Chapter 5

3 weeks later...

Five days. Five days without food, and Charlotte could feel her body starting to give up on her. Her hands shook as she gripped the cell bars, her vision blurring at the edges, but her voice was still strong enough to echo through the small room she was cramped in, maybe even further past the gate that held her here.

"LET ME OUT!" she screamed for what felt like the thousandth time. "LET ME THE FUCK OUT OF HERE!"

Her throat was raw, her lips cracked, but she kept going. Sleep had become impossible, every time she closed her eyes, she saw Carl's face, heard his voice telling her they'd searched for her. The lies made her sick.

"I'LL STARVE MYSELF TO DEATH BEFORE I STAY IN HERE!" she yelled, throwing her water cup against the wall. It clattered to the floor, adding to the mess of overturned food trays she'd been refusing.

Footsteps approached, and she looked up to see Daryl and Rick standing outside her cell, both looking haggard.

"Charlotte, you need to eat," Rick said sternly.

"Go to hell." She raised her arm, flipping them off with a scowl.

"You're gonna kill yourself," Daryl added, his voice gruff but concerned.

"Good. Maybe then you'll feel guilty enough to stop lying about giving a shit. Oh wait. I'll be dead, maybe you'll be so convinced you'll start feeding them to yourself!" She screamed, banging her bruised arms against the bars that caged her.

Rick and Daryl exchanged a look. Charlotte had lost weight she couldn't afford to lose, her face gaunt and her movements becoming increasingly erratic.

"We need to talk," Daryl muttered to Rick, pulling him aside.

Charlotte strained to hear their whispered conversation.

"She's gonna die in there," Daryl said bluntly. "And if she's dead, she's no help to us. Can't tell us anything 'bout Negan, about the Sanctuary, about their operations. We need that, people here are goin' hungry, Rick."

Rick looked sceptical. "We can't just let her out. She'll run."

"Then we watch her. Put her to work, keep someone on her at all times. But she needs to eat, and she needs to move around, or we're gonna be burying another eighteen-year-old girl."

Rick was quiet for a moment, looking back at Charlotte who was now sitting against the wall, staring at nothing.

"Fine. But someone watches her every second."

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A week passed in a blur of supervised labor and constant surveillance. Charlotte found herself assigned to farming duties, her hands back in the dirt for the first time in years. It should have felt familiar, she'd done this before, back when life was simpler at the farm. Instead, it just reminded her of everything she'd lost.

Carl seemed to be her most frequent shadow, which she assumed was some kind of punishment for both of them, she wasn't really sure why he was being punished though. They rarely spoke, the tension between them thick enough to cut.

Charlotte was pulling weeds from the vegetable garden, grumbling about something incoherent when she heard the rumble of vehicles approaching Alexandria's gates, though she only recognised them as some random settlement's ones. Multiple trucks, engines too well-maintained for most survivor groups.

She froze, recognizing the sound immediately.

"Saviors," she whispered to herself, voice laced with hope, straightening up.

Carl was beside her in an instant, his hand moving to his gun on his holster. "What?"

"Those are Savior trucks." Charlotte's voice was getting louder, excited. "Negan's here for collection!"

Before Carl could react, Charlotte was on her feet, running toward the gates. "NEGAN!" she screamed. "NEGAN, I'M HERE!"

Strong arms caught her around the waist, lifting her off her feet. Carl hauled her backward as she fought against him.

"Let me go! He's here! He came for me!"

"Charlotte, stop—"

"NEGAN!" she screamed again, kicking at Carl's legs. "I'M IN HERE! HELP–"

Daryl appeared at Carl's side, his face grim. "Saviors are at the gate. I gotta go deal with this." He looked at Charlotte, who was still struggling in Carl's grip. "Get her out of here. Now."

"Where—"

"I don't care where! Just make sure Negan doesn't see her!"

Carl adjusted his grip on Charlotte, who was thrashing like a wild animal. "Come on, we're going to my room."

"NO!" Charlotte drove her elbow back into his ribs. "I want to see him! I want to go home!"

"Not happening." Carl started dragging her toward the house, her feet barely touching the ground.

"PUT ME DOWN!" Charlotte's voice was reaching a fever pitch, face red as she writhed. "NEGAN! NEGAN, HELP ME!"

Carl managed to get her inside the house and up the stairs, but her screaming hadn't stopped. If anything, it was getting louder.

"THEY'RE HOLDING ME PRISONER! NEGAN!"

"Shit, shit, shit," Carl muttered, hauling her into his bedroom. "Charlotte, you need to be quiet—"

"I DON'T NEED TO BE ANYTHING!" she screamed, throwing herself against his door. "NEGAN!"

Heavy footsteps echoed from downstairs, and Carl's blood ran cold. A familiar voice, smooth and commanding, drifted up from below.

"Well, well. What's all that screaming about? Someone having a bad day?"

Negan. He was in the house.

Carl grabbed Charlotte's arm, pulling her toward his closet. "We need to hide. Now."

"No!" Charlotte tried to pull away. "I want to see him!"

"He can't see you here, he'll fucking kill us!"

The footsteps were coming up the stairs now. Carl made a desperate decision, lifting Charlotte off her feet and carrying her into the closet despite her protests.

"Get off me!" she hissed as he pulled the door shut behind them.

The closet was small, cramped, forcing them closer together than they'd been in years. Carl pressed his back against one wall, Charlotte trapped between him and the other. In the darkness, he could hear her breathing, fast and angry.

"If you make a sound, I'll—" Carl started to whisper.

"You'll what?" Charlotte's voice was barely audible but filled with venom.

Carl's response was to press his knife against her neck, not hard enough to cut but firm enough to make his point clear. His other hand came up to cover her mouth.

"I'll do whatever I have to," he breathed in her ear.

Charlotte went rigid against him, her eyes wide in the darkness. The knife was cold against her soft skin, his hand warm over her mouth. She could feel his chest rising and falling against her back, could smell the soap he used, not as nice as the one she used to use, but she hadn't had a shower in weeks now.

The bedroom door opened.

"Hello?" Negan's voice filled the room, casual but curious, chucking slightly. "Anyone home?"

Charlotte's heart was pounding so hard she was sure he'd hear it, she wanted it to beat louder for that very reason, she tried to speak, cry out to let Negan find her and she could finally go home. But Carl's grip on her mouth tightened, his knife steady borderline threatening. She could feel every point of contact between them, his chest against her shoulders, his arm around her waist, his breath on her neck.

"Huh. Could've sworn I heard someone screaming their little fuckin' lungs out," Negan mused aloud. They could hear him moving around the room, opening drawers, though that was kind of stupid, checking behind furniture.

Charlotte found herself hyperaware of Carl's body pressed against hers. Five years apart, and he was still taller than her, still broader. But there was something else now, something that made her stomach flutter in a way that had nothing to do with fear or anger.

The hand over her mouth was so suctioned to her face it was air tight, his thumb accidentally brushing against her cheek. She could feel his heartbeat against her back, almost as fast as her own.

"Must be hearing things," Negan said finally. "Getting old, I guess,"

The bedroom door closed, and they heard his footsteps retreating down the stairs, along with mumbling something about Charlotte.

Neither of them moved for several long moments. Carl's knife had lowered, no longer pressed against her, but his arm was still around her waist. Charlotte could feel the heat radiating from his body in the small space.

In the darkness, with adrenaline still coursing through both of them, something had shifted. The anger was still there, but underneath it was something else. Something that made Charlotte's skin tingle where he touched her, made Carl's breathing hitch when she shifted against him.

"Charlotte—" he started, his voice rough.

She turned in his arms, and suddenly they were face to face in the cramped space. She could barely make out his features in the darkness, but she could feel his breath on her lips.

"I hate you," she whispered.

"I know," he whispered back.

But she didn't pull away. Neither did he.

For a moment that stretched between them like a held breath, they stayed frozen like that. Close enough to kiss, close enough to kill, close enough to fall back into whatever they'd been to each other before their worlds had ended.

Then Charlotte shoved him hard in the chest, bursting out of the closet.

"Get away from me!" she snarled, but there was something different in her voice now. Something shaken.

"Charlotte—"

"Don't!" She backed away from him, her chest heaving. "Don't you dare say my name like that!"

Carl stepped out of the closet, his hair mussed, his shirt wrinkled, which he quickly fixed. "I was trying to protect you—"

"Protect me?" Charlotte's voice was rising again. "From who? From Negan?" She paused, something clicking into place. "Wait. Why was Negan here? This is..." she paused, eyes slowly going wider, lips parting.

"...this is Alexandria." She huffed out quietly.

Carl nodded slowly, slightly confused.

"Alexandria," Charlotte repeated, the pieces falling into place. "That's why he wouldn't let me come on collection runs here. That's why he always said this place was off-limits for me."

"Charlotte—"

"He knew," she said, her voice hollow. "He knew I'd see you all. He knew I'd find out the truth."

The revelation hit her like a physical blow. Negan had kept her away from Alexandria specifically. Not to protect her, but to maintain his lie. To keep her from learning that they really had searched for her, that they'd never stopped trying to find her.

"How long?" she asked quietly. "How long have you known I was alive?"

Carl's silence was an answer enough.

"You knew," she whispered. "You all knew, and you never tried to get me back."

"We tried everything—"

"Not hard enough!" The anger was back, but it was different now. Desperate. Broken. "Not hard enough, because I was there, Carl! I was right there, and you never came!"

She ran for the door, but Carl caught her arm.

"Let me go!" she screamed. "Let me go back to him! At least he wanted me!"

"He didn't want you," Carl said fiercely. "He used you. He lied to you. He kept you away from us because he knew we'd never stop trying to bring you home."

Charlotte stared at him, tears streaming down her face. "This isn't my home, It never has been."

"It could be."

"No," she said quietly. "It couldn't. Too much has happened. Too much has changed."

She pulled free from his grip and walked out of the room, leaving Carl alone with the memory of her body pressed against his and the knowledge that he was losing her all over again.