Chapter 14

The morning after the storm settled, leaving the air clear, as if the world was trying to pretend that nothing significant had happened in that tiny cabin. Charlotte woke with her lips still tingling from memory and Carl's taste lingering in her mouth like a secret she couldn't swallow.

She'd been avoiding him all morning, but when Denise asked her to get back some antibiotics that Carl had apparently forgotten to drop off the night before, she had no choice but to knock on his bedroom door.

"Come in," his voice called, slightly muffled.

Charlotte pushed open the door to find Carl sitting on his bed, cleaning his rifle with careful precision. He looked up when she entered, and she watched color creep up his neck above the collar of his flannel shirt.

"Hey," he said, his voice coming out rougher than usual. He cleared his throat, swiping a bit of stray hair out of his face, eyes wandering over hers. "What, uh... what d'you need?"

There was something endearing about the way he stumbled over the words, his usual confidence nowhere to be found. Charlotte leaned against the doorframe, studying him, her eyes narrowing ever so slightly. "Denise sent me. Says you forgot to bring her those antibiotics from yesterday's run."

"Right. Yeah. The-the antibiotics." Carl set down his rifle and stood up abruptly, nearly knocking over the cleaning kit. "They're, uh..." He gestured vaguely around the room. "...Somewhere."

Charlotte raised an eyebrow at his scattered demeanor. This was not the same boy who'd kissed her breathless less than twenty-four hours ago. She felt she had an idea why he was acting so strange. She smirked, raising an eyebrow. "You alright, Carl? You seem a little... off."

The color in his cheeks deepened. "I'm fine. Just tired."

"Mmm." Charlotte pushed off from the doorframe and stepped further into his room, her eyes scanning the space. It was neat, organized, but had a bit too much in it that made the room seem cluttered. But there, on his desk, something caught her attention. A small wooden horse, carved with careful detail, sitting among his other things like it belonged there.

Her breath caught, brows furrowing as she moved toward it without thinking, her fingers reaching out to touch the smooth wood. "Where'd you get this?"

Carl followed her gaze and his expression softened slightly. "I, uh... I made it. Long time ago."

Charlotte picked up the carving, turning it over in her hands. The crafting was careful, loving, the work of someone who'd taken time to get every detail right. "You made this?"

"Yeah. Back when..." Carl ran a hand through his hair, and Charlotte noticed the way it stuck up at odd angles, he'd been doing that a lot lately. His hair peeked through his freckled fingertips before resting on the back of his neck, refusing to meet her eyes. "Back when we were at the prison. Before everything went to shit."

Before Maggie died. The words hung unspoken between them.

Charlotte's thumb traced over the horse's carved mane, and suddenly she was thirteen again, watching Carl work on this very piece during those quiet moments at the prison. He'd been so focused, his tongue poked out slightly as he concentrated on getting the details just right. She remembered asking him what it was for, and he'd gotten that shy look and mumbled something about 'how everyone should have something nice in a world full of ugly things.'

"I remember this," she said softly, surprised by the emotion in her own voice, she quickly cleared her throat, the next words sounding more like herself. "You spent weeks on it."

Carl was watching her carefully now, his earlier flustered state replaced by something more intense. "You do?" His voice pitched up an octave in question, shocked that she'd remembered such a small detail for such a long time.

"'Course I remember." Charlotte looked up at him, confused by the weight in his voice. "Why wouldn't I?"

"Because you act like those days never happened. Like we were never—" Carl stopped himself, jaw clenching. His voice was quieter now, like he was finally letting himself be upset about it. "Like we were never friends."

Charlotte felt something twist in her chest. She set the horse back down on his desk, her fingers lingering on the wood. "We were kids then."

"So?" Carl's voice was getting sharper, his drawl more pronounced. "Don't mean it didn't matter."

"Don't it, though?" Charlotte turned to face him fully, her own accent thickening the way it always did when she was getting defensive. "We ain't those kids anymore, Carl. Too much has happened. We've changed."

"Have we?" Carl stepped closer, and Charlotte could see the frustration building in his expression. "Because yesterday in that cabin—"

"Yesterday was a mistake," Charlotte cut him off, but her voice lacked conviction.

Carl laughed, but there was no humor in it. His eyebrows were furrowed and his eye icy as he finally let himself meet hers. He wet his lips before speaking again. "A mistake. Right. You keep sayin' that."

"Because it's true!-"

"Is it?" Carl was close enough now that Charlotte could smell that stupid scent again, could see the flecks of silver in his eyes. "Because the way you kissed me back sure didn't feel like a mistake."

Charlotte felt heat creep up her neck. "I was scared and cold and—"

"And what? Just happened to grab onto me like your life depended on it?" Carl's voice was getting rougher, more challenging. "Just happened to bite my lip like you wanted to devour me whole?" His face scrunched up a bit at the weird sound of his words.

"Carl—"

"Just happened to make that little sound when I touched you, like you'd been waitin' for it?" He tilted his head, looking oddly like Rick.

Charlotte's cheeks flamed, looking everywhere but his piercing gaze. "Stop."

"Why? 'Cause it makes you uncomfortable hearin' the truth?"

"Because you're bein' ridiculous," Charlotte snapped, but she couldn't quite meet his eyes. "It was just... adrenaline or whatever!"

Carl stepped even closer, backing her against his desk. "Adrenaline." He deadpanned.

"That's right."

"So if I kissed you right now, you wouldn't feel anything?"

Charlotte's breath caught. The carved horse was digging into her back where she was pressed against the desk, and Carl was so close she could see the subtle movement of his chest as he breathed. Don't look at his lips. Don't look at his lips. Don't look-

"You wouldn't," she said, but it came out as more of a whisper than the challenge she'd intended it to be.

"Wouldn't what? Kiss you?" Carl's hands came up to brace on either side of her against the desk, effectively trapping her. "Or wouldn't feel anything?"

Charlotte's heart was hammering against her ribs. "Both."

Carl's eyes dropped to her mouth, and his adam's apple bobbed, swallowing thickly. "You sure about that?"

"Positive," Charlotte lied, gaze flickering as her voice wavered.

"Then why are you shakin'?"

Charlotte looked down and realized her hands were indeed trembling where they gripped the edge of the desk behind her. "I'm not—"

"You are." Carl's voice was softer now, but no less intense, his eye mirroring hers. "And you keep lookin' at my mouth like you want me to prove you wrong..."

"I do not—"

"You do." Carl leaned in closer, his breath ghosting across her lips. "You've been doin' it all mornin'. Whenever you think I'm not lookin'. I am though, why wouldn't I be?" His voice was lower now, rougher as his eye darted between both of hers.

Charlotte's defenses crumbled under his scrutiny. "So what if I have? Don't mean nothin'."

"Don't it?"

"No." But the word came out breathless, unconvincing.

Carl's hand came up to cup her face, his thumb brushing across her cheek. "Then why's your heart beatin' so damn fast? Hm?"

Charlotte tried to think of a sharp retort, something that would put distance between them, but her mind had gone blank. All she could focus on was the warmth of his palm against her skin, the way he was looking at her like she was something intriguing and dangerous all at once.

"No comeback?" Carl's voice held a hint of teasing now, a sultry whisper. And that snapped Charlotte back to herself.

"Stop," she warned.

"Stop what?"

"Stop getting cocky just because you can make me—" She stopped herself before she could finish the sentence, eyes darting everywhere but his face, scared that if she looked, she'd never be able to look away.

"Make you what?" Carl's thumb traced along her jawline. "Shut up for once? Want things you keep tellin' yourself you shouldn't want?"

Charlotte glared at him, even as her skin burned under his touch. "You're awful sure of yourself."

"I'm sure of this," Carl said, his other hand coming up to brush a blond lock out of her face, her eyes snapping up to his one. "I'm sure of the way you look at me when you think no one's watchin'. I'm sure of the way you kissed me back yesterday."

"Carl—"

"I'm sure of the way you're lookin' at me right now, like you want me to shut you up and kiss you but you're too damn stubborn to admit it."

Charlotte's breath was coming in short bursts now, her chest rising and falling unsteadily. She was right before. She couldn't look away. "You don't know what I want."

"Don't I?" Carl's face was inches from hers now, his voice dropping to a whisper as his nose nearly brushed against hers. "Tell me I'm wrong, Charlotte. Tell me you don't want this, and I'll back off right now."

Charlotte stared up at him, her mouth suddenly dry. She should tell him to back off. She should push him away and storm out of his room and never look back. She should protect herself from whatever this was turning into.

Instead, she heard herself whisper, not knowing what else to say. "I hate you."

Carl's eye darkened, the crease in his eyebrow softening slightly. "I know."

"I hate that you make me feel things I don't wanna."

"I know."

"I hate that I can't stop thinkin' about yesterday."

"Charlotte—"

"I hate that you're right," she said, the words coming out in a rush, spilling out of her mouth before she could stop them. "I hate that I do want this, even though it's stupid and complicated and gonna end badly for both of us."

Carl's grip on her face tightened slightly, chin tilting down, forehead nearly resting against hers. "Then stop thinkin' and let me kiss you."

"This is a bad idea," Charlotte breathed, even as she leaned her face up toward him.

"Probably the worst I've ever had," Carl agreed, quiet, breathless. He barely let himself finish his sentence before his mouth was on hers.

This kiss was different from the one in the cabin. Where that had been desperate and hungry, this was slow and thorough, like Carl was trying to memorize the taste of her. His lips moved against hers with careful precision, and when Charlotte sighed into his mouth, he deepened the kiss gradually, giving her time to pull away if she wanted to.

She didn't want to.

Charlotte's hands rested on his chest, stilling for a short moment like she wasn't sure if she wanted to push him away or pull him closer. Her hands fisted in his flannel as she kissed him back with everything she'd been holding back. Carl made a low sound in the back of his throat, and his hands slid from her face down to her waist, lifting her slightly so she was sitting on the edge of his desk, the wooden horse being forgotten and knocked over.

The change in position brought them even closer together, and Charlotte could feel the heat radiating from his body, could faintly taste coffee he'd had that morning. She remembered how when they were younger, he would only drink it to stay awake and help out more. She couldn't help but wonder if he'd grown to like it now, or if he still did that.

"Charlotte," Carl murmured against her mouth, and her name sounded different when he said it like that, rougher, more intimate, his hands trembling slightly where they gripped her hips.

"Stop talking," she whispered back, her hands sliding up to tangle in his dark curls, peeking through her fingertips in that same spiky motion. "Just... don't talk."

Carl's response was to kiss her deeper, harder, until Charlotte felt like she was drowning in the sensation. His tongue traced along her lower lip, and when she parted her lips, the kiss turned desperate again, all her previous want to pull away forgotten.

Charlotte's legs wrapped around his waist, pulling him closer, and Carl groaned at the contact. His hands slid up her back, one tangling in her hair while the other pressed her more firmly against him.

They kissed until they were both breathing hard, until Charlotte's lips felt swollen and Carl's hair was completely disheveled from her fingers running through it. When they finally broke apart, both of them were flushed and trembling.

"Jesus," Carl panted, his forehead resting against hers, icy blue eye low lidded.

Charlotte could feel his heart pounding against her chest, or maybe it was his, she couldn't really tell. She could see the way his pupils were blown wide with want. Her own body was humming with electricity, every nerve buzzing with adrenaline.

"This can't happen again," she whispered, even as her hands remained fisted in his shirt, eyes searching his face, remaining a bit too long on his lips compared to what she was saying.

"Why not?" Carl's voice was rough, strained, like he'd been days without water.

"Because..." Charlotte tried to think of all the reasons, but with Carl's body pressed against hers and his scent surrounding her, coherent thoughts seemed impossible. "Because it just can't."

"That's not a reason, that's an excuse."

"It's the only reason you're gettin'," Charlotte said, but she made no move to push him away.

Carl studied her face for a long moment, his thumb tracing along her swollen bottom lip, before pulling away like it burned. "You're scared."

"I ain't scared of nothing."

"You're scared of this."

Charlotte wanted to deny it, but the words died in her throat. Because he wasn't wrong. She was terrified of what this feeling growing between them might mean, of what it might cost her, of how much it might hurt when it inevitably ends.

"Charlotte," Carl said softly, and there was something vulnerable in his voice that made her chest ache. He opened his mouth to speak again, but before he could say anything else, the sound of footsteps in the hallway made them both freeze. They sprang apart just as Rick's voice called from downstairs.

"Carl! You up here? We need to talk!"

Carl ran a hand through his disheveled hair, trying to smooth it down. "Yeah, Dad. I'll be right there."

Charlotte slid off the desk, her legs feeling unsteady. She smoothed down her shirt and tried to ignore the way Carl was looking at her, like he wanted to pull her back into his arms and forget the rest of the world existed, but they couldn't do that.

"The antibiotics," she said suddenly, remembering why she'd come here in the first place.

"Right." Carl moved to his dresser and pulled out a small bottle, a few green and white pills inside, holding it out to her. When she reached for it, their fingers brushed, and Charlotte felt that same electric jolt she'd been trying to ignore.

"Carl!" Rick's voice was getting closer, growing impatient probably.

"I should go," Charlotte said, clutching the bottle, eyes darting everywhere but him.

"Charlotte, wait—"

But she was already walking toward the door, not trusting herself to stay in his room for another second without doing something they'd both regret. Or something she'd tell herself she regretted, anyway.

"This doesn't change anything," she said hushed so his dad didn't hear, without turning around.

"Doesn't it?" Carl's voice was quiet, but she heard him clearly.

Charlotte paused in the doorway, her hand on the frame. For a moment, she considered turning around, considered admitting that maybe it changed everything. Instead, she walked away, leaving Carl standing alone in his room with the taste of her still on his lips and the echo of her words hanging in the air between them.

But as she made her way downstairs and out of the house, Charlotte couldn't shake the feeling that she was lying to herself again. And this time, the lie felt more dangerous than any truth she'd ever faced.