A/N: Helloooo!
Argh, I am such shit when it comes to updating. I really am sorry guys, it's just a mess. And by, "it," I mean my life (playfully, of course.) I was really busy over the holidays with my family and college letters and such. I got accepted into my first choice! So, please don't be mad at me. Blame school for my shit writing schedule. I really hope that this (long and extremely fun,) chapter makes up for it. Like I said, I've been so excited to write Carl/Alyssa interactions with the Alexandria teens, and I hope this doesn't disappoint you all.
Just as I thought, I never actually go back to sleep. Rick and I both make it back to our little cot areas, but the actual motion of falling back asleep never happens. I just lay there all night, staring at the ceiling, occasionally playing with the new bracelet on my wrist, and wishing for the sun to come back up.
When it does, the whole group begins to wake up and we, yet again, have a feast for breakfast. Maggie and Glenn make a huge bowl of scrambled eggs, a fuckton of toast, and there's bacon. My mouth waters at the meal and I almost dig in like a pig. Almost. My morally sane conscious tells me that I can't eat it all. One day we'll need to ration the food again. One day a forkful of eggs can mean the world. So I take a couple forks of the eggs, half a piece of toast, and a bite of the bacon. Delicious crunchy bacon.
Mom pokes at my shoulder. I twist to see her behind me. "Are you gonna eat more?"
I shake my head no. She frowns. "Please eat some more, Liz. We have all this food. We can't let it go to waste."
That's why I'm not eating any more. We need to make it last.
I take another bite of my bacon, hoping that it'll be enough for her. She raises an eyebrow in a, "Really?" expression. The sass radiates off her and I don't bother to fight. Another bite. She nods encouragingly.
Almost feeling sick to my stomach, I finish the strip of bacon. She pats my shoulder happily and gives me a half hug from behind. "Thank you."
Ugh, too much food.
I throw my plate into the fridge for later consumption and the rest of us clean up the table. We have almost no leftovers, save for my plate, and at around ten o'clock (or so the clock on the living room wall says,) we hear a knock from the door. My hand twitches at my side for my knife, but no, I'm hopelessly weapon-less. I hate this. I want my knife back.
Glenn goes to the door and opens it, revealing a chipper Deanna wearing very business-like clothes. Tan pants, a light blue blouse that compliments her eyes, and a simple locket and a few bracelets to pull the look together.
"Good morning!" She greets, way too perky for my taste. "How was everyone's first night in our community?"
Oh, you really want to know? Shitty. Horrible. Couldn't sleep a wink for the fear I would see my loved ones dead. How was yours?
The response she actually got from the lot of us was murmurs of, "Fine, I guess." That's pretty much the response she was expecting, it seems.
"Glad to hear it." She gives an encouraging nod to us. "Well, I was thinking, for your first official day at Alexandria, you should all explore us. I know I showed most of you the," she makes air quotations, "'important parts,' but I'm sure you would all feel better if you knew the landscape. So, explore! I don't joke when I say we're about transparency. We have nothing to hide, and I want you all to see it. I think tomorrow is when I'll show each of you what and where your jobs are. Sound good?"
Yet again, the group murmurs a, "Yeah, sure," or a, "Sounds good," back to her. The consensus isn't ecstatic, but it's at least agreeable to her terms.
"Okay," she grins to us, "I'll let you all roam around. Feel free to talk to any of us. We don't bite, I promise."
With a swift wave of her hand she exits the house and closes the door behind her. We all stand in our spots awkwardly, unsure of what to do.
"So," Glenn clears his throat, "I guess we're exploring?"
Carl and I get to put Judith in a stroller for our little expedition around town. Let me be the first to say that I experienced just a tiny bit of rage at trying to strap her in. The stupid buckles didn't line up right and one side was too loose and the other was too tight and the button was stuck and why was this so difficult and- arghhhh. It was annoying. That's all.
The group disperses on the steps of the white porch, all of us heading into different directions. Not that it's hard. This place is very big. Even with the fifteen of us it's still quite a bit of land to cover. I'm still debating mentally on whether that's a good thing or not.
Daryl still sits in the shade of the porch, on his own and putting on his signature Dirty Redneck scowl. It's like he couldn't be bothered to even fake the pleasantries when Deanna comes by. I don't think he ever is.
While I start walking with Carl, my eyes wander over to the houses and the space between them. My immediate thought is of the kid I saw yesterday, running behind them like he was trapped here. I wonder what's behind them, anyways.
As Carl continues to go straight on the concrete with his baby sisters stroller, I take a sidestep to the green and the houses.
"Going somewhere?" He asks, raising an eyebrow. I point to the grass that travels to the back of the second Team Family home.
"Gotcha." He says. He doesn't question it. He doesn't ask me to stay with him. He just presses a chaste kiss to my lips and tells me, "Have fun. I'll catch up with you later, Angel."
I take a couple steps backward and flash him a smile of gratitude. My eyes trail behind him, watching as he takes a couple lazy steps before I twist fully to the houses and walk through the space.
It's really not too different from the front. It's just the backs of the houses, really. The huge and massively tall wall is in front of me, leaving a good couple of meters between the houses to it. If there's anything to note in differences, it's that there isn't any road back here. Only grass and a couple unkempt bushes. To my right are some tall, dark, and thick-set trees, maybe a foot from the wall. If I wanted to I could probably climb up them. I make a mental note: Climb them. Eventually. To the left of where I look, almost resting against the corner of the walls, I see an abysmal attempt at a garden. There's tiny shoots sprouting in the corner, but everything else seems bare and I'm not sure it's supposed to be.
I start walking to the right, to where the trees are. Just a light stroll. My eyes hover over the backs of the cookie-cutter houses, finding all the windows and back doors and trying to figure out whether or not people actually use them. According to the scarce footprints in the dirt these exits are hardly used. More fun for me. The less people, the better.
My easy stroll turns into a light jog. It feels better to run a little than to leisurely trek around.
But then the light jog turns into a full-out sprint. I don't even know the layout of this place. It doesn't matter. Back here, it's almost like in the woods. Sure, there are the houses and the wall, but there's uneven ground and trees and no one is even here. No manmade street. No people lounging about. It's perfect for a run.
The sprint is heavy, but just what I needed. I relish in the sweat that breaks on my forehead. The burning in my calves and the pounding heart in my chest is so satisfying. This is how I'm supposed to feel. This is how life should be.
In a few minutes I hit the end of the wall, panting and I bring my hands to my knees. My head bows down and tries to gulp in enough air to my lungs. I rest for that moment, just a little bit, and twist back to continue my run.
Going back takes a bit longer than I intended. You see, when I run, it leaves my mind blank. I don't think much (unless I'm running from a walker,) because my feet just take me wherever. I just run. All the greenery becomes a blur and I never care. So when I notice that someone is running towards my direction, my brain turns back on but not fast enough to avoid collision with him.
We knock into each other pretty hard, our foreheads bumping painfully and my head spins momentarily. We both groan in pain as we hit the ground. My elbow digs into the dirt and the impact resonates through my bones. Ugh. So much for an uneventful jog.
"Shit!" He groans out, his hand going to rub his forehead. I wince as I ghost my fingertips over my impact site. There's definitely going to be a bump later.
The person I run into is none other than Sam, the kid that Aaron pointed out to me yesterday. His short (yet shaggy,) brown hair is messy and unkempt, like he didn't brush it this morning. His eyes are a dark blue, much darker than Carls'. His are like a stormy sea, ready to rip boats to shreds. They're harsh and extremely striking. Pretty.
"Watch where you're going!" The irritation is easy to hear. Wait, where I'm going? I was here first, asshole!
But he looks to me as he stands, and confusion is the second emotion present. "Who the fuck are you?"
Someone you just ran into. That's all you need to know. That's all you're getting outta me.
"Ohhh." He says. "You're one of the new guys." Even with that in mind, he's still visibly pissed. Jesus, kid, it was an accident. You're acting like I sacrificed your first born son.
"What? You're not gonna say anything? No, 'I'm sorry?' No, 'It was your fault!' Nothing?"
Nothing. Leave me alone, please.
"Wooow," he clicks his tongue, "Reeaaal chatterbox."
Wow, my thoughts mimic his voice, you really are an asshole.
Even though it looks like he'd rather not, he holds a hand out to me. "I'm Sam."
I give a look of apprehension to the outstretched hand and instead stand up by myself. Sam seems mildly shocked and a bit irritated. I don't care.
I begin walking in the direction I was before, towards the family houses, hoping that Sam would take the hint and leave me alone. God forbid I step on a precious toe of his. He would probably cut mine off as payment.
However, he doesn't. With a quick jog he gets beside me and walks in companionship. "What's your name?"
Haha, nope. Not answering. I walk just a bit faster in hopes that he would leave me be.
But of course not. He picks up his pace to get beside me and waits a beat before saying, "Are you not gonna tell me?"
No. Get the hint. Jesus.
"Ouch." The sarcasm is strong. A hand clutches over his heart for emphasis momentarily before it drops again to his side. "So, what do I call you? ST?"
ST?
I give him a look of confusion. "Stands for silent treatment."
Sure, go ahead. Why not.
And I shrug to the new nickname. "Okay, ST it is."
We keep walking and soon enough, we're at the house. I twist to the left and out shines the front of the house. Daryl sits on the porch, his hunter senses kicking in every so often to swing his head around and look for others. He has his eyes trained to the two of us the second we slip in between the two mansion-like buildings before he goes back to... whatever he's doing with his arrows. He's probably repairing them, but my line of vision doesn't see any of it.
"Ah, this where Deanna put you guys?" Sam looks over to the large house right beside the wall as we keep walking, the one with Daryl lounging. "It's been open for a while. And, I'm assuming you know the guy over there. I mean, he's been staring at you this whole time. It would be creepy if you didn't."
Yes, Peanut Gallery. I know Daryl Dixon.
"I hope she would. He's been part of our group for a while." A new voice rings. I swing around, doing a 180, to find the start of the street and Carl standing there. His eyes gleam over to Sam, cautious. My eyes go past him to a few yards away, where Rick is standing with Judith and her stroller, Jessie by his side.
When my eyes roam back over to Carl I notice the harsh gleam in his blue orbs, pointedly affixed on Sam's face. You okay, cowboy? You seem kind of angry.
"Lemme guess: you're a new guy too?" The heir of sarcasm is ever-present in the Alexandrians' tone. It's like he's trying to get a rise out of someone, even on the most mundane of things. One of these days he's gonna get punched in the face and I'm going to laugh.
"Yeah, new guy." Carl says. His stance is still and rigid, his face for the most part stoic. Or, at least, he tried to be. The eyes are still glaring and his jaw tightens. He's defensive. Why are you mad? I'm confused.
"At least you talk." Sam gives a smirk in my direction and I roll my eyes. Harsh. Asshole. "You gotta name?"
"Carl." He says. I look down to his hands. One clenches and unclenches like a fist by his side.
"Sam."
The ordeal itself is quite awkward and in the silence I hurriedly head over to Carls' side. Yay. Someone normal.
Sam's eyes gleam lightly over the both of us. "Looks like you two have someplace to be. Don't let me stop ya." He brings two fingers to his forehead and swings them out slyly, like a playful salute. As he walks past the two of us, he gives a smirk. "Bye, Carl. Bye, ST."
Argh, that's gonna stick, isn't it?
Our combined sets of eyes trail behind him as he heads behind the houses once more, turning to the right. His blue orbs twist around to look back at us one last time, and it's almost like there's laughter in them. They hold such a childish, excited gleam. They could almost be considered handsome.
"ST?" Carl asks me, his eyes trained on Sam's retreating form and leaning in to my side. They click to my face real quick and I shrug my shoulders with a, "don't even ask," roll of my eyes.
With a quick flip of his hair, Sam's behind the second house and the hush that fell over the group is broken by the sounds of a quick jog.
"Well," Rick walks over to us with Judith in his arms, "That was awkward."
You took the words right out of my mouth, sheriff.
"Yup." Carl nods, his angry demeanor switching back to pleasantly happy. The hand completely unclenches and his tall, straight stature drops into a comfortable slouch.
He turns to me. "Ron wanted us to head over today. Apparently he really wants to meet us."
Ron? Who the fuck is that?
I guess my confusion shone through. Carl explains, "He's one of the teenagers here." His eyes momentarily glaze over to the left, where Sam had left us. "Looks like we're not alone."
I smile to him. Well, it's true. We have been the only two teens so far in the group. It'll be cool to hang out with people our age for once!
"Wanna head over now?" Carl asks me. I feel everyone staring at me, waiting for an answer. Carl, Rick, Jessie, even Judith. So, I would feel bad if I said no. Stupid peer pressure.
I shrug to the question, meaning: Eh, why not? Besides, I can feel a little bubble of excitement in my chest. What if there's another girl I could hang out with? I miss having girlfriends. I miss having friends in general. For once, I'm actually kind of excited for this new prospect of Alexandria.
Jessie opens the door for us, giving us access to her house. It's right by the edge of the lake in the middle of the Safe Zone. There's a glass chandelier hanging from the ceiling, which my eyes immediately go to. When the sunlight hits it perfectly, the crystals shine brightly.
Rick makes sure that the two of us are okay with being here before he leaves. Carl tells him that we'll be okay, and that we know where the house is when we want to leave. Nervousness begins to take over me and I start to feel less than excited like I was earlier.
The second the door closes behind Rick, and Jessie calls up the stairs, "Ron! The new kids are here!"
The sound of someone bounding down the stairs and a rushed, "Coming!" fills my ears and I can't help but feel a nervous flop in my stomach. Jessie goes to her kitchen, no doubt probably grabbing us games or something else extremely Suburban. My hand grabs Carl's, holding him loose but tight enough to tether me down. If he wasn't there I probably would have bolted by now.
The new guy, Ron, is taller than me by at least three inches, and probably by two over Carl. I instantly feel like an ant compared to the two of them. I can see poofy dirty blonde hair poking around the sides of a grey beanie and twinkling brown orbs going from Carl to me. Above a green t-shirt is a pale leather jacket.
"Hey, New Guys." He grins to us with a relaxed wave. His mom comes back in and, low and behold, a small bowl of green grapes is in a hand.
"Ron! What did I say about wearing hats inside the house?" Jessie complains, yanking the beanie off and his hair gets pulled up with it. The dirty blonde strands stick out in all directions and with a groan of annoyance he begins to pat down the mop on his head.
Once he feels confident about his fixed hairstyle, he tells us, "I'm Ron, but you obviously knew that. What're your names?"
Oh good lord, this is like middle school all over again. Next thing you know he'll ask us to sit criss-cross applesauce in a circle and ask us our favorite color.
"I'm Carl, and this is Alyssa." Carl answers for the both of us, a laid-back smile on his face. Jessie takes this moment to show us her motherly love and she shoves the bowl haphazardly into Ron's hands.
"That's for all of you upstairs, okay?" She tells him. He nods and adjusts his grip on it.
"Got it." He nods, a cheeky grin on his face. His eyes land on the two of us, awkwardly standing and tense while he and Jessie have their shoulders relaxed and I can see they have zero weapons on them. They need to be stupid to not even have a simple knife on them.
"Wanna head upstairs? I'll give you guys a tour of the house and you can meet the others." I look up to Carl, pretty much silently begging him to answer for us. I don't need to, however. He knows me well enough.
His voice is quiet and awkward as he answers. "Uh, sure... I guess."
Ron points behind himself with a thumb, gesturing to the staircase. "Follow me." He steps backwards before doing a 180 and walking up the steps. "C'mon, don't be shy! We're not scary."
Carl gives me a look of unease. This wasn't what we expected. In all honesty, I had thought of him to be more like Sam. Cocky, arrogant, a bit of an asshole. But no, not even a little sense of paranoia. No weapons, no muscle build from killing walkers, no nothing. He must've been holed up in here since the start. He just doesn't know what it's like to be on the other side of the fence. Ron acts just like a teenager before the apocalypse; nothing of after. That's not good.
I feel the slight tug on my hand that brings me out of my thoughts and I find myself slowly bounding up the carpeted steps, just behind Carl.
"We're almost always here after school," Ron starts as we make it to the hall. I notice his slight pants behind his breath and I scrunch m nose in confusion. Now, I'm not much of an exercise geek, but it's pretty essential to last even a day outside. If he couldn't get up the steps without breathing heavily, he couldn't run to save his life. "So you can come by any time."
"You go to school?" Carl exclaims. I remember Deanna saying that during my little interview and I roll my eyes at the thought. Yes, let's teach the children of our future the power of triangles instead of how to build a fire.
"It's in a garage." Ron answers sheepishly, a ghost of a chuckle in his tone. "Little kids go in the morning and then it's us in the afternoon. Probably you guys too, right?"
Ha. No chance in hell. There's no way I'm going to spend even an hour reading Hamlet when I could be stabbing some dead guy in the face (and, y'know, save your weak asses.) I have my priorities straight, thanks.
Carl exchanges my look of utter annoyance with a small, "Probably." The way his voice hangs low and uncertain leads me to believe that he's just saying it for the sake of keeping Ron neutral with us. He doesn't want that as much as I do.
We make our way to a room definitely designed for a teenager, and a messy one at that. I immediately notice the dirty clothes strewn on the floor, with only a small patch of empty carpet leading to a twin bed, a computer desk, and a rocking chair beside a tiny bookcase. The bed is in the middle, a cartoon robot pattern on the comforter. On the bed is another person, a girl, drawing or writing inside a notebook. On the walls are a dozen posters everywhere, many on games or old tv shows. There's even some old sports posters up, too. Not that I know who any of them are. I only watched baseball once with my birth mom, and that was only because nothing good was on.
There's a poster for Call of Duty proudly tacked just above an old computer on the desk facing a window, and a couple Spongebob Squarepants ones hiding behind the large dinosaur of a monitor. I have no idea whether the computer works or not, but I wouldn't bet any money on it living. Another table right in front of the bed has a large tv with a DVD player and some old game console connected.
In the wheeling chair of the computer desk sits another teenager, this time a guy. His smile is wide with a welcoming air about it. I bristle at his overly happy demeanor.
The sad looking bookshelf on the other end of the room holds a few decent sized novels. Most of them, which haphazardly take up the middle and bottom shelf of the three-tiered wonder, are children's books. The small, brightly colored stories are slanted and stacked up on top of each other instead of being side by side, and I want to fix them from their disorderly prison. The thicker, less shiny books take up the top shelf, and while they are extremely slanted to the side, at least they aren't making tiny stacks on their level.
"Guys, this is Carl and Alyssa." Ron announces as we stand behind him, just inside the doorframe. "Carl and Alyssa, this is Mikey and Enid." He goes to the computer desk and puts the bowl of grapes down beside some notebooks and crumpled up pieces of paper. Mikey pops a few in mouth with ease.
My eyes quickly roam over the two and I take a liking to Enid more than Mikey. With his grey sweater, pressed tan slacks, and weird brown shoes, he looks like a... normal teenager. Before the apocalypse. That's the air that Ron gives, too. That's why I don't like them. They don't seem versed in survival. Mikey's clothes aren't easy to run in. Those shoes would wear to the soles with about a week's worth of running, I presume. He's not even slightly dressed for combat. Plus, he's too nice. Too welcoming. He'd probably trust the wrong people and get himself killed outside the fence.
However, Enid's clothes and atmosphere are perfect. She wears boots and jeans, and some old green shirt, easy to move around in and the boots wouldn't wear easily. I notice the small line of hair ties on the wrist of her writing hand; in case her long brown locks got in her face and she needed to put it up. Smart. While she adds more lines to her paper, which rests on her bent knees, she's unconcerned with us. The vibe she sends us is completely neutral. She doesn't care.
I like it.
"Hey!" Mikey greets us, standing from the desk chair and waving to us.
"Hi." Enid says blandly. Her eyes don't even look to us; they remain focused on her paper. She's definitely from outside the wall. She knows.
"Enid's from... Outside, too." Ron tells us. Knew it! He moves to her and places a gentle hand on her shoulder. Her eyes flick to the gesture and she bristles slightly at the touch, but she doesn't shrink away. She just goes back to her drawing. "She came about eight months ago."
Carl and I give respectful nods to her. I approve. I like her.
"Oh! Um..." Carl drops my hand and digs through his pockets, taking out the comic we read at nighttime yesterday. "Is this- any of yours?" He holds it out awkwardly to Mikey, then to Ron.
"Oh, sorry." Ron gives a hearty laugh. "We didn't know you guys got that house."
"We mostly just hang up there and listen to music." Mikey adds. "That's Enid's."
Her hand reaches out and takes the comic from Carl with force, a bit too much for my liking. My gaze narrows at her. Just because I like you doesn't mean you can snap at us over a comic book.
Ron looks to the both of us. "Want to play some video games?" He gestures towards the tiny teetering stack of games by the edge of the computer desk. The logo on the side of each game proudly hails, "XBox," in green and gray.
"Orrr, Mikey's house has a pool table, but his dad's pretty strict about it."
Mikey makes a small, playful scoff at the words. "It's okay, he's at work."
The guys look to the both of us, and Carl is just as speechless as I am. My heart does multiple flip flops in my best. How can they be so carefree? "Wanna play video games?" "Wanna play pool?" "My dad's at work right now, so we don't need to worry about him getting mad at us!"
How? How?
"Umm..." Carls voice falters. His eyes search the floor instead of their faces, hoping to come up with anything to say. But, for once, he doesn't. I notice the small shake of his head, completely at a loss for words.
"Sorry." Ron seems genuinely concerned for us. The sheepish tone in his makes me feel as if he is sorry for slapping us in the face with such, "normalcy." "I guess we come on kind of strong."
You don't say?
"We can just hang out." He adds hastily, an attempt to salvage this little group outing. Through the corner of my eyes I see Enid's head popping up to look at us newcomers.
"You don't even have to talk if you don't wanna." Mikey adds. Though I wasn't going to anyway, it does make me feel better. I'm judged for being mute in the group every single day. Here, the fact that Mikey even said, it takes a bit of weight off my shoulders.
"Yeah, it took Enid three weeks to say something." My eyes look to her and I give a smile. Looks like I'll be in the same boat as you. If I ever talk again. I highly doubt it, though.
Carl looks to me with an appreciative gleam in his eyes. "She's mute." He tells them. While I wouldn't normally like being showcased to a bunch of teens whom I just met, Ron and Mikey give understanding nods to me.
My hand finds his again and I grasp it tightly, holding it in a death grip. Carl's eyes find mine, silently asking me if I'm okay. I don't know how to answer that. So instead I give him a small nod; a gesture of, "Wanna give it a try?"
Do I like this? This normalcy of playing video games and getting yelled at for playing pool? No, absolutely not. However, the rational side of my brain tells me to just play along. Who knows? Maybe we could learn a thing or two of our little angel community from these unprepared apocalypse-goers.
With one last glance to me, he turns back to Ron. "Let's... Let's play some video games." So it seems we both came to the same conclusion. Try.
"Cool, yeah." Ron grins. He goes to the stack and tosses the CDs onto the bed beside Enid's feet.
"Take your pick. New guy gets first choice." Ron adds.
Carl doesn't care, really. He goes up to the jumbled mess and pulls out Gears of War from the bottom.
"Wise choice." Ron takes the disc and sets it up for the three guys to play.
"Do you wanna play, too? We only have three controllers but I could sit a few rounds out." Ron asks me.
I quickly shake my head. No thank you. I don't want to play a shooter game. I literally shoot people in the face sometimes, why would I want to virtually do that?
"She likes books." Carl answers aloud for me. "Anything, really. Reading's kind of her thing."
"Oh, I have some." Ron pulls away from the screen to grab one for me, and I'm actually kind of touched. Thank you, I say mentally.
"While this may not be the widest selection of young adult novels, I do have some of the classics in here. Harry Potter sound okay to you?"
Ron glances over his shoulder to me and I nod eagerly. I was always a huge fan of Harry Potter.
"Then it looks like we have a winner." He pulls a larger book from the stack and holds it proudly out to me. The Order of the Phoenix is written in elegant cursive across the top, and I inwardly squeal. It's my favorite out of the series. Okay, he might not be so bad. At least he has good taste in literature.
I take the novel graciously from his outstretched hands and grin to him. Thank you, Ron!
I notice that there's only one chair in the room, the desk chair. It's already being occupied by Mikey, and the thought crosses my mind; where are we all going to sit?
Carl is handed a controller for the game and Ron takes a seat by the edge of the bed, directly in front of the screen as the game loads up. Carl follows, albeit a bit awkward (it looks like he doesn't know where to go, either,) and sits beside the Alexandrian.
Through the corner of my eye, I notice a hand grab the magazine that's beside Enid. She moves it to the back on the notebook in her hands, her expression emotionless with the motions. I raise an eyebrow, waiting for her to say something.
But she doesn't. Not that she really needs to. I get the hint and tentatively lean on the edge before scooting myself in fully. That's how she communicates, like me. She doesn't outwardly say anything; her actions tell all. At least, they do if you know where to look.
I flip open to a random page and begin reading as the sound of scratchy explosions from the game fills my ears. The sound of a shot gun goes off, and the excited, "Yeah!" from Ron tells me the two are doing something right by point-standards. Enid's pencil flies across the page smoothly and I resist the urge to look over at her drawing. I wonder what it is.
"Pull it together, sport." She whispers, loud enough for only me to here. First I feel another flash of hot anger. How dare she think I can just, "pull it together," in a quick moment! It's not like I can just, "get better," from a command. I can't just turn this on and off. That's not how I'll get better. Muteness doesn't work like that.
But as I glare at her features, I notice she seems relaxed. Her neutral expression shows that outwardly, she doesn't give a rats ass. Her hand is still darting around the paper making who knows what design, shoulders still against the pillow with no sign of tensing. When her eyes look up to meet mine, in just that single second I see a twinkle of understanding. She knows what it feels like. She knows how it ruins a persons mental status. The comment wasn't made offhandedly, it was a warning. "Pull yourself together or you'll never make it in here."
I bob my head a smidge to her, the tiniest of nods I could produce. She doesn't bother with a verbal response or even a nod back. Her focus is now completely on her artwork. I can tell she understands though. It's how people from the outside communicate. Silently. Little talking and more charades than anything.
Would I, "pull myself together," any time soon? I don't think so. Not after everything we've been through as a group. Especially now that we're in a completely different environment, set with over fifty new people. Most of them have never even stepped foot outside the fence. They're idiots. If I did start talking within the next few days, I would probably bite my tongue off to keep myself from yelling at them on their choice of running shoes.
After about an hour of the boys blowing up bad guys and Enid seemingly finishing her drawing, Carl points out that our group would probably want us back at the house for lunch. I doubt I'd actually eat whatever they cooked, but I'm extremely anxious to get back to our people. There's only so much that a person could handle being around teenagers like Ron and Mikey, and I've been walking on the edge of my patience.
However, I never voiced these opinions out loud. Carl does the talking. With a kind smile and a soft, "It was nice hanging out with you guys," they let us off the hook and we bound down the stairs and out the door without a second thought. It's a slow walk back, and we take in the sights of the large, mossy pond as we pass.
When we get to the house, we give a quick greeting and a wave to Abraham and Rosita, who were back from their expedition and were lounging on the couch with some beers. Carol is in the kitchen, making the pile of dishes in the sink grow a little higher as she makes something that smells of pork.
Carl and I go up the stairs and into the room with the twin bed; the one from my nightmare. I involuntarily shiver at it but don't comment as he and I lie down on it. It's small and barely fits the two of us, but our legs are twisted together and he makes sure I don't fall off my edge with an arm slung around my back, pulling me close to him. My arm goes around his middle lazily and my head rests comfortably against his chest, my ear above his heart, hearing the soothing sounds of his heart beating in a quick tempo.
"So," he says, "what did you think?"
I twist my head up to meet his eyes with a furrow in my brow, as if I were questioning if he really is trying to get me to talk.
"Just a question." He shrugs, and I lay my head back down on him. "I think they're nice. I guess. They aren't what I was expecting."
Suddenly I think of an idea. I pull myself off of him and get myself in a seating position, swinging my leg beneath my butt comfortably. Carl readjusts himself so he can give me enough room by the edge of the bed. I pull his hand in both of mine.
His eyes look to my face quizzically, but I hold up one finger to silence any question he was about to ask.
One of my hands cradle his sweetly, keeping his hand steady. The other keeps the index finger out, bringing it down to the flesh of his palm, writing out a single word.
This is how I'll communicate with him. The shrugging, the shaking my head, it's all useful in some ways to convey my feelings, but this will help. I wouldn't talk. No way. At least, not yet. I'm definitely not comfortable here. So this could be a stepping stone.
Maybe this will help me get there.
"W... E... A... K..." Carl sounds out as I trace the letters down. "Weak." He says affirmatively. He looks up to my face and I nod. Weak. They're weak.
The growing grin on Carls' face brings one to my own. He's excited that I'm giving him something to go on. Something that he can interpret from me. He knows that this is a bridge for me, helping me. I've only written out one word to him and already I have a rush of happiness swoop in my stomach. It's already fixing a piece of me.
"I think so too." He agrees, the smile breaking and the mood becoming more somber. "I like them, but they're weak. I don't want any of us to become weak. We can't afford it."
I nod. While it could be a quaint safe zone, there's much to be desired. If anything were to happen here, a very big chunk of this population would die. I write out, "I KNOW," on the outstretched palm. Like he said, we can't afford to become weak like the rest of Alexandria. It just can't happen. That would be signing a death certificate straight away.
I set his hand in his lap before setting myself comfortably at his side again. As if his arm were on automatic, he immediately wraps an arm around my shoulders and we lean back together diagonally on the covers. Our legs hang off the edge, swinging lightly. My head takes back its earlier spot on his chest and I listen to the steady rhythm of his heart with my eyes closed.
"Did you ever get any sleep last night?" He asks, and when I open my eyes back up I see a hand a couple inches from my chest, fingers spread out so I can write on the palm again.
"NOT ENOUGH," I write in blocks. I sigh happily as I snuggle closer into the crook of his neck and drop his hand. They go to his neck and I pray he drops the subject.
"Don't bullshit me. I can tell when you're lying." He says softly, pulling my hands away from his neck and pulling up in his spot. He inches closer to the middle.
Fine. Brat.
I take his hand and loosely scribble, "NOT AT ALL." My eyes go from looking at my message to his face from under the hair that falls into my eyes.
"Thought so." Carl sighs. Finally, he pulls me back to him and we fall back on the length of the mattress, and I get the long-awaited cuddle I'd been hoping for. My head rests on his chest once more as his arms pull around me, like we had earlier at the edge of the bed.
"You should take a nap." He says to me. I shake my head against him. Nope. I don't want to see you dead again. That was horrible.
"Not sleeping makes you weak, and weak makes you dead." He says it firmly, and there is no fighting him on the matter. "We don't want to be weak."
I bring reason to my thoughts. I can't argue; it's true. But that doesn't mean I need to like it. So I give a begrudging nod and turn to my side, facing away from him. His arm pulls at my waist to bring closer to him, holding me flush against the front of his body. His hand is splayed out on the bottom of my stomach, warmth spreading from his stretched out fingers under the pulled fabric. They're just inches away from the top of my jeans and I'm hyper aware of how close they are. I wonder if he notices. I tuck one hand under my head while the other rests close to my face.
"Sleep." He whispers soothingly to me, his lips just mere centimeters from my neck. I can feel his hot breath tickle the skin and I shiver unconsciously. His hand shifts around my stomach, the pinky lightly touching the band of my pants. Does he even notice what he's doing to me? You are not helping me, "sleep," Carl.
Experimentally, I shift in my spot, my back arching as I stretch out. The hiss I hear from him makes me grin. I roll my hips, ever-so-lightly, against the front of his jeans and the grip from his hand on my stomach gives me a boost of confidence. Gotcha.
"You're supposed to be sleeping." Carl reminds me. I roll my hips again in response and I note his pushing back to me, just a little bit. I let out a soft sigh from the friction against my butt, waiting for his response. And yet again, he pushes against me without thought. Please, this is much more fun. I lean my head backwards to look at him over my shoulder, a dark glare in his eyes. I'm sure mine have a more teasing glint, considering I started this, but they share the same desire. I push back against him once more and his eyes close, and the faint groan in response doesn't escape my ears. It sounds like heaven.
"Stop." He says, his voice an octave lower than normal. His eyes open again and he whispers to me. "Sleep. You need it."
Oh, party pooper.
But I give a half-assed nod and stop my playful assault on him. I twist my head back on my side and lace my fingers through his, which are still splayed out on my form. Don't think this is over.
While I don't want to sleep, I feel a rush of admiration for him. Even with me pushing insistently against him, he still held the thought of me needing sleep more important. How sweet.
My little spike of adrenaline from our little foreplay slowly leaves my system, and my eyes slowly shut on their own accord. Even with Carl holding me close, I have to think, please don't be another nightmare.
A/N: Hmmmm? Like, don't like? Good, bad, ugly?