twenty one. grace

twenty one˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ grace ↲

ALEXANDRIA WAS AN EXTREME SHIFT FROM THE WILDERNESS—this much was obvious as soon as we stepped past the gates, and they closed in behind us.

They had it all here. The bright colors I saw in the distance—those were flowers planted into rich soil. Pansies. The people passing by; those were the citizens. I tried to see them as survivors, but I couldn't. They were just people. People who hadn't had to survive at all. And instead of envying them, I felt sorry. If things went south here, they wouldn't stand a chance. From all the friendly glances and softened smiles, I began doubting this place had endured anything at all.

I was aware it wouldn't be an easy adjustment after they politely requested our weapons. However, I did hold the blade out, when seeing others do so. I knew when I needed it, it would be back in my hands, no matter what. But, for now, I had to give this place a chance. For Judith—and even for Carl, who'd been insisting from the start that good places existed. I held hope for the siblings sake.

We could make it work, and it was a good thing we were here. These people needed a backbone that we'd provide.

When word came that Deanna wanted to conduct individual interviews before assigning our houses, I felt an awful twinge in my stomach. I could hardly tell Carl what I'd been through. . .how was I supposed to tell a complete stranger? After taking a seat on the steps of the Monroe residence, we each waited for our names to be called. I forced my fears to dissipate as I watched Daryl play around with his new friend—a dead possum—impatiently turning the carcass in his hands like he couldn't wait to skin it and sear the meat. Carol had already tried to get him to put it away, but only earned a look of distaste from him.

I let my back lean against the step above, finally taking control of my breathing. It was no use working myself up over the possible questions I'd be asked. No matter what we said during this process, we would make it through. Rick wouldn't allow us to be turned away. I had a feeling he'd clear out this place if it came to that.

Daryl's gruff voice now directed itself toward me. "You nervous?"

"No. Not nervous, I just want my knife back."

Liar. My heart was pounding against my ribcage.

I received a grunt in response. He seemed to feel just as helpless as I did. The Angel wasn't himself without his crossbow. However, his demeanor remained utterly calm, even if he was itching for his weapon internally. He only had his hands to fight with, and despite the fact he would win, it didn't matter. We were defenseless.

I squinted. "Are you nervous?"

"Nah." He muttered. "But being nervous ain't a bad thing. Not here at least. We don't know em'."

I huffed. "This whole thing is stupid. She's asking us to share our hardships, despite having none herself."

As if she were sitting behind an enclosure, asking a wild animal what drove them to be wild. I wasn't sure if she wanted a glimpse at whatever humanity we had left, or if she wanted to be certain that we could protect this place, if all went to hell.

Daryl looked from the possum to me, again.

"Well, nobodies forcin' you to tell them everything." He scanned Carol as she walked out, a fake gentle smile plastered on her fair skin. "Sure as hell know she didn't."

I grinned at her dropping demeanor as the door closed. Her face was already changing back to its resting position. The woman was putting up nothing but a front. She didn't want to be perceived strong. If they turned against us, she'd be the last person they'd expect to fight back.

"Or," Glenn shifted, making room for Maggie to enter the residence, "We could tell the truth. Maybe, she doesn't want more people scared of their own shadows. She wants protection."

I glimpsed at Carol, who definitely did the complete opposite of Glenn's proposition. However, when my turn came around, I took in his words. What I said would have little effect—I was just barely on the edge of about fifteen, I guessed. Deanna just wanted to cover all her bases. I scaled the remaking steps, passing Carl, who had gone just before me. He gave me a look of reassurance before Deanna waved me forward, and the door was shut behind me, hindering all natural sunlight until we had arrived in the interview room.

It's setup was relaxed. A chair near the wall, definitely for me. I could tell from the scuffs of dirt left behind by the others before me, opposed to Deannas spotless two seater couch. The walls had been built symmetrically, mirroring each other on both sides, with their built-in bookshelves. Novels occupied each one, stacked and placed accordingly. It must have been hundreds. If I were to like reading - which I wasn't a fan of to begin with, it would have most likely supplied me for decades on end. The thought of reading so many books made me feel slightly itchy.

As I sat, I noticed a camera behind the leaders couch. It struck me as odd, wondering why she wanted to film such a thing. People who came in this room were vulnerable. A camera in our face wouldn't help with feeling safe.

I wondered what she'd do with the tapes.

"I'm Deanna Monroe." She took a seat, crossing her legs in an elegant manner.

'I know.'  I wanted to say, but refrained myself from doing so.

"Cyn."

Deanna smiled. Her hands folded together, softly. Everything about her was nothing like anyone I'd met since the end started.

"Just Cyn, that's all?" Crinkles formed on her face.

"My full name is Cynthia." I said. "I just don't like being called it very much."

She smiled understandingly. "What about a middle name? Your last name?"

"Why?" I questioned.

Giving her my name alone had felt like giving out my social security card. Now, she wanted my legal documents, too. My birth certificate. My parents bank account number.

She kept calm, a look of passion spreading in the folds of her skin. "Because, all of those little things you think don't matter, still do. In Alexandria, they do."

"Okay," I said, exhaling a breath of air, in the form of a muted laugh. "Grace. that's my middle name. Hargrave is my last."

"Why laugh?" She asked, intrigued.

I shrugged. "It's ironic, sort of. Grace doesn't fit me. It never has."

Deanna smiled again. "I bet you haven't shared that with many people, have you? Doesn't it mean something to have an identity? Your name matters here. So does your story."

She wasn't going to judge my truths, I decided. I would tell them to her.

"Maybe." I stated, attempting to grasp her philosophical view.

She finally turned herself towards her camera. "Do you mind if I film this?"

Fuck yes, I mind.

I reluctantly gave her a go-ahead nod, then straightened my back at the small click that let me know the tape was rolling. What I said from this point forward mattered a lot more.

"Okay, let's start." She began.

I stilled completely.

She looked to the ceiling, then back down at me."How long have you been on the road?"

"Since the start." I replied

"What happened to your home?"

"The night the power went out, one of my neighbors turned. We used to have a bloodhound, which meant our back patio had a pretty big doggy door. He crawled through it. Got into the house. We rushed into my father's truck and left without a single belonging to our name."

She carefully digested my response, etching it into her mind like she was taking note of every word I spoke.

"That must have been hard. . .starting over with nothing while the whole world caved in on itself." She said with sympathy.

"It was." I agreed.

"What about the ones who weren't dead? Have you had to kill?" Her voice was calm as ever.

"Yes."

A few times, I hadn't had to kill. But I still did. However, I didn't offer this information up.

She didn't flinch at my declaration. "How did that make you feel?"

I now tapped my fingers along the wooden armrest.

"Liberated."

She nodded. She didn't ask me about the why or how. She seemed satisfied with my answer. My heart-rate slowed. She wasn't asking me to disclose the reasons. Or the names.

"Your family, where are they now?"

She'd gotten me. Asked me the one question I couldn't bring myself to discuss. Killing, I would admit to. But talking about my mother and father? About Allie? I couldn't. It was unendurable.

"I lost them, back in Georgia." A sickening feeling twirled in my stomach, crawling up my chest. "Other than that, I'm an only child."

▬ ▬ ▬

Droplets of water clung to my dampened hair, rolling down the strands to dripping along the marbled counter I leaned against. The mirror was fogged, pushing me to swipe my hand across the surface. When the glass was clear, I took a few moments to really look at myself. I was exceptionally clean.

The neutral smell of soap clung to the steamy air, colliding against the sweet vanilla hair wash I'd used. Shamefully, I'd squeezed out at least a fourth of the shampoo in order for the water to run clear. I'd used about the same about of conditioner to detangle my hair in the shower. Once I was clean, I simply sat on the shower floor, letting the hot water turn my skin pink for half an hour before exiting.

Lotion was placed on the counter. A large tube of it, too. I doused it on, hoping it would help with the dryness. Shaving hadn't really done much for this issue, besides make my skin even more irritated. . . but it felt amazing to run my finger along my legs, and feel nothing but the smooth aftershave. I hadn't been able to do so in a while.

After taking longer than I was supposed to; having been distracted with the toothpaste, toothbrushes, floss, mouthwash, and other such necessities, I trailed off into the upstairs bedroom, where Michonne had set out clothes for me. She'd washed my old ones, then added a few other options she'd found hung in the closet.

I picked up a loose fitted white shirt, made up of soft thin cotton and table-cloth-like lace sew-ons. It looked almost vintage, like something an extravagant woman would wear as garment to bed. It would do for the spring heat. It was too hot to continue on with my bomber jacket, prompting me to splay it nicely on the chair just like how it had been sitting in the bedroom after the prison. I put back on the shorts I'd been wearing on the road, finishing with the familiar tattered western boots.

I stood to look in the full length mirror. Paused for a few counts, then put my hands to my mouth to suppress a laugh at my reflection.

I looked like a pretentious southern belle.

▬ ▬ ▬

"These are like mansions." Carl looked the house up and down.

My boots caused the wooden floors to lightly creak as I followed him through one of the two empty houses our group had been assigned. We'd already explored our own, and moved onto the next. He was right about the size of the home—it was huge.

Most of my upbringing had been spent in a mobile home that belonged to my grandparents before it was passed to my parents. It was an ugly  fading mint color, and there was enough space between the cinder blocks and the ground that you could crawl underneath the house. The walls were stained with tar and nicotine from my grandpa's bad habit. Our neighbors were odd, too. They never spoke. Just stared. Mom didn't allow me and Allie outside after seven.

Once my dad had landed a higher paying job at the newly built church a few miles down the road, we moved. Looking back—the house hadn't nearly been this big. Or nice. But those new two stories felt like a castle compared to the mobile home.

This home reminded me of my elementary friend, Julia's place. I used to go over for a while before completing my walk home from school. I didn't remember much else about her. Couldn't picture her face, or the tone of her voice.

"Mm-hm. And they're just giving them away." Carol peered through the blinds towards the street, before continuing on.

She didn't trust Alexandria. I was too enthralled in the new environment to care. I knew reality would strike later. For the time being, I allowed myself the ignorance. We were being given everything we needed. Food, clothes, warm water, and a roof over our heads. I wasn't going to pass up that offer.

"You coming?" She turned, talking to the two of us.

"Maybe in a minute." I told her, turning to examine the carpet beneath the coffee table.

It looked like one of those fancy ones you'd see in the lobby of a hotel. I wondered if it felt as luxurious as it appeared. My attention then caught on the bookshelf to the left, and I bent over so that I could pull one from the neat, uniform line.

Destruction hadn't touched Alexandria.

Carol nodded, then went through the kitchen, exiting through the back patio to leaving us to it.

"So. . ." Carl started, kneeling beside me to inspect the shelves. "How did the interview go?"

"I don't know. You think I'll get the job?" I joked, picking up a book and flipping through its pages.

He smiled, then got up, and I followed him to explore the other side of the house. "Did you tell her everything?"

I ran my hand across the kitchen counter. The surface was marble. "Mostly. Something about her made me want to tell the truth."

He nodded, opening the pantry. After finding it empty, he started on every individual cabinet like he was expecting food. "I felt like I was in confession."

I laughed, lifting my hair to sliding a rubber band from my wrist and secure my ponytail. We found ourselves in the hallway, looking at all the frames on the walls.

As Carl stepped in front of me, I noticed he'd cleaned up, too. His dirty flannel was gone, and he wore fresh clothes. He unexplainably smelled like how the air did before a storm. His skin bore not a single mark of dirt or mud.

It was bizarre.

This image made me feel like life was back to how it was supposed to be, and that we were just two school friends, hanging out. It was weird thinking about that. School, and friends. How, Carl and I would never be sharing glances or joking together if we met on regular terms.

We were only the way we were, because of the awful circumstances we'd been forced to live through together. Trauma bonded, one might call it. And to be completely honest, on the road, I thought he might be the only friend I'd ever have in the new world. It felt that way. Though—Rick had already talked to us about meeting others our age, who apparently resided just down the street. He'd insisted it would be good for us to be around more like-minded individuals, which felt like an insult to our youth, being that these kids had been behind walls for God knows how long.

"What did you tell her?" I asked, taking a short glance in every room with the boy alongside me.

Carl pushed his sleeves to his elbows. "All the things I've done."

I twisted my head ever so slightly, pushing an itchy baby hair from my forehead. "What did she think?"

"She didn't seem to think anything of it." He replied, folding his arms across his chest. "What about you? What did you say?"

I now lead us back towards the kitchen. "Oh, you know,"

I heard a laugh behind me. "I don't know. But maybe I can ask to borrow the tape and we can watch it together."

I breathed out a laugh. "Not happening. Ever."

As I leaned my elbows onto the kitchen counter, he walked around the island, stopping on the other side to face me. There were many feet in between us, but it didn't feel like enough. The marble surface was cold against my arms. They were bare. My legs were, too. I felt exposed on an entirely different level as the boy looked to me.

He was waiting for a real answer, prompting me to sigh and look at the ceiling.

"She asked me if I've killed. I told the truth. Said that most of the time, it didn't feel scary. It felt freeing."

He reached his arm to toggle the sink nozzle. He looked surprised that it worked, before focusing on what I'd said.

"That's because you've killed bad people. People who deserved it."

My jaw tightened. "Yeah, But I don't think killing is supposed to make you feel good."

He shrugged now. "You know—I bet back when death row was still a thing, some workers liked starting up the electric chair. It's the same concept."

I pushed off the counter, my body swiveling to get a full 360 on the bottom level of the house. "Thats pretty twisted."

He grinned now. "Well, you've always had a few loose gears, haven't you?"

I let out a small laugh. "Some would say."

"No," He countered, "I think you're sensible. When you want to be."

I opened my mouth to counter back, when a thump came from upstairs. I looked at the ceiling, then at Carl, who was mirroring my action of pulling a knife out. I'd been given Beth's blade back. We'd been allowed our handheld items after Deanna had finished all our interviews.

I hastily made way to the first step, Carl not so quiet as he came alongside me. I took each step careful, one hand on the rail to steady me as my other gripped the weapon handle. I was first to make it to the top, however, Carl took it upon himself to walk forward and briefly check every room before meeting me at the only shut door on the upper level. He put his hand on the doorknob, his shoulder gently shoving me out of the way.

If he wanted to be the one to get attacked, that was okay with me. Ladies first died with the world. I wasn't complaining.

As fast as he opened the door, my knife was already back in its sheath. It was just an attic. There was no furniture to check behind. It was void of everything, only a very small array of items sprawled on the floor, like friends had been hanging out up here.

This time, I let myself pass Carl.

"Has someone been living up here?"

He bent down to pick up a comic near a deflated looking blanket, turning it around in his hand. "I'm not sure. It could be from the people who used to live here."

"I guess—it just sounded like someone was up here." I spoke, looking at the hanging cobwebs in the corner. "Are you ready to go back? Rick didn't want us gone long."

"Yeah." He turned back towards the mess of belongings, stepping over them carefully. "This wouldn't be a bad place to read this comic, you know. Maybe we can come up here tomorrow, or something."

"Sure, we can do that if you want to."

"Only if you want." He said.

"It doesn't really matter." I found myself smiling. "I don't mind either way."

"Well, me neither."

"So. . .after lunch, tomorrow?" I asked.

"Yeah." He folded his arms across his chest, turning to look me in the eye. "Yeah, I have nothing better to do."

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • · 3,363 words • 7:12am

our little southern belle.

anyways . this made me giggle .

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.