Conflict is part of human nature. We as humans, face conflict. Whether it be like before, where there were threats of nuclear war and terrorism and the like. Or now, when our conflict is flesh-eating monsters that defy most death logic. But that's only half of it, we also face inner conflict, with ourselves as naturally we make mistakes and then suffer consequentially often emotionally within ourselves. You question yourself a lot of the time which also sort of inner conflict, because part of your mind says 'Dude you know that color pink? It's not that bad' and then the majority of your mind is like 'Dude. What. The. Hell. is wrong with you? What drugs are you on? Pink is gross. GTFO.' and voilà inner conflict. Of course, a lot of the time it's a little more... deep than that. But the point stands. Conflict is human, it's part of us, and it shapes us as a result.
Carl leaves to go take his shower, which gives me time to do whatever the hell I want to. And as could be expected, I read. I lay on my stomach, book stretched out in front of me and I start 13 Reasons Why. The concept itself I find to be quite interesting, but Carl's right, it is a little girly for my taste. Still, I read it, because I'm stubborn and I have hopes.
I read for however long, until Carl comes back, still wearing the dark green t-shirt and cargo pants, his hair has that towel dried look and is almost black from being wet. I look up from my book, and he walks over and lays next to me on the bed in a similar fashion. He peeks at what I'm reading and he lets out a groan.
"I can't believe you,"
"What?" I turn to him, protesting.
"You actually got that book?" he complains
"I'm not saying you have to read it," I shrug
"Good," he rolls his eyes, smirking at me. I roll my eyes back, and I push myself up and sit back on my heels.
"I'm gonna go shower now," I extend my thumb towards the door and Carl nods. I push myself off the bed and grab my bag. I walk to the bathroom and close the door behind me. God, my first shower since the prison. It's been too long. But really, this is to be expected, it is the zombie apocalypse and we have greater things to worry about than personal hygiene. I walk over to the shower and turn the faucet, water starts as a dribble from the shower head, but the further I turn the faucet, the more it picks up. Give that a chance to do whatever warming up it can.
I remove my beanie and shake my hair out of the ponytail, I kick out of my Docs and then remove my socks. I strip down until the only thing I have on is the bandage on my shoulder. I decide it would be a good idea to take that off too. So for the first time in a while I get a look at my shoulder. The wound has scabbed over, dried blood around the edges and stick roughly to my skin. The skin is growing back together, it's a little gross, but nothing is horribly discolored, or otherwise fear inducing. I should be fine.
I step into the shower and the water is actually lukewarm, which is surprising, but nice. It pounds against my head, sticking my hair against my skin and weighing it down at the same time. When the water hits my shoulder it stings, but not terribly. There's actually soap and shampoo and conditioner and all that good stuff in this shower. I scrub the dirt off of my body and replace it with soap bubbles and the fragrance of lavender. I scrub out the grease and grime, and whatever the hell else is in my hair, and replace it with whatever 'waterfall mist' smells like. All I know is that it's certainly better than walker smell. I clean off my face, let it be noted that apocalypse plus puberty don't turn out too well when it comes to your face. Acne. Acne everywhere. Soon the water loses its lukewarm quality and I begin to shiver. I turn off the shower and I dry off. I feel fresh and clean and new. I squeeze as much water as I can out of my hair, and let it be the way it is. I put on my undergarments and my whitewashed jeans and then call for Michonne. I need someone else to come dress this stupid shoulder.
Michonne comes quicker than was necessary, "What's wrong?" she throws open the door of the bathroom.
I look at the linoleum floor, embarrassed that I caused such a hassle, "I just needed someone took bandage up my shoulder." I mumble
"Oh," she nods, relieved, "I'll go get our stuff and I'll be right back, ok?" Michonne says, I nod. She's back a moment later with alcohol and the bandaging, she gives the wound a good rub down, making sure it's clean and then wraps it and we're done. I quickly put on my t-shirt and Michonne leaves to go about her business. I put my denim shirt back on, then the vest. I change my socks and then I lace up my Doc Martens and I grab my beanie. I'm set.
I shoulder my bag that I actually only needed for socks, which upon retrospect was a stupid reason to take along my whole bag. I go back into the room to find Carl with his nose stuck in a book. Not just any book mind you, 13 Reasons Why. I snort and Carl looks up, he looks like a deer caught in the headlights. I smirk and lift an eyebrow at him.
"Girly, huh?" I contain barely contain my laughter
Carl opens his mouth, to argue whatever meager point he had about the legitimacy of him reading this book, but then closes it. Then opens it again, then closes it. Finally, on the third try of opening his mouth, he finds words, "I was bored, and it was here, and I wanted to figure out what was so great about it anyways." he frowns and I crack up.
I walk over next to him and sit beside him, "Did you find what you were looking for?"
"No," he grumbles unhappily, "it was stupid as far as I read."
"It was pretty dumb," I admit, shrugging, "Maybe it's just that people's issues before, seem ridiculous now. I'm sure, given different circumstances I'd enjoy it more."
"So I was right?" Carl looks at me optimistically
I give him a look and he chuckles.
"Move over," I push him slightly, and Carl scoots over, I drop my bag and I dig out a different book. It's a bit of a juvenile book, but honestly I couldn't care less.
"The Mouse and the Motorcycle?" Carl reads, clearly unimpressed.
"Come on," I nudge him with my elbow, lying down next to him so that our sides are touching, from shoulder to hip. It takes me a moment to adjust and I can feel Carl looking at me, making sure I'm alright. I come out of it and he goes back to normal.
"It just seems a bit," Carl shrugs, "childish,"
I lift an eyebrow at him, "Have you ever actually read it?"
"I'm a comic book person," Carl explains, as if I hadn't already known
I roll my eyes at him and let out an over dramatic sigh, "Useless," I shake my head at him teasingly.
"One of these days, we're going to read comics together, and then you'll see true art." Carl promises
"Do you think they'll have stuff like that at Terminus?" I ask quietly, I'm not sure how Carl will react.
He turns towards me and sits up, "Sam, how much faith are you putting in this place?" he grits his teeth and his eyes are slightly narrowed, more worried than anything else.
I pause for a moment, how much do I believe in Terminus? I mean it sounds good. A safe haven? Is there such thing? Yes. There has to be. The prison was. For a long time. It was my safe haven from Woodbury. And Woodbury was my safe haven from the outside. Yet here I am again, in the outside. What if it's like Woodbury? And there's some nut case running the place. But then again, it could be run like the prison, with good people.
"A lot I guess," I finally shrug.
"You don't have a single doubt that it's safe and nothing's up?" Carl looks at me in disbelief
"Well..."
"Sam, please tell me you aren't completely head over heels for the idea of this place," Carl begs
"I'm not! I know that some places look good, but they really aren't. I was part of Woodbury, I know what it's like to be fooled," I shake my head
"Then why are you so eager to leave this place, which we know is good and we know is safe?" Carl demands. I don't want to argue. I don't want this to divide us. I don't want this. In a way, I do get where he's coming from. He sees this place as a viable home, a place we could stay. There's pecans and deer and water. We've got each other, what more could we need? But I know.
I take a deep breath, trying to keep my cool, I lower my voice, "Carl, something very bad happened here. And it just kind of freaks me out, ok? And maybe I want to go to this place, because I want more than anything to find the rest of our group. The rest of our family!" my tone squeaks at the end.
"What if we're too late? What if those signs are old and Terminus is overrun?! Huh? Then what happens? Our family, if they honestly believe in this place, wouldn't they just run into yet another walker trap? What if they get eaten? What if we do that? What if I got eaten? What if you got eaten? I couldn't live with that Sam. I can't live with that idea in my mind. I don't want to lose you because we were too idiotic and fell for the Terminus trap." Maybe he doesn't mean them this way, maybe he's just desperate and he doesn't know what else to do to make me see things his way. That's what happened to me earlier at least, but his words come out coarse and painful. They make me cringe, is he calling me idiotic? For believing in this place? Certainly not, he can't. Not Carl.
My heart wells up inside of me and I can't look at him, I consider firing mean, hateful words back at him. But I can't. I need to stop. I need to breathe. I sharply turn away from him.
Carl speaks up, and I stop, let him say his piece, "Let's just forget it, ok? I don't want to fight with you."
I nod, pretending I'm ok, "I'll be back, I'm just gonna... I gotta go do some... things..." I get up hastily and leave, shutting the door behind me. I lean against the door and rest the back of my head against it, looking up at the ceiling. Just take a moment to cool down.
I walk into the living room area, there's another fire going, and Daryl's got the deer in the kitchen it's hanging from the light fixture, and he's standing there, skinning it. Rick and Michonne aren't in sight.
"You and your little boyfriend have a spat?" Daryl says, not looking away from his job.
I walk towards him, mildly intrigued at the difference of skinning a deer from that of a squirrel.
"You heard?" I pull my lips to a thin line.
"Y'all ain't exactly quiet," Daryl snorts, most of attention still on the deer.
I nod a little, "Daryl?"
"Yeah kid," Daryl gives a tired sigh, like he regrets speaking up in the first place
"What happened to Beth? Where is she now?" I ask quietly, the man's got a knife, and I don't know how sensitive a subject that is with him.
"She gone," he cuts the internal organs out sharply. And tosses what he can't use in the pathetic trash can.
"Daryl?" I say again, my voice even more timid if that's possible
"What." he practically spits, knife cutting off the deer's hoof at the elbow.
"You miss her, don't you?" let it be noted, these may be my last words. I'm sorry, Carl.
He puts the knife down, and grips the counter, "Yeah, kid. I miss 'er. Anythan' else?" his tone is snippy and makes me a little shaky in my boots.
Nope, I like knowing that I'm gonna live... so I'm just gonna shut up now. Yeah ok? Bye! I turn around, "Nah, I just needed some air for a minute. I'm sorry, Daryl. About Beth."
It hits me, that he doesn't just miss her because they were together for a while and now she's just gone. It's because he loves her. It's deeper than that, it's almost like he's developed some sort of affection for her, but I really can't quite place it. My gut wrenches and I feel stupid for squabbling with Carl over such a dumb subject, I should appreciate what I've got while I've still got it, because you never know when it'll just be...gone.
I think about Carl's words, 'What if I were eaten.' And it makes me think of Beth and her being gone. What if Carl was gone? That thought is a lot for my head to take in, because I start running through all the things that wouldn't be ok if he was gone. Images come to mind, from him being overcome by walkers after running out of bullets like the guy I saw, an eye being ripped out of his face. Being choked to death, the last thing he sees being someone who can't help him. Me just waking up one morning and him being nowhere. And I don't want him to be gone. It's all I can do not to run back into that room and tackle him in a hug.
I walk very stiffly, trying to hold back all of my muscles from making a break for it. I clench my fists at my sides, my mostly bitten nails dig into my palms. I open the door, and he's still on the bed. He's not reading though, he's just lying there, staring at the wall in front of him, "Did you do what needed to be done?" I hate how brittle and almost hostile he is towards me.
An uneven and shaky breath escapes me. And I feel stupid, like seriously stupid. I'm overreacting. But then an image of a Carl's blood spattering the flowers instead of whoever's that was comes to mind, and I have to stop moving.
Sam. Get your shit together.
You're being dumb.
"Sam?" Carl looks at me, probably because I'm making a scene, "Hey, um, earlier I didn't-" he stops and takes another look at me, and it hits me he wasn't looking at my emotional breakdown before, but he is now. "Sam?" I don't want to, but I'm shaking now, trying to keep myself together. I'm not doing a very good job of it. His eyes widen and he gets up, walking over to me.
"I'm sorry," comes out of my mouth, "it was a dumb thing to argue about." my voice cracks, I look at him.
"What... what did you do? What's wrong?" he steps closer. I can't stop myself anymore. I hug him and he's stiff at first, but then he hugs me back.
"Hey, it's ok," he says, rubbing my back.
"I don't want you to be like Beth. I don't want you to be gone." I mumble into his shoulder.
"Sam," he says in disbelief, "what are you talking about?" he pulls back a little bit.
I have to take a deep breath, so I just don't end up losing it. I don't want him to see that insanity, he doesn't need to see it. He can't see it.
"I was talking to Daryl," I start out. Ok, not bad, you made it through one sentence.
Carl nods.
"And I asked about Beth." good, another sentence.
"He said she was just gone." I'm starting to fall apart. Uh oh, keep it together. Keep it together. "And I started thinking about what would happen if you were gone because you were talking about getting eaten. And I don't want that Carl. That scares me. I don't want that for either of us." Ok. I finished. Not my best, certainly not my best.
You're such an idiot.
He probably thinks you're a stupid, clingy idiot.
"Sam," he starts, "I didn't mean what I said earlier. It just came out and I'm sorry. I really am honest to God sorry. I didn't mean for you to get upset and-" he stops and shakes his head, the teeniest, itty-bitty smirk curls out of the left side of his mouth, "I'm not gonna 'be gone'. I gotta stick around, remember? Who else are you gonna read to? Who else is gonna call you bookworm, and tease you about your book fetish?" he smirks, poking me in the side. My shoulders flinch up and Carl laughs at my reaction.
"I don't have a fetish!" I protest. A small smirk tugs at the corner of my mouth. His grin makes me feel warm inside and the pain and the fear disappear like they were never there.
"Sure, ok," he teases, and I hug him again. There's no tension and I'm relieved.
"You're cute when you're worried," he jokes. I pull away and I glare at him. Freaking Carl. I may feel conflicted on a lot of things, but he is not one of them.