twenty five. her

twenty five˚༺⋆♱⋆༻˚↳ her ↲

─── ❝ 𝐭𝐡𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡 𝐭𝐡𝐞 𝐞𝐲𝐞𝐬 𝐨𝐟 carl ❞ ───

I WAS HARDENED BY THE WORLD. My childhood, tossed aside before I even fully understood what growing up was. Though, I was never as tough as I portrayed myself to be. I fell into fragmental pieces when I was alone. I was scared of loosing the ones I cared about the most. I even fell victim to the fear of the dark, sometimes.

It was mainly because of the night terrors, striking this nerve of mine. Nightmares about them. The creatures outside. Nightmares about that boy in the woods, putting his gun down. Sometimes, even ones about my mom. The smell of her cheap clearance perfume, and the bulky necklace she often wore. A heart locket. Inside, a picture of me when I was only five. Across, was a photo of my Dad. When she died, a part of me went with her.

What kind of person was I? I could kill in the blink of an eye, yet, a few things made me completely and utterly soft. The girl across the hall, for example. Weak; she made me. Funny, how she was nothing of those traits.

In fact, she was the complete opposite. Cynthia was like the leather that made up the holster on my hip. She couldn't be stretched or ripped apart. I'd only ever seen her crack once—after Beth. She hadn't ever fully repaired, but only someone who had known her before it happened would ever notice. She was still so pleasant, so likable.

The first day we met the other kids our age, the boys had drilled me with questions about her, after she and Enid left. They wanted to know everything. If she always smelled that good, if I even noticed how pretty she was with the dirt and blood on her face outside the walls, what made her laugh—and what kind of boys she might like.

That last question had come from Ron. It was when I realized she wasn't just going to be special to me anymore. That everyone wanted to know her, and that some wanted to have her.

I could still recall the day we read comics together. She had fallen asleep with one still open in her lap. I hadn't even noticed her eyes were closed until her head had rolled against my shoulder. I looked down at her, and it was the first time she didn't look upset with me. I watched her for a little longer than I should have. Seeing her like that, all the emotion and hurt wiped clean from her face, her breathing even and slow—I involuntarily gave her redemption.

I was that quick to forgive her for something that I was convinced was her fault, even though she had nothing to do with it at all. She had no role in the fall on the prison.

Michonne came in the room during this. She asked me if I wanted to go on a run, and seeming that staring at the girl did me no good, I agreed. A horrible mistake that was. Only a few hours later, she was alongside my Dad. Pale skin, glistening sweat. A laceration against her side, slowly burning the life out of her. Her eyelids kept fluttering, but she never let them come to a complete close. She was strong, without even realizing it.

Then, the bad started. A lot of it, all at once. The men on the road—her quiet pleas for it to stop. They haunt my dreams, and in them, I can't stop what happens to her. Terminus, when she was dragged from the train car, hauled off to be butchered. When she wasn't close to me, I could almost picture the blade sliding across the soft skin of her neck.

But, she made it.

Those train doors opened, and she offered a gentle smile. After that, the world made a bit more sense with her in it.

But the world was cruel. We got to the church, I blinked, and she was taken from me. Our little game didn't matter much anymore, because I had won. I was told she was kidnapped by Grady, and died in Atlanta trying to get back to us.

When she walked out of that hospital with my Dad, I thought I had gone utterly mad. There she was. Trembling. Splatters of blood on her skin that I knew couldn't belong to her, because Daryl was holding a bloody Beth. Cyn's eyes were frantic, tears flowing down her pale cheeks. Her arms were crossed over her body in a defensive manner, but I could tell how much they must have starved her there. She was a shell of what she once was, but I knew with time, I could get her back.

In between her sobs, I'd taken her into my arms, and she'd cried into me, saying that it should have been her. That she wished it was her—because it wouldn't have mattered. It was such an odd thing to say. Not because I didn't understand her guilt. . .but because I disagreed with every fiber of my being.

I remembered saying: "It would have mattered. It did matter. It mattered to me. It wouldn't have hurt any less."

What I didn't say, was that it would have hurt more. I couldn't lose her. There was no reality where I would have recovered from seeing her in Beth's position. Arms limp, head rolled back. Hair matted with dark blood. That would have killed me. Every time I woke from one of those dreams, I had the privilege of discovering that she was okay.

If it had been real. . .there would be none of me left at all.

The worst of it passed. She dealt, and she came through the other side. She stopped looking so fragile, and I knew I had to loosen my grip. But, I never could. I gave myself the responsibility of never loosing her to the world, ever again. I feared that if she left my sight, she would never return. She'd had too many close calls. There was no way she could walk from another incident, unscathed. No human was capable of that luck.

I wanted to keep her safe, but she was slipping my grasp. She went beyond the walls with Enid, and I knew because she had come back home with her hands all scraped up. I'd seen Enid beyond the walls on our first day, so it wasn't hard to put two-and-two together. Yesterday, I'd followed her outside to talk with her—to ask her not to bring Cyn out again. Not unless it was with all three of us.

I knew it was controlling, and overprotective, but I had to. Only—today, I crossed a hard line. I said hurtful things. She just wouldn't listen. I didn't know what else to do, besides make a comment that might blindsight her into staying.

I thought maybe it didn't matter how much she loathed me, as long as she was safe. But, I was wrong. I couldn't take her loathing me, either. I was left sitting alone in the silent house, my oats cold.

Even though I didn't know a lot about her life before, I understood her enough. The sibling I had so mercilessly brought up. She was quick to change the subject, after that. Her dad, the person she told me she killed, even when it wasn't necessary. I remembered those personal conversations, because they were the only ones she told me. I was unaware to how much loss she carried, unspoken. She was a puzzle, many pieces missing. Sometimes, they would show up, allowing things to make all the more sense.

Cynthia was one big mind game, constantly turning the gears in my head. And she didn't even know it.

I'd heard she'd put a gun to someone's head. I played it off like I was worried about her reasoning. But I wasn't. She would never lift a weapon without reason. I trusted her, just not what lay beyond the gates. She wasn't a monster to me, but there were plenty roaming outside, ready to sink their teeth into her.

Not being able to control things made me feel sick, leading to my regrettable outburst at her.

I wanted to take it all back. Every foul thing I said to her. It was too late, withal, because she had gone by now. When would I learn that words weren't just some toy to be tossed around so carelessly? Especially with the one person I never dreamed of speaking so vile towards.

Hours later, I found myself walking into the Monroe's place, Judith snuggled in my arms. I had arrived here just as the sun dipped below the horizon. I was being forced to attend by my father, despite my pleads to stay back. I just wanted to lay in bed and read comics. I didn't want to talk to anyone. I wanted to wait for Cyn to get back, and talk to her. To tell her how sorry I was.

She had been gone the entire day. It was obvious she was avoiding the household. Probably due to our argument. It was driving me crazy not knowing where she was. Daryl said she returned with him, so I wasn't too worried about her being in any danger. Just upset that I couldn't apologize.

Our group was dressed accordingly. Fancy blouses, dresses, styled hair. My dad wore a white button-up shirt, making my plain grey one seem like a lame attempt. I hadn't realized this was going to be such a big event. Everyone from the neighborhood seemed to occupy this house. There was hardly any room at all to breathe. Dad urged me to hang out with Ron and Mikey, telling me not to worry about anything else besides having a good time.

I obliged, giving my father Judith, and walking towards them. They both instantly welcomed me, asking where I'd been the past couple days. They seemed pretty serious about being our friends. I thought Jessie was just trying to include us.

"Is Cyn coming?" Ron asked, pushing his sleeves to his elbows.

I pushed my hair out of my eyes. "Uh, I'm not sure. She might be busy."

"So," Mikey started, attempting to hide a grin, "then, you guys aren't dating?"

I blinked. "No—we—we're not. Shes just my friend."

Ron nodded, motioning us towards some empty seats. He began dealing cards out. "So she's more like a sister, kind of?"

"No!" I half scoffed, half shouted. I lowered my voice now. "Judith is my only sister."

Ron waved over a few other neighbors I hadn't met yet. They seemed to be around our age range, and took no time in joining the circle to play. He gave me an understanding smile. At least what I thought to be an understanding smile.

"So, she's fair game?" He asked now.

I stumbled to find the right words as I placed one of my cards down, and grabbed a new one from the deck. I couldn't think of anything right to say, so I shook my head, and attempted to pop my neck.

"No, man, she doesn't want a boyfriend. She's not like that." I explained, trying to sound matter-of-fact.

Mikey collected all of the cards we'd put down. "Does she. . .like girls?"

Ron let out a gentle laugh. "That would be a plot twist."

They were being harmless. I knew that. But them talking about her in any romantic sense made me want to rip both of their heads clean off. It made me think back to the road, when that man had dragged her from the car. They weren't him. But they were talking about her like she was something to be passed around. I hated both of them right now.

"Don't bother." I said, my voice becoming softer. "She's been on the road longer than anybody. You couldn't handle her and she won't come close enough to let you try."

They dropped her after that. I had to admit, once actually in a game with them, they destroyed me. Over, and over again. It was practically cheating, once I thought about it. They knew all the good strategies, and I was the odd one out. All this time they'd been practicing endless matches, I had been fighting for my life. If I had the same amount of practice, I'd beat the shit out of them.

I beat Noah and Cyn in our card games all the time.

After loosing multiple matches, the game became boring. I decided on getting drinks for everyone while they shuffled for the next game. As might be expected, good as the water and flat sodas on the snack table seemed, they weren't actually why I left. I had desperately needed a break from the group. They were nice, but overbearing. It was odd being so welcomed in such a short amount of time. Everything felt forced.

Mikey and Ron were only being this way because their parents told them it was right. 'Be nice to the weird kids, i'm sure they've been through a lot', was probably exactly what they were told. I was in their position once, at the prison. A boy named Patrick arrived on a small bus, jampacked with other survivors. If it weren't for my Dad's relentless persistence in creating a friendship between us two, I could tell it would have never, in a million years, happened. Sure, Patrick was nice, but he was weak just like these people. Patrick was gone, now. All the weak were, besides the Alexandria citizens.

How long would it take, for a powerful person to storm inside and take it all away? Not much, was the answer.

When heading back to the living room, it was the initial laugh that tore me from my thoughts. The same laugh I had heard, back at the church. It was such a soft, pretty noise. It was one I would listen to forever, if I could. Tilting my head up, I caught sight of her across the room. She was accompanied by Enid. The two of them together, slapping a hand of cards down in front of the boys.

She looked really nice. She had on a frilly top that matched her green eyes, and a jean skirt. The very front strands of her hair were braided and tucked behind her ear, and I could instantly tell she'd gotten ready with Maggie. In the dim light, her cheeks looked rosier than usual, her eyes a little darker.

The boys faces went pale at the sight of Enid and Cyn's cards.

"Does this mean we win?" Her friend asked.

Cyn smiled, pointing up with a lazy finger. "Look at their faces, Enid."

Enid grinned, swiping Ron and Mikey's cards out of their hard grip. She then showed Cyn, the two of them laughed harder.

"We shit all over them." Enid remarked, looking genuinely suprised with their skills.

I felt myself smile at the two, celebrating their win.

"Hey, Carl." Ron waved.

I mumbled some profanities before walking back towards our spot. I felt her eyes burning into me. I didn't want to look up yet, and face her. Moments ago, she so was happy. I didn't want to see if my presence wiped all happiness from her expression.

"You forgot the drinks!" Mikey complained, shuffling the cards again.

I looked to my hands, realizing they were completely empty. After that prolonged amount of time, I was coming back empty handed. I looked stupid as fuck.

I sat down. "I got busy with the food assortment."

"Nah," Ron began to assure me. "It's fine. Why don't we all pick what we want?"

I nodded, standing up with them. We did just as he said, making our way around the drink table. Behind the alcoholic drinks I had first spotted, there were a few punch bowls. As I began scooping some of the red drink into my plastic cup, I felt her beside me. Not that we were physically touching, but more of my senses igniting.

"I'm sorry." I spoke quietly, pouring more.

She took interest in the blue one. I heard a small hum come from her. "For what, Carl?"

Her voice was so soft. It made my knees ache. So soft, but so angry.

I rolled my eyes. "You know what."

Please don't make me spell it out for you. Because, I will if you ask me to.

"It was worth a try." She exhaled. "I like hearing you apologize. You only do it once you realize you're screwed. But I forgive you."

I took a large gulp of the drink before placing it on the counter. "You do?"

Her hands curled around her own cup. "There's no point in being mad. You said you were sorry, didn't you?"

"Yeah, but I said some pretty shitty—"

"So did I." She drank from hers now. "And, I already said I forgive you. There's nothing else to it."

The others were already starting to head back, being that their drinks had been filled at this point. Neither of us followed.

"You're mad. I can tell."

Her tongue briefly swiped across her lip to clean the droplet that had dribbled from her cup. "Of course I'm mad. That doesn't change the fact that I can still be decent to you."

Decent. She had told me to be decent this morning—in a completely different context. I'd absent mindedly left my room without a shirt, and my pants had been hanging low on my hips.

The reminder was extremely embarrassing.

I leaned my head at the ceiling. I liked hearing her voice, even if she was directing it angrily at me. There was a bitter taste in my mouth and I wasn't sure why. It wasn't because of her. Maybe it was the fact that Ron and Mikey had just been talking about her like she was claimable.

"I'm sorry. I won't say stuff like that again, ever." I promised her.

"You will, but I'll probably forgive you anyways." She admitted. "Still, I'm not going to opt out on my job because you're sorry."

I groaned.

"I'll be fine, I always am." She protested, carefully studying my face.

I refilled my punch, and she quickly finished the blue drink, using the ladle to replenish hers.

"What happens if you don't come back?" I asked.

"It won't come to that."

Our conversation ended here, when the others called for us. She spared me a quick glance before walking forward, taking a seat near Enid. I joined the boys sitting across from them. It was so much different seeing her like this. The shells of our previous selves still resonated between our bones, only, it wasn't visible to the people surrounding us. They knew nothing of our hardships and therefore could not perceive us.

That fact alone was almost calming.

Time seemed to blur together as we all conversed, the artificial lightning buzzing quietly in my ears. The background noises drowned out, and my muscles relaxed a great deal. When I focused back in on the conversation, we were all in a game of 'Truth or Truth', laughing over each-others stories and confessions.

It started with simple questions. Ones like, favorite colors, or where we all grew up. I had learned that Mikey originally lived In Florida, before him and his father came down to visit family. That's when things went bad. As for Ron, he had always lived here. He never once stepped outside the gates, or had even gotten close enough with walker to smell the putrid death radiating off of it. Enid was from Ohio. Then, there was Cyn. She was from the outskirts of Atlanta, similar to me.

I was actually feeling a bit glad that we were the new ones. They didn't know us as well, so they directed more questions towards us. It was a chance to get to know the girl in front of me better, without having to push. And for once, she wasn't trying to hold back. She was actually sharing quite a bit, which was extremely unusual of her.

Enid accidentally split her punch, prompting Ron to offer to refill all our cups.

"Okay," Mikey led the next question, "Carl, you for one?"

"Sure." I agreed, leaning back. This couch felt heavily against my aching muscles. I thought that I could fall asleep right here, if I tried.

"How different is it past the walls now, from the beginning?" He asked me.

Nothing was left for any of us. I recalled the explosions back while my family and I were stuck in the Atlanta traffic. The night sky was glowing with orange toxins.

Thinking about it felt fuzzy. I wondered if any of that was actually real, or if it gotten it wrong in my head.

"I don't know, man. Quieter, I guess. Not lots of people are left." My words left my mouth easier than normal.

His face dropped. This forced Cyn to cut in. "But, you're all here. That means there could be more people like us. Right, Carl?"

Why was she trying to make them feel better? It was completely hopeless out there. Everything was rubble and death. Cyn just admitted today that she'd lost everyone she loved to the outside world.

"Yeah." I nodded, suddenly feeling rude for being so honest. "Right."

When Ron came back, the cups were quivering slightly in his hand, and he had a hard time finding a comfortable seat. We all noticed his usual behavior, paused, and waited for whatever bomb he was about to drop.

Had the dead broke through the gates? Were they stumbling towards the Monroe residence, right now?

"I just heard Deanna tell someone that the punch is spiked with Vodka."

I counted my cups on the ground. Suddenly, all of my zoning out and dissociation made sense. From what I'd been told, alcohol did that. Made you feel comfortable, and warm.

Enid breathed a laugh, "Actually?"

"I knew it tasted weird." Cyn said, seemingly unbothered.

"Shit." Enid seemed amused by this. More so, Mikey's worried expression. "How many cups did you have, Mikey?"

"Uh, I stopped keeping track after the fifth refill. My dad is going to kill me."

"None of the adults are coming home sober. You're fine." She replied.

Even so, he continued to become an anxious wreck. He claimed the effects of alcohol at our age would screw with our brains. It couldn't have nearly been as detrimental as the world ending. Whatever vodka that had been poured into the punch was nothing compared to the effects of being forced to survive for so long. Seeing our parents die, and watching the dead devour the living.

"Drink some water, Mikey. If you take a pain reliever, your head won't hurt so bad in the morning." Cyn comforted the panicked boy.

She stood up, her steps bit uneven as she made her way outside, telling us that it was too loud and that she wanted some fresh air. It could have been the intense buzz I felt, which made me desperately want to follow her outside; or, it may have just been from the annoyance Mikey was suddenly causing me to feel.

After watching her slide the glass door back, melting into the darkness, I decided on standing up. Looking around the room, the party was still in full action. It was rowdier now. I followed her previous steps, weaving past people before reaching the handle. Sliding it back and stepping past, I felt the sudden rush of air. It set the hairs on my arms standing straight up, even with the barrier my long sleeve created. It was only a breeze, but overtook my body completely.

Another wave of this same feeling ran over me, when looking at her. I didn't understand it. My mind ran blank. It always did, when I stared long enough. I wanted her to stop haunting my mind. My dreams. My every waking thought. God, how badly I wanted it to stop.

"How did you know about the water and medicine?" I asked, joining her on the porch steps.

She didn't protest when I stumbled down right beside her.

"My dad drank a lot. Pretty much every night."

Tell me more.Tell me everything.

She continued without me having to beckon her words. "Back at the hospital, after Beth—you saw that bruise on me? The one Dawn had given me?"

I nodded, looking to her cheekbone and remembering the discoloration. I could still feel the anger that it caused within me. The burning in my chest.

"My dad did lots of that. Mostly when he was drinking, but sometimes, without the alcohol."

My grip loosened on the edge of the step. Her eyes looked so incredibly sad. I wanted to make it better. I wanted to take all her pain away.

"How?" I asked.

She twisted her head. "What do you mean?"

I placed my arms on my knees, trying not to reach out and touch her. "How did nobody ever notice?"

I thought her chin may have trembled when she said, "He was a pastor. Nobody expected it from him. I was never brave enough to say anything."

Suddenly, the nickname she preferred made a little more sense to me. Cyn. I bet she used it, because her Dad never called her by that three letter alias. It sounded too much like sin, and, as a symbol of the church, he must have only ever referred to his daughter as Cynthia.

That was why she preferred the latter.

"You killed him." I said, "That's brave enough."

She buried her head in her bruised knees. "And if hell is real, I'll see him there, and he'll show me just how much it amounts to."

"You're not going to hell, and he's never going to hurt you again."

She looked up at me now. "He does in my dreams."

If only she knew how much she haunted mine. Not just my dreams, but my entire narrative.

"I have nightmares, too." I stated.

Her gaze softened. "What about?"

"Sometimes, it's just the dead. Their eyes. Others, it's my mom, squeezing my hand as Maggie cuts Judith from her—"

Cyn's brows knit together, sympathy coating her face as she placed her hand on mine. "I'm so sorry, Carl."

"But most of the time," I continued, "it's you. Always right out of reach. You die every night, and I can never stop it."

Her face became unreadable, hand gently moving away from mine. Her eyes darted, trying to make sense of my own gaze.

"You—" She was clearly trying to find the right words.

She grabbed her wrist, rubbing it lightly as if she didn't know what else to do with her hands. I couldn't tell if she was uncomfortable, if she felt pity for me, or if she was thinking I'd lost all composure completely. I ran my hand through my hair, then adjusted my sleeves back down.

"You said you didn't care anymore." She finally spoke. "What changed?"

I cared about her. Too much, maybe.

"Nothing." I told her, my hand traveling towards my jeans. I took the small item within the pocket, an instant look of shock spreading over the girl's expression when I opened my palm. The ring of hers I'd kept. "Nothing changed, okay? I lied."

Her gaze lingered, fingers grazing mine as she took hold of it.

The small piece of jewelry turned in her hands. Her eyes remained unreadable. "You've had it this whole time?"

I closed my palm, throwing my shoulders back. "Sorry for holding onto it. Noah gave it to me back at the church, when everyone thought you were. . . you know. Gone."

"My sister gave it to me." She admitted. "Begged my mom for a couple quarters just to get something out of the machine. Came back with this, all smiley and excited, but it didn't fit. Her fingers were too small."

The words building on my tongue failed to release. I subsided to the silence, instead. Hearing this caused a numbness to spread throughout my body, a newfound heaviness present in my limbs.

"How old was she?" I asked.

"Nine." The reply was fast. "She was only nine."

I knew exactly how Cyn felt. I remembered the feeling of thinking Judith was gone forever. Of seeing the bloodied carrier, and believing that I would never hold her again.

A glassy reflection was building near her waterline. A crease cut between her eyebrows, deepening. Then, her head going down again. I hated when she did this. Hid how she felt. My hand moved to lift her face up. Our eyes connected, and I could now see the tears previously rimming her eyes had broken loose.

She let out a shaken sigh, shutting her eyes tightly, as my hand departed.

"Hey—" I began, though, was stopped by the sudden impact of her body clinging to mine.

Before I knew what was happening, her face was pressed in the nook of my shoulder. I took a breath, and she used this action to sink further into my chest. She gripped my shirt tight, and I hesitated, my arms hovering over her before I let them rest against her back.

Something inside of her, under all her hardened layers, was made of pure delicacy. For the first time, I was able to feel it. Understand it. It made me want to be gentle, too. To be merciful, but not forgetful. Holding her like this made me understand the parts of her I hadn't yet reached. It provided me something.

A realization, that I didn't want her to let go.

When she finally brought herself backwards, we could only hold contact, with our eyes. The contrast of our two colors, the flickering stare we shared, as we scanned one another over.

She was different. Nothing compared to her. No one. Whatever I felt, I didn't understand it. None of it made sense. Until, we were in situations like these. Moments, feeling slowed. A sense of confusion; longing. Little space could be found between our faces. Only a small gap, really. I could hear her shortened breathing. Feel the soft tickle of it, as we shared a breath inwards.

My chest constricted, like it would burst apart if we got any closer. Suspended air caught near the top of my throat. Our foreheads pressing against one another, with a close in distance. Eyelids fluttering downwards, my lips grazed against hers. She lingered here for a bit of time, before adding a touch of pressure.

Afterwards, a soft exhale from the both of us. Our lips parting, almost as slow as they had connected.

· • —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·6,040 words • 5:01 am

hello😁. uh- hi hi hi hi. what else do i say?

i'm scared of people's opinions on this chapter....but go ahead and LMK 😭😭>>>>>

thank you guys for reading! sorry for the wait, i've been on vacation! I got to visit Forks, Washington (twilight fans unite), but it was not worth the hype tbh. REALLY run down town, filled with rednecks. THE BEACHES THO...OMG THEY WERE LITERALLY SO PRETTY.

okay, rant over. i am going to go finish the twilight saga again, now that it's finally on Netflix :))))

sincerely yours,𝓜 ᥫ᭡.