. I was just scratching and scratching and scratching and didn't feel anything until it was bleeding. I'm sorry." He sounded like he was holding in tears. "I'm so sorry."
I was at a stale mate. Clueless. The extent of Carl's brain injuries were a mystery. From the books I'd been reading, frontal lobe damage was survivable, but could cause a plethora of strange behaviors. Ones that appeared I was the only witness to, as he hid them so well from everyone else.
He ripped his arm away from me and stood, taking his shirt from the back of his chair and pulling it on. He began buttoning it up with unsteady fingers.
"I can't do anything right. I don't know what to do." Words I never thought I'd ever hear from the boy left his mouth in defeat, giving into the vulnerable moment. "Why did you let me do it?"
"What?"
"That night in the infirmary." He didn't have to clarify. "Out of pity?"
"What the hell? No." I backed away from him, hurt at the accusation.
"After it happened I thought things would be different and we could—you would—Jesus, I thought—" He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair, pulling at the roots. He sounded guttural, desperate. He clutched at his shirt, over his chest, the fabric wrinkling in disagreement. "Please. Please, El. I need to know I'm not alone in this. That it means something to you. It's killing me. Talk to me."
What did I look like to him? The girl who could give him everything but three simple words. As though holding them back would put a damper on any heart ache but obviously that idealism had backfired. Because the pain of avoiding it had clearly affected Carl more than anything, and his drug induced self was irate over it.
"Do you regret what we did? Do you wish you could take it back?"
"It's not like that." Was all I could manage. Yes, I was wracked with guilt of the sin I had committed but I could not with full honesty say I had never wanted it to happen at all. "You just wouldn't get it, okay?"
"Because you won't talk to me about it! You just act like it never happened, you barely look me in the eye. You come in here and you sleep a foot away from me as if we've never even touched before. I hate pretending that night wasn't real. It was real, El. It was the realest thing that's ever happened between us and you won't even—Ugh, God damnit. What can I do? What the hell do you want from me?"
It was the invisible machinery, the moving parts I was made up of. All rusted over, shutting down. None of it worked right, maybe none of them ever did. All there was left were sharp, broken pieces that are better left alone. But here he was, salt in an old wound. One that had never healed correctly, for it at had never healed at all. And it made me so angry. Because perhaps I've always been a little angry, no matter how much I didn't want to be. I had spent so much time trying not to be, that was a mistake.
"Ask me again." I suddenly said.
His jaw twitched. "What do you want?"
"Ask me. Again."
"What do you want, Eleanor?" He stood to full height, but I was not intimidated.
"Asks me again!" I snarled.
"What the fuck do you want!" We were shouting now. Definitely loud enough to be heard, to wake the others. But at this point, we didn't care.
"I want my brother back!" The words tore out of my throat, loud.
He was not entirely taken aback by this. Almost like he was expecting it.
"It's always been this, hasn't it? You spend all day pretending it doesn't matter, never let us talk about it, but I can see it when you look at me. I knew you hated me for it—"
"—This isn't about you!"
"What is it about then? Huh? You just wanting to hold onto it? To always be mad? Let it eat away at you?" He was looming over me. "What else are you pissed about? The prison?"
"You knocked me out! You never gave me the choice! I could have died—"
"—I didn't mean for that to happen!"
"You left me there to rot. You forgot me."
"You don't think I wanted to go back for you? I cried myself to sleep for days over you with that necklace in my fist! I never forgot you!" He shook his head in disbelief. "God, this is bull shit. I've tried so hard to apologize. You know I'm sorry for everything!"
"I don't want you to apologize. I don't care if you're sorry. You can be sorry all you want, but you are not forgiven." I followed up with. I couldn't stop myself. I knew then that I went too far.
"Oh, and this from Saint Eleanor." He spit out. "What now? Given up on my soul finally? I hear you pray at night, did you know that? Praying that your God be merciful and not let me burn even though I'm a remorseless sinner. Why hasn't He raptured you yet? Want to know why? Because there is nothing after this. Nothing. And if there is? I'm pretty sure anyone that's left is going straight to Hell, you included. As if this isn't Hell enough already."
"Don't you dare." I breathed out, I felt my eyes sting. "You don't even know what you're talking about. You're being mean." The last thing felt almost infantile, but after he said something so cruel and so hurtful, I couldn't imagine firing anything of equal fever back.
"Tell me you hate me. Just say it. Say it so this can be over and done with and I can stop trying." His words were harsh and calculating but his eye held grief. "Say it, Eleanor."
I couldn't. I had to look away, collect myself. My silence was deafening and not an answer either way. I bit my tongue because I was surely about to say something pathetic.
This wasn't the Carl I knew. Not the sweet, gentle boy that had snuck through my window to steal a kiss once. That rainy night felt so long ago. I had taken him for granted. I'd been selfish all this time. He was now treating me how I deserved, how he should have been treating me this whole time.
He backed away then. "Fine." He said, clenching his teeth. "Fine, Eleanor. You want to be mad? Then be mad. Stay mad."
"Carl—No, I didn't—I didn't mean to... I'm sorry, Carl, I just..." I stuttered, the guilt rolling in, crossing my features with panic.
See? Pathetic.
"It's fine." He brushed me away, nearly sneering.
"Wait, wait, Carl, please. I didn't mean to." I told him, wanting to fix whatever was happening. The mess I had created in my ardent vexation. We had never argued like this before, never truly spoken about things we usually kept buried away. I didn't want this conversation to happen. I wanted to put things back together but I didn't know how. I tried something simple: "I don't want to hurt you."
"Can't you see you already have?" His words dug deep, making me feel like absolute shit. I deserved it.
But, truly, what gave him the right to be upset? He deserved it just as much. I felt a little bit of that angst kick back out.
"You hurt me first." It was like I was possessed. My patience and my control had run out. There was only anger left. And it had to have the last say. "And honestly, Carl. Fuck you."
His eye lifted to mine and in that terrifying instant all I saw was the boy from the prison, the monster, the devil himself, he would always be what he was, and I felt my heart crush and—holy shit—why does this hurt so bad? Why are we hurting each other at all? Why have things changed? Why am I angry and why can't I stop it and why are we fighting and why cant things go back to normal and why did I come here?
I should have just stayed in my room and waited until morning and none of this would have happened and we would have shared a bowl of cereal and everything would be fine.
I felt a little like crying and I remembered why I had never wanted to be close to him like this in the first place because now, after everything, he was looking at me like I was someone he hated.
And it was my fault.
The door creaked open to Rick, silhouetted by the hallway light. Typically, I would have been mortified to be found in Carl's room this late, but I knew we had been caught a few moments ago when we were screaming at each other. That was almost worse than being found in any other compromising position.
"Everything alright?" Rick asked, despite the fact that very clearly nothing was alright.
Neither Carl or I said a word. We stood their motionlessly in the dark facing the boy's father.
"Just go." Carl muttered to me and there was no feeling behind it. "You don't want to be here. Just go."
I bit my lip, swallowed around the lump in my throat, made my way forwards. "Sorry, Rick. I was just leaving."
"Do you want me to walk you back, El?" Rick asked, trying not to belie the worry in his voice.
"I'm fine." I said as I passed him.
"Are you sure?"
I couldn't look at him. If I did, I might have just broke open right then and there. I only shook my head and offered a small: "Goodnight."
So I left. I hid. In my own bed, buried under the sheets. And I stayed there until the sun had risen and everyone went about their lives and I waited for Carl to come.
He never did.
x-x-x-x-x-x
"You know how to cut hair?" Maggie asked from her spot at the kitchen table. I was brewing her tea, as she seemed restless. Agitated. Definitely pregnant. Nothing some earl grey couldn't fix.
"Yeah. I used to cut my dad's and brother's after my mom died." I'm surprised how easy the topic of my deceased family rolled off my tongue. Like talking about the weather. How long has it been since I became the last Tanner? Two years? Maybe three? It bit at me, the fact that I was not so wounded over it anymore. I glanced over my shoulder as the silence grew. "Why?"
"I need a haircut." She didn't, but she always seemed to like her hair short. I'd never seen it past her shoulders. "There's scissors in that drawer, I think."
"Oh. You wanna do this now?" I stirred in a meager amount of our sugar ration before I handed the steaming cup over to her.
"Unless you've got plans."
"No, I'm free." I retrieved the scissors from where she suggested, still unsure. "Just a trim?"
Maggie thought a moment. "Cut it like you would if I were your dad."
"Okay, he kept it kind of long."
"Then cut it like you would if I were your brother."
"...That'll be pretty short."
"It'll grow back. Plus, all it does now is get in my way." I could tell she was serious, her spring green eyes steady.
I nodded. "Alright. I'll do my best. I have to use my left hand though, I haven't figured out how to use scissors with just the two fingers on the right."
Cutting hair wasn't too hard, but I did worry she'd regret it and blame me. Especially since I was doing the job with my new dominate hand which still proved to be a tricky task. However, I managed.
Freshly clipped curls of hair fell around Maggie's shoulders then down to the floor. She sipped her tea, face blank.
"I've seen you spending a lot of time with Enid lately."
"Yeah," I responded. "I like her. She's nice."
"Has she replaced Carl on the friend totem pole?" I didn't know how to really answer that and she took my silence to further indulge on the subject. "El," She spoke softly. "How is he?"
Carl? Who I hadn't talked to in nearly three days? Which was so strange and uncomfortable to not have him close, an arm's distance away. It physically hurt, but I was the cause of it. I deserved it.
I felt lies bubbling up. The ones he told everyone. Fine. Feeling good. Like it never happened. But this was Maggie, I was sure if anyone were to understand and have helpful input it'd be her.
"Probably somewhere needing a haircut more than you." Was instead what I ended up saying.
She laughed a little at that. "Oh, good. I'm glad I'm not the only one who's noticed."
"I think it's almost as long as mine is at this point."
"But I doubt he'd come down to 'El's Beauty Salon' anytime soon. The last time his hair was cut by anyone was... Well, I guess Lori."
"His mom?"
"Yeah. I think she's the only person who's ever cut his hair. He probably just wants to keep it that way."
Ugh. Another thing to add to my list of things about Carl that make me sad, make me pity him. I was really sure how to respond to that. It just made me feel like shit for avoiding him.
"I've been trying to stay out of it but I'm not going to pretend I haven't noticed you missing from your bed half the nights out of the week. What is going on with you two?" She added on after my silence in an attempt to form an answered had grown too long.
I had premarital sex with him one time, Maggie. Was what I could say. And sometimes I sleep in his bed. But we hadn't kissed, hadn't even touched since that night. And now we were left on not so good terms. Because I couldn't just suck it up and talk to him. Which is all he had ever truly asked of me. "Actually, we're kind of in an argument at the moment." Was what I ended up saying, an understatement. But it still didn't feel good.
"Oh?" This surprised her. "Lover's quarrel?" She teased lightly.
Yes. "No. We're just friends."
"Hmm. Is that what started the argument?"
My denial? Also yes. God, Maggie was really good at reading me. "I guess." I answered. "It's complicated."
"Nothing's too complicated. You care about him a lot." She replied.
Ugh. Even that was hard to admit. I shrugged even though I was standing behind her and she couldn't see me.
"Eleanor." She said after a while. "I don't know what is it with you kids and pushing people away. Thinking that'll stop the hurt. Because no matter what it's going to hurt. I realized that a long time ago. You need to enjoy the now. Be young. Because when it ends, at least you'll get to remember how good it felt to be close to someone. Instead of wasting time pushing them away."
Shit. You really just went right for my throat there, huh, Maggie? I mean, that's what I had been doing with him. Pushing him away, afraid of hurting either of us. But it was dumb as shit because we were both hurting anyways.
Maggie's words struck a cord.
"And how are you?" She asked next. "Just you." She added, clarifying I no longer had to speak on the Carl issue.
"Trying to stay positive. I keep telling myself that things are only hard now. You know? But I feel like I'm always just waiting for something. I just don't know what, yet."
"And you're hand? I noticed you keep wearing bandages."
I sighed. "It's gross. Underneath. They're choppy and weird. The ends are, like, melted. But it's just fingers. It's not like I lost a whole hand. Or my arm. It could be worse. I just need to keep going."
She was quiet for a long time before finally saying. "We all do."
I took the last snip, holding my breath as I did, looking over the finished product.
Maggie glanced at her appearance in the dining room mirror. The taper cut went well with her features. Brought out her sharp cheekbones and angled jaw. Plus, it made her look less like Beth. Maybe that's what she meant about it getting in the way. Looking in the mirror everyday and seeing your dead sister's face in the reflection. The shorter hair differentiated her now, maybe it would help her move forward.
"I like it." I told her. "But why?"
She shrugged, face scrunching up. "Like you said, need to keep going." Then she stood, a hand over her growing belly, before collapsing to the floor writhing in pain.
Shit.
x-x-x-x-x-x
There was nothing I could do for her. I saw blood in her underwear, and from what I read that meant the possibility of miscarriage. I felt useless as they loaded her into the RV. Only the Hilltop doctor could help her. Traveling between settlements was dangerous, no easy task. There was an outside group bent on attacking us. If only Denise had taught me more. If only I had found more to read on pregnancy. Then we wouldn't be risking so many lives to find someone to save her's.
And if I couldn't help her medically, at least I could protect her on the way there
I had a rush of adrenaline looking over the weapons in the armory. It had been awhile since I'd held a gun. I usually stuck with knives, but this wasn't the dead we'd be fighting. I needed something more lethal.
"What're you doing?" It was Carl, at my shoulder.
We hadn't spoken since the other night when he had asked me to leave his room and I listened. The distance was a struggle, the space where he usually existed was deafeningly silent and exhausting to ignore. And suddenly there he was, filling the hole. Except he sounded cynical. Like the snide boy on the steps that I found watching the stars. Not at all like my Carl, the one I had no right to claim.
"Eleanor?" He pressed stalwartly when I did not answer at his convenience (I noticed how he had carried on referring to me as Eleanor, as he had when we last spoke and he had been so vexed. It almost felt like he was using my name as a punishment. No more El.).
"What does it look like?" I countered, not liking his tone.
I had wanted to speak to him, but not starting the conversation like this. Not with more arguing.
He gaze was firm, jaw set. "You're not coming."
Jesus, I had forgotten how annoying he could be.
"What are you talking about?"
"We have enough people. We don't need you."
The words stung, and I recoiled. "Maggie needs me. And when you're out there you can never have enough people."
He was breathing heavy, evident that he had ran here. He needed to get out of my way. I went to dodge passed him but he caught me, a tight grip around my waist as he pulled me to his side. "Stay here. That's all I'm asking." His voice wasn't soft like the words might have suggested it should be. It was authorized and pungent. He really was sounding so much like his old self. Like the boy at the prison reprimanding me at every turn.
I wanted to ask why he cared but I knew that, despite how angry we were, that of course he cared.
"Carl, let go of me." Our eyes remained locked, waiting for the other to give in. "Let go of me. I'm coming whether you like it or not."
"No. You're not."
Oh, my God. I was suddenly blistering with anger. I didn't want to fight him, but he started it. If he wanted to keep the argument going, if all we did was dig at each other, then so be it. His choice.
"What are you going to do? Knock me out again?" It came out unintentionally and I knew it was as poor choice of words, for the low blow it was. I felt the air sharpen, like a thick gag thrown over us. His jaw went tight, his eye narrowed into ice, and for a second, my sarcastic self thinks Oh, bitch. He might. Because he looked so downright angry. But then I saw what was beneath, what was always beneath it all: vulnerability. Hurt. The mentioning of a moment from our turmultuous past, we always tend repress and push it down but I suppose all things have a funny way of boiling over. My first reaction was to feel bad, but it's only fair. He truly had hurt me first, didn't he? "I'm coming."
"Eleanor-"
"-It's not up to you." I said, with such finality it surprises even myself. I've never been one to argue with such firmness. For a split second, he looked just as shocked by my outrage although he schools his expression into irritated indifference. "You don't get to decide things for me."
The boy bit his lip, face still hard, he looked away. I waited. His grip released, and I stepped back as he spoke. "Fine. Grab some pistols from the closet. Hurry. There's not much time."
I was surprised a bit at how easily he had suddenly given in to me.
I did as he said, diving in the closet to quickly pick through the best looking weapons when I was suddenly doused in darkness. I reached for the handle, not thinking much of it, until it didn't budge.
"Carl?" I asked first, confused, before realization took over and his name tumbled from my lips again, vexed. "Carl!"
"You're not coming." His voice came through the door muffled. "And that's final."
"Asshole!" I yelled into the wood. Kicking the doorknob. "God damn it, Carl! You don't get to decide!"
"I don't know what's going to happen out there, who we might run in to."
"And? And?!" No response. "You're such a dick! You want to run into them. The Saviors or whatever jackass shit they call themselves. I'm not a God damn idiot. I know you. You don't always have to try to be the hero, that shoot-first-and-ask-questions-later bullshit, all it does is screw you over." I grabbed one of the guns and began banging it against the edge of the handle, hoping it would break it off, but to no avail. "You don't need to go get yourself killed just to prove you're a good person."
The room on the other side of the door was silent, as though he had left and maybe I was talking to myself, but I knew he still remained. Listening. Waiting for me to break. This only sent a new surge of hot irritation, spewing from my mouth with vengeance.
"Let me out!" My fist collided with the wood, again and again. "You can't leave me in here. Carl? Carl?!"
"I'll come back and get you."
A sob escaped me, one I hadn't realized I'd been holding in. "I've heard that before. At the prison. You left me. You left me. I can't go through that again. What if you don't come back, Carl? Huh? What am I supposed to do with that? I can't- I can't-" The tears came heavy, thick. My throat tight. My words honest and painful. "I can't go through that again. I can't keep losing you."
I was crying.
Holy shit. I was crying.
He was quiet, but I'm sure he was remembering how he knocked me unconscious so I wouldn't follow after him during the downfall of the prison. How he promised to return but never did. How it was happening all over again. How we hadn't really changed. Not really.
I pressed my forehead against the cool wood of the door. I had been strong for him for so long, but it was all breaking down. Because as much as he leaned on me, I leant on him right back. And I couldn't even admit it myself, let alone him. How much I cared, needed, wanted him. "What am I supposed to do?"
He finally spoke, his voice dead and unmoving. "You'll figure it out."
And I hated him. Loved and hated him so completely at one time it was overwhelming. How unfair it was that he was locking me away on the off chance I died and left him alone, yet he took no precautions for himself. Didn't seem to care what would happen to me if he was the one that died out there.
God damn it.
I loved him.
And the fact of it made me absolutely livid. Without much thought to it, I rammed my shoulder into the door. Nothing. I did it again, and again, and again, and finally, at the right angle, the wood splintered slightly. Enough for me to hack my elbow into it and burst out, ignoring the shock of pain running through my arm.
Carl stood there, stunned, as I shoved passed him.
I was going whether the asshole liked it or not.
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el is a sweet person. but she's always been a silent, cynical bitch in her head. so i love the moments where she is also one out loud :) hehe
for real guys eleanor has been so patient and understanding this whole book, she has not expressed her anger and her pain bc she didn't know how so it built up over time until it boiled into this glorious angsty chapter.
it was about time carl got called out since she let him off the hook pretty easy for the first half of the book due to her simply being young and naïve and too uncertain with herself to set boundaries
which has been a huge issue for her basically this entire book is she's a little people pleasing doormat and now she's finally now able to assert herself
eleanor retaliated and unlocked a new trait: being unable to control her mouth when she's pissed which is DEFINITELY going to resurface when she meets a certain special bat wielding leather jacket clad villain ;)
but as for carl and eleanor... don't worry, they might make up... or not.... mwahahahahahaha
comment. vote. give me the will to live.
see ya next time
i think my boyfriend is going to break up with me bc i am literally insane but we shall see i'm sort of the problem i don't know how not to be crazy ?? like i found out he sits next to a really pretty girl in one of his classes and i was mad at him for it but it was literally assigned seating lol maybe i need therapy
edit: ^^im so glad i'm normal now lol
el going back home after carl yelled at her:
anyways here's more ai!!!!
✨ hero shot ✨