ERMAGERD I'VE BEEN WRITING THIS FOR TEN CHAPTERS! Thank you to everyone who has been here since the beginning and who have just started!
As always, all I want is your reviews.
Also, very soon season 4 will start in the story. You know what that means: Patrick's a zombie and a deadly virus ravages the prison! Yay!
Laura POV
Laura was scared.
Not to say she hadn't had crushes before, of course she had. But this was different. Whenever she was with Carl, she was hyper-aware of everything. When she made him laugh, she felt someone had hoisted her on top of the world. It was strange. She'd never felt like this about someone before. It felt good. Liberating, almost. Carl made her feel like she was a good person. She knew it wasn't true, but with Carl, it didn't matter.
It also made her feel as if she was on the verge of losing everything she was. This was absolutely terrifying, because Laura had always been very confident in herself. If herself was disintegrating, then how would she survive after this good break was over?
Laura wasn't an optimist. She knew that this would end eventually. Either the Governor would come back and tear them to pieces or the zombies would bring down the fences and tear them to pieces.
The only question was, how would she survive?
Because she was selfish. Not a good person.
But selflessness got you killed. Doesn't mean you're a good person.
It had only been a day, and she was missing Carl. That was a stupid thing to get mad at him for. Just stick it out for another night, and he'll come back with a stale pack of Skittles and apologize and you won't be able to say no.
The Voice Inside Her Head. It had started just after the epidemic and had never stopped. She knew perfectly well it was in her head, although she heard it just as clearly as she heard the snarling of the zombies. She wondered if that made her crazy.
Probably, but the Voice Inside Her Head was the only voice of reason in her brain.
Once, on the road before she'd found her uncle, she'd stumbled across an art studio. She'd had so much fun, drawing tattoos on herself and splashing paint all over the store.
She'd actually tried doing a real painting. Just an abstract thing. She'd taken a bunch of colors and brushed them gently across the canvas. The result was a pattern of bright, loud colors in soft, gentle strokes. On a whim, she'd taken a permanent marker and wrote across the top in big block letters.
MY MIND
She was balancing on a razor's edge. On one side was staying Laura, the one who made a self-portrait of her mind, and on the other side was companionship in the people of the prison.
The problem was, the people of the prison held a piece of Laura.
Trying to distract herself, Laura opened her book, My Sister's Keeper. It was the only thing she had brought all the way from Pennsylvania. She had been raised in a six-child family, and every one of those children had loved the book. It bore the scars of all of them. Ally, who'd ripped off the corners of the pages and chewed them, Tom, who'd dog-eared the best scenes, Damian, who'd corrected every typo, Jason, who'd put Post-its bearing insightful comments after every chapter, and Bella, who'd inscribed their surname on the inside cover in neat calligraphy.
It was a Sara chapter. Laura wrinkled her nose. She didn't particularly like Sara. She was one of the characters that bullshitted her way into feeling okay about herself.
So that's why Laura almost burst into laughter when it was Sara who said it.
It is the things you cannot see coming that are strong enough to kill you.
Laura meandered down to dinner. They were having fried potatoes, because on a run, Tyreese and a few others had discovered a ten-gallon jug of cooking oil.
Laura thanked the Zombie God for it.
She filled her plate and slid into an empty seat. She immediately began attacking the potatoes. They crunched under her teeth.
Oh, God, they tasted like french fries.
"Laura?" Laura whipped her head around to see Carl standing there. He was holding a half-full jar of something amber-colored.
"'Sup, Carl," said Laura thickly. Her mouth was full of food.
"Got your birthday present," he said, holding out the jar. Laura swallowed.
"Is that honey?" she asked excitedly.
"Yeah. Got it from a hive a little farther out," he said, shifting his weight. Laura stared at him, a small smile on her face. Something inside of her was touched by his effort.
"I thought you'd just sulk for a night and then give me a piece of candy or something," she said quietly. "Thank you."
"No. I wouldn't do that," he said. Laura inched over and patted the seat beside her.
"Sit," she said. He sat.
Laura opened the jar and used her fork to scoop out some honey. She sucked the sweet liquid away, dipped it in again, and offered it to Carl. He grinned and took the fork.
They passed it between them until all the honey was gone.
"That was the best damn honey I've ever had," Laura said happily, licking the last of the honey off the fork. Carl didn't answer her. He just stared at her in a way that made her heart beat faster. How the hell did he do this to her?
"Laura?" he said softly. He laid his hand on her cheek. She didn't dare move, for fear that she would burst this perfect moment like a bubble.
"Yes?" she breathed.
"Happy birthday," he said. And then he kissed her.
She always loved kissing Carl, but this one, it was better than all of them. She felt like Carl had pulled down the stars and handed them to her.
No one had ever cared enough about her to give her the stars.
She hoped she fell on the side of the people of the prison.
But she still couldn't let go of herself.