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M E G A N

"Megan?"

"Hm?"

"You awake?"

My groggy body haphazardly rolls over on its side, as I don't bother to open my eyes. "I am now."

The restless night of sleep I'd gotten has been dragging out my rest a lot longer than that of Carl's. Something of a hot sweat is what kept me subtly thrashing about, during the night. As for Carl, I can't seem to remember how long ago he'd gotten up to grab the pen and paper that he's been quietly scribbling on.

"Sorry." The boy chuckles. "I just—I have a question."

I tilt my head backward, looking up to Carl. The boy remains upside down in my vision, a result of my pillow being his very own outstretched leg, and my bedding being the familiar floor we'd shared together once before. This morning's greetings also being the result of last night's rendezvous for old time's sake.

My upward gaze, from his lap, groggily anticipates the question at hand.

"It's kind of," Carl meets my gaze, tearing his focus away from the pen in his hand and the notebook balancing on his other knee. "Weird."

I allow my eyes to flutter closed, as I release a sigh. "How weird can it be, considering we just slept togeth—"

"How do you spell your name?" The boy's words flow out, amidst his heavy sigh.

My eyes open, staring straight at the boy's nonchalant expression, leading me to believe that his question is not his idea of a joke. "What?"

"Is there an H somewhere in there? Or is it j—"

"Wait," A sharp chuckle leaves from between my lips. "You're being serious?"

Carl says nothing, but emits a shy nod as he looks down at me.

"Didn't you see my name when you read my file?"

"That was before," The boy hesitates, motioning to the bandage that lies across the jagged surface of his missing eye, with his ink pen in-hand. "Before—you know. There's still so many small things that I can't seem to remember. No matter how hard I try."

A small amount of unexpected guilt washes through me, the same feeling I'd felt every single day, during Carl's long recovery. I'd somehow forgotten how it tore me apart to avoid the boy for such a time. A time where he needed me most and I willingly—repeatedly failed to be there for him.

In my moment of remorseful silence, my gaze has found itself locked on Carl's remaining blue iris. He, as well, stares down at me, a sympathetic look on his face as he didn't intend to speak on such a heavy topic. But it was my oblivious joking that pulled the hint of darkness out of him.

In a weird way, another hint of darkness is what my eyes seem to notice about Carl, this morning. Except this particular overcast is expressed in the form of a few washed-out, slightly purple bags underneath his eye. The unfamiliar sight soon turns into a bit of concern when I realize the gravity that takes over the rest of the formerly plush skin of his face.

Using my waist, I hoist my body to the side and lie on my stomach. My propped-up elbows allow me an upright view of a very washed-out Carl. "Did you get any sleep last night?"

The boy takes a moment before he hesitantly shakes his head.

"Why not?" My eyebrows furrow.

"I don't know." Carl shrugs, with a sigh. "I just couldn't sleep."

My mind traces back to a restless sleep of my own, a result of a random night of being taunted with the hot sweats. The boy'd not moved the whole night, except for his every conformance to the shape of my thrashing body, which allowed him a consistently comforting hold on me.

Carl's warm body pressed against my own is something I never fail to find comfort in. But as I feel the burning heat that radiates from the boy's leg, traveling an inch or so through the air and brushing up against the back of my hand, I realize that he's almost too warm. And that his excessive heat was the reason for my resting discomfort.

My eyebrows furrow, as I quickly rise to my knees and begin placing my hands all over the boy's burning skin. "God, Carl." The boy's fatigued muscles tighten under my every movement, as he begins to whack away at my hands. "You feel l—like an oven."

"It's fine, Megan." The boy shakes his head, grabbing my wrist and pulling my hand away from the skin of his forehead. "I don't need you playing doctor, right now. Okay?"

"You haven't slept—" My throat emits no noise for a few flustered moments, as it takes a few moments for my mind to absorb the subtle insult that was just thrown my way. "And your fever is so high, you practically baked me in my sleep. Why didn't you tell me that you didn't feel well?"

Carl gathers his expression and collectively turns it into a stern one, as he makes sure to look deep into my eyes. "Because I feel fine."

"You don't look fine." I shake my wrist out of his grip, using my thumb to wipe at the few droplets of sweat that bead atop the bagginess under the boy's heavy eye. Removing my hand from his face, I place my palm on the floor, readying myself to stand from our spot in the corner. "Why don't you try and get some sleep? And I'll go get something to lower your fev—"

Carl, once again, gently grabs at my wrist, preventing me from going anywhere. "You need to save it."

"Save what?"

"The medicine." The boy furrows his eyebrow. He take a moment before tightening his lips and releasing sigh. "Just—I don't need it. Okay?"

My eyes squint at yet another example of the boy's suspicious behavior. I've always known Carl to be stubborn and to feel inexplicably threatened, but never by something as silly as the obvious need for an over-the-counter pill. "Why not?"

"I can deal with a little fever." The frustrated boy starts. "We need to save the medicine for people who actually need it."

I furrow my eyebrows. "But you clearly n—"

"Can we just drop this?" Carl sighs through his distraughtly parted lips.

My response is nothing but a suspicious glance and an empty sigh.

The boy shakes his head. "Why don't we both just try and get some sleep? Would that make you feel better?"

My body shifts around, as I inch my way farther along the floor from Carl, in order to turn over and rest my head back on top of his thigh. "It'd just make me feel better knowing that you feel better." I sarcastically mumble, allowing my eyes to roll.

Carl emits a small chuckle, gratified with my compliance.

The palm of his free hand soon meets my hairline, overlapping my temple as he gently pushes my hair behind my ear. My eyes flutter closed, a result of the several flares of tingles shooting across the skin of my face. Although alarmingly warm, the tips of his fingers provide a soothing—almost tiring—comfort as they move back and forth over my hairline.

My entranced mind wanders back to the times where Carl and I would not be engaging in something as intimate as this. How the boy would often aggravate me—confuse me, even—the same way he has been for the past few days, except the old Carl would not bother to execute such soothing damage control.

In fact, the old me would've never allowed such an interaction.

The growing amount of affection between the two of us almost seems to have happened in the blink of an eye, as if I've failed to recognize how exactly we have come to be. How this happened—I'll never know. All I know, for now, is that we just—are. And that's all we need to be.

None of this means that I'll forget whatever negative feelings I used to have about the boy. That just because he's able to calm me down with a few, gentle strokes of my hairline, that I'll forget the restless night of sleep. That I'll forget the way he dances around the answers to my questions, how he seems more defensive than usual, how he's—for some reason—just changed. Maybe even taken a few steps backwards, towards the old ways of Carl Grimes. In the matter of a few days.

My entanglement of complex thoughts is just enough for me to pull myself above the point of pure, sleepy bliss, just to bring back a bit of the old Megan that fights her way to the surface. "And I don't need to play doctor." I faintly scoff. "I'll be a real one. Some day."

I don't bother opening my eyes, as they continue get progressively heavier. The boy's response to my words is left only perceivable by the faint sound of his voice.

"I know." Carl mutters.

"I just need to find the right teacher—another doctor." I tighten my sleepy lips, shrugging my head atop the boy's warm leg. "One that the Saviors haven't killed, or taken captive. However long it'll be until another one like that comes along."

Not expecting any sort of response to my—almost inaudible—rambling, I ready myself to fall deeper into the sleep that Carl's calming fingers are slowly pulling me down into.

The boy's leg slightly moves, as well as my head, as he leans over to place a gentle, lingering kiss on my forehead. He only removes his fingers from my scalp for a moment before leaning back against the wall, and returning his palm to the corner of my hairline.

"Another doctor will come along." His optimistically glum tone whispers out into the air. "And some day, you'll be the teacher. The doctor. The one that some teenager hopes will come along, just to impart your wisdom."

"Wisdom?" My face cracks a smile, while my tiresome whisper echoes out. "You really think so?"

"I know so." My eyes don't open to see the boy's nod, as I feel his body gently move along with the subtle motion. "Now go ahead and get some sleep. I'll join you in a few minutes."

The boy's fingers continue to send soothing sensations down my scalp, causing me to have to fight sleep in order to make my heavy lips move. "Promise?"

"Promise."

☆

Carl never quite got the chance to follow me into slumber, considering the circumstances under which I'd so, prematurely, awoken.

The peaceful hour, or so, of rest I'd finally gotten, never would've been enough to prepare me for the few, dire words that jolted me awake. It was horrifying news that would be bound to change my means of relaxation for quite some while.

Eric died yesterday—alone. A bullet from the Saviors is what caused it, yet Aaron is the one who carries all of the guilt.

The man came back to our empty house this morning, and it didn't take a lot of searching through Alexandria before he found me and Carl on the floor of the upstairs bedroom, in the old Anderson house. Luckily, the two of us decided to put our clothes back on, before deciding to crash there for the remainder of the night. It was a haphazard decision, considering that, somehow, not much of our clothing was taken off during what occurred in the kitchen, last night.

When Aaron first found us, I was still asleep. But, the man's hushed conversation with a wide-awake Carl was sure to rip me right out of whatever rest I'd dove into.

This resulted in me leaving the boy alone with his pen and stack of folded papers. He'd assured me that he had no qualms about spending a day with Judith, in order for me to be there for Aaron.

And I am there for him. I have been by his side all day, on what could possibly be nothing but a suicide-mission to Oceanside.

The community with the most tragic history of the Saviors. A group of women who we just about robbed for a sliver of a chance to get those murderers away from Alexandria. And because our plan only bought us such little time, we're on our way back to the barren place, in order to ask for even more of a helping hand. As if we haven't taken enough from the women who just want to be left alone, out of fear that their past will be rehashed.

Aaron and I aren't alone, however, after a detour to Hilltop.

Despite the silence in the tense, mournful car ride, Enid sits alongside the man, in the passenger seat, while I sit in the back. My heavy eyes stay locked at whatever they can see through the center of the windshield.

Whatever leftover medical supplies that I'd somehow scrounged up, sit in a duffel, at my side, ready to be used as a futile peace offering. A slight poking occurs right above the back of my hip, as the blade of my unused screwdriver gently digs into my back pocket. An unfamiliar handgun sits in the holster strapped around my thigh so tightly, that it nearly cuts off my circulation.

"They have to talk to us, right?" Enid asks, breaking the thick tension with words that coincide with each of our silent thoughts. Her head turns towards Aaron, and then she cranes her neck to look into my eyes, that proceed to tear their own gaze away from the windshield. "After coming all this way?"

Instead of meeting Enid's gaze, Aaron unintentionally keeps his focus on the long road ahead, not paying much mind to the girl who awaits his answers. The man has a plethora of things to be silently worrying about, instead of focusing on the words presented to him.

After a few moments, he tears his gaze away from the road. "Sorry. I was just—"

"What?" Enid asks.

"Uh," The man breathes out. "Eric and I used to take trips like this, back when we were looking for people to bring to Alexandria."

The man awaits my gaze in the rear-view mirror, as he says the last part, offering me whatever he can of a small smile. I don't return it, however.

The thought of my first encounter with the deceased man—and how I can't even remember the last—weigh my eyes down with such gravity, that they decide to focus on the center console, not daring to meet the gaze of Aaron nor Enid.

A moment of mournful silence takes over the three of us in the small sedan, before he decides to speak up, yet again. "We drove to the Hilltop just a few days ago, to help arm—" The man coughs down the lump in his throat. "Armor the cars."

His words send me into a spiral of silent turmoil that remains confined inside my small body, as I continue to sit, ever-so-helplessly within the backseat.

"He was always right there, where you are now." He nods his head towards Enid, as she keeps her gaze ahead. "I was just—remembering that."

Stringing along my memory that's continually woven by Aaron's words, I, too, remember how Eric used to sit in that seat. Our very arrangement being similar to the one we'd place ourselves in when the men first brought me and Carl back to Alexandria, after finding us on one of their infamous trips that Aaron now has to speak of, in the past tense.

Enid turns toward the mourning man. "I'm sorry."

The man keeps his focus on the road ahead, for another few moments. "I need to make sure he died for a reason."

Silence consumes the car, as the three of us actively seek out to both avenge and give meaning to Eric's untimely demise. I keep my gaze down on the center console, ignoring anything in my peripheral. But any noise is sure to break through the fragile state of my heightened hearing.

And sure enough, it does.

The brakes to the old sedan being to squeal, as Aaron slowly pumps them.

A rush of emotions hits the very back of my watery eyes as I remember the same noise occurring when we'd first pulled up to the gates of our new home. The fear that Carl and I had—of the unknown future that awaited us, just beyond those gates—is a feeling that can not compare to the amount of both love and loss that we've come to experience inside of those walls.

Come to think of it, Eric was the start of everything. My everything. Alexandria, finding Carl, finding the group.

Falling in love with Carl.

None of it would've ever happened if Eric wouldn't have obliviously left his footprints in the tacky mud, that day.

After pulling over to the side of the road, making sure to conceal the car within the low-hanging, leafy branches of the trees, Aaron puts it in park. "I need a bathroom break."

The man doesn't give either of us much time to respond, before rushing out of the car door and closing it behind him. I keep my hardened gaze on the center console, as the man slowly grows farther away in my peripheral vision.

"You think he's really going out there to use the bathroom?" Enid haphazardly turns her head over her shoulder, not bothering to completely look towards me, knowing that I won't muster up the gut to meet her gaze.

I tighten my lips before releasing a scoff. "Would you?"

The girl turns her head the rest of the way, in order to fully face me, as I pull my eyes up to meet hers. We stare at each other in another heavy silence, knowing that our loved one is somewhere in the woods right now, trying to contain whatever loss he's feeling.

"He had to let go of hi—his everything, yesterday." I continue. "I can't imagine how it must feel to, just, keep going along with this war, knowing that you've already lost."

Amidst my words of despair, Enid finds it inside of herself to offer me an unexpectedly sudden smile. "This might be sadistic, but I'm actually kind of jealous."

"Jealous?"

"Yeah." The girl nonchalantly nods.

My eyebrows furrow. "Of Aaron?"

"No—of course not." She rapidly, yet gently, shakes her head back and forth. "I'm jealous of you."

"Why?" My misunderstood offense turns into confusion.

The girl keeps my gaze, raising her eyebrows as if to test me. "Because you and I both know that you're not only talking about Eric."

And, out of the blue, Enid seems to pinpoint my exact feelings. A meaning behind my words that I didn't even realize that I could relate to. The gateway to my thoughts that I didn't know I'd opened.

My mind being the path that always, somehow, leads back to Carl Grimes.

"Don't get me wrong," She starts, once again. "This situation is shitty. But you're thinking about him right now, aren't you?"

My eyes avert themselves from hers, looking just about anywhere else. "I'm always thinking about him, Enid."

The girl smiles to herself, pulling her mischievous gaze away from me. She leans back into her seat and faces the dashboard, before releasing a short sigh. "Do you love him?"

My immediate hesitation is not out of uncertainty, but of fear.

The question presented to me has almost always seemed somewhat unanswerable. As if I were to open my mouth and begin to speak, an asteroid would just come crashing from the sky and wipe us out, once and for all. As any time I've tried to speak my truth about the god-forsaken four letter word, something always finds a way to stop me.

But in the silence of Aaron's old, beaten up sedan, that remains covered within the shade of a leafy tree, the unlikely interruption never comes. Instead, Enid's subtle anticipation is the only thing that awaits my answer.

"Yes."

The girl turns her head, her silky brown ponytail gently whipping against the headrest. Her playful green eyes glance into mine. "Damn."

"Wait—what?" My nervous eyebrows quickly soften as I don't receive the witty response I'd expected from the curious girl.

Unknowingly, my body leans closer towards the girl, in a panicked desperation to understand the singular, confusing word. My hand places itself on the shoulder of the passenger seat, as I wait for the inevitable repercussions of saying my answer out loud.

The corners of the girl's pink lips slowly rise, as well as one of her eyebrows, as she teasingly tilts her head to the side. "I almost thought that I had a chance."

"With Carl?" My head tilts, as I slightly back away, dropping my hand from the back of her seat.

"No," Enid shakes her head, rolling her green eyes, before they finally fix their gaze on my own. "With you."

The two of us share a moment of silence, with nothing but eye contact between us. Her teasing demeanor and my confused one don't take long to fully collapse, as she falls into a laughter that she can no longer suppress. After realizing exactly what's going on, my tense body relaxes and I soon join her.

Following our few seconds of a relaxed fit of laughter, the girl sucks in a breath, before catching my focus. "Have you told him how you feel?"

My breathy laughter dies down, as I manage to hesitantly shake my head back and forth.

"And why not?" She raises her eyebrows.

"It's just," I suck in a breath. "Every time I want to tell him, it's something I feel like I'm doing out of fear."

The girl sits quietly, seeming almost visually unsatisfied with my response. Luckily, for her, she's caught me in one of my more ramble-some moods, today.

"I don't want it to be something that I tell him just because there's a small possibility that I could lose him, with everything that's going on." I, once again, lean forward, connecting my dire gaze with the girl's, placing my hand on the shoulder of her seat. "He needs to know that I'd still feel the same, even if the world didn't always seem to be ending."

Enid tightens her lips, subtly nodding her head up and down. "Wow,"

My eyes immediately roll at the girl's reaction, expecting yet another one of her alarming jokes. "Now what?"

"Now I'm even more jealous." The girl scoffs, but not in a joking manner. She shrugs her shoulders, only pulling her eyes away from mine for an instant, before quickly returning them. "I don't think I'll ever have something like that, you know? I'm starting to think that what I had with Ron was—sort of, just—it for me."

An exhale leaves from between my lips, as I remember the boy I'd grown to love like a brother.

The boy that Enid and I both lost entirely too soon, due to his own lack of sanity. The one I'd been forced to kill, in order to save Rick, the man I still have yet to look in the eye. And the one who'd unknowingly changed the trajectory of Carl's life, as a result of something I was forced to do, in a split second decision.

The decision that seems as if it was a lifetime ago, leaving Ron to be another figment of my past. When in reality, the events took place only a few months ago.

"Don't say that, Enid." I shake my head. "Don't you want a real relationship someday? Like one with the possibility of marriage—or—or even kids?"

"I never really wanted see that kind of future for myself. Until Gl—" Her words freeze, and so does she, as her eyes drop from my own. "Until Glenn brought me back, I didn't think anyone had much of a future." The defensive girl shrugs, looking back into my eyes. "But that doesn't stop me from feeling lonely when I hear you talk about having kids with C—"

"Woah," My hand briefly lifts from its grip on the back of her seat, in immediate defense. "I never said anything about having kids with him."

"Oh, please," Enid soon finds it in herself to smile. "Look me—in the eyes—and tell me you've never imagined yourself having the perfect future with Carl. Kids and marriage, included."

My mind wanders back to yesterday morning, the memory still fresh in my mind. A day spent with Carl and Judith, was damn-near perfection. It was a breath of fresh air, just before I'd found out about the death of Eric, and had been ripped from the simpler time.

If everyday were to be like the one Carl and I had yesterday, I really wouldn't mind it at all. A day where we don't have to think about the world around us—where our worries are never present under the distraction of a cute, babbling child.

Under Enid's suspiciously teasing gaze, I find myself daydreaming about a future filled with days like the one that I was just honored to spend with the boy I've come to love.

I suck in an over-exaggerated breath, before releasing it with the roll of my eyes. "I mean I wouldn't be mad ab—"

"Told you." She breathes out, releasing a giggle.

Almost a bit relieved and quite thankful for the interruption, I allow myself to sink back into a slouch, facing the girl. My hand, once again, finds its way back to its rest on the shoulder of her seat, my fingertips nearing Enid's shoulder.

"Look." She mutters, as her eyes wander past me, and through the driver's-side window.

My gaze traces hers, before my eyes land on a distant Aaron, slowly approaching the car. The man sniffles, quickly wiping at his nose, as his steps continue to drag on.

A distraction, of sorts, pulls me from my focus on the approaching man, Enid's hand being placed on mine. Her fingers overlap mine, as our hands both loosely hang on the corner of her seat.

I look back towards her, her eyes already awaiting mine. "I've really missed hanging out with you, Megan. You should come to Hilltop more."

A gratified smirk spreads across my face. "Maybe I'll stop by. You know—when this is all over."

The two of us offer endearing smiles to each other, before Enid shifts her weight onto one of her knees, and loosely wraps her arm around my shoulders, hugging me over the seat. I allow my arm to tighten around her frame as well, for the few seconds that we gently squeeze each other.

We pull out of the embrace, just as Aaron opens the driver's door and slides back inside. I sink back into my seat, glancing at the man, as he settles himself behind the wheel.

"Hey, Aaron?" Enid starts. "You mind if I drive?"

The man shrugs, stopping in his tracks before fastening his seatbelt. "I guess not. Why?"

"We need to drop something off at Alexandria, first." The girl smirks, catching my full attention.

"Wait," My eyebrows furrow at the girl who hasn't stepped foot within those walls in weeks. Whatever reason she wants to head in the direction, I'd never even suspect. "What are we dropping off at Alexandria?"

"You."

☆

After a pep talk—and with no time left to waste—I agreed to let the two of them bring me back home. That was quite a while ago, considering the slow driving done by Enid, who hasn't yet learned how to not rely on the brakes. The quite squeaky brakes.

By the time the two dropped me off about a half-mile, or so, from the front gates, the sun was on its latter end of setting. I was left with nothing but my screwdriver, gun, my medical duffel—which the two practically forced me to take with, claiming they didn't need it—and quite a few minutes of walking, ahead of me.

Despite the intensifying darkness, I did not need to get very close to Alexandria to realize that things were not going well, back at home.

It was the blaring sound of that man's voice through the speakers, and the distant sight of the Saviors' trucks parked right beyond the front gates, that did it for me. That caused me to panic. Not because Enid and Aaron had driven too far for me to flag them down, but because Carl was at the forefront of those walls. The same walls that those Saviors were threatening to tear down, with their every word.

It was several minutes ago that I'd ducked into the woods, as to hide from the man wielding the bat in one hand and a microphone in the other. I thought I could keep my composure, hidden within the confinement of the trees. That was, until a crash happened, simultaneously with Carl disappearing from his position at the main wall, signaling a series of explosions.

After it seemed like the entirety of my home had been destroyed—possibly along with everyone inside of it—the Saviors spread out, thoroughly searching the perimeter of Alexandria, just waiting for a chance to grab our fleeing people.

An anxious game of hide-and-seek, leaving several of my peoples' lives on the line, is the reason why I sought refuge in the first hiding spot I could find.

A hollow oak tree.

It was a tight fit, for both me and my duffel, but I managed to make it work, until now.

Until the explosions seemed to have ripped their way to the opposite side of Alexandria, giving me the opportunity to make a run for it, inside the open walls, which continue to attract more and more walkers, with every passing minute.

The strap of my duffel digs into my collarbone, trailing across my front, as I toss the heavy body of it over my shoulder. My hand keeps a firm grip on the small handgun attached to my thigh, ready to pull it out at any moment.

Our familiar streets, once filled with children, barking dogs, and families, now smells of nothing but smoke. A hot fog that can only come from the aftermath of such a large series of explosions, leaving the air with a grey tint, that continues to wisp away, slowly. The air never seems to clear, though, as the vanishing fog is replaced with a thick cloud of black smoke, coming directly from a burning car.

A commotion sounds out from behind a nearby house, resulting in my gun immediately being pulled from its holster. It takes a few meager seconds before my legs carry me towards the singular, dead source of the high-pitched groaning.

With the shake of my head, I holster the gun, and begin to wield my screwdriver. The walker has no time to react before I jab the blade up and into its neck, crushing the brain stem like I'd been taught to do, so long ago.

As I let its body drop to the ground, my eyes land on two people that were hidden from my vision, by the undead. In an instant, my hand raises in defense, continuing to maintain their threatening grip on the bloody screwdriver.

But my caution is soon disregarded when I realize that I now stare into the wary eyes Rick and Michonne.

The three of us lower our weapons, at the sight of each other, offering whatever we can of a gratifying nod.

"Where are they?" Michonne breathes out.

For a moment, it seems as though we are the last three people on earth, left to rot in whatever will remain of Alexandria when the fires burn out. That is, until the two adults make some sort of mental connection, meeting each others' gazes, and their feet begin to hastily move along the road. Broken glass crunches beneath our shoes, as we get a move on.

As the two clearly know more than I do, I follow them to wherever they silently agree upon going. This leads to the two to lower themselves down into the first open manhole cover, in the street. Michonne catches my waist as I lower myself down, and allows me to close the heavy cover behind us.

With a thankful nod, the woman sets me down, and I adjust the bag that remains strapped across my chest. The two of us follow after a hobbling, injured Rick, as our feet make their hurried way through the few inches of murky water at the bottom of the sewer.

The man stops in his tracks, as he turns the corner.

As my eyes quickly follow Rick's, and land on all of the familiar faces that remain safe and sound within the safety of the hiding place, my worries are soon to diminish. Maybe a bit too soon, as I initially fail to notice that as I look at these people—my family, they fail to look back at me. To muster up the courage meet my nervous gaze.

My confusion comes before anything else, as everyone continues to keep their head down, until someone finally looks back to me—someone sitting at the end of the tunnel.

An unfamiliar man.

This stranger sits on a cot, that's prepared with a small blanket. He remains completely covered in scuffs of dirt. His filthy clothes and greasy skin are apparent, even in the dim lighting granted to us by the small, lit candles that sit next to him. The stranger's cozy set-up causes me to suspiciously squint my eyes.

The man nervously bats his eyelashes, as the three of us stare down at him. Almost as if it's weird to see so many people staring at him. Almost as if it's weird for the man to even just see another human standing in front of him. At all.

Just like Carl'd described him, to me, yesterday.

The man from the gas station.

"I brought him here."

A strikingly familiar voice pulls my eyes from the strange man, to the boy sitting opposite him. Carl sits against the wall, sluggishly moving his head to look up at us.

Whatever symptoms of his, that I'd inspected earlier, seem have gotten a whole lot worse. Exponentially worse.

His thick layer of sweat seeps through the fabric of his shirt. The purple bags underneath his eye have darkened, dragging themselves out to a puffy, feverish red color. Life, it seems, has almost completely been ripped away from the boy who stares up at me, leaving his sickly skin with almost none of its familiar pigment.

The gunky, rotten leaves at the corner of the sewer don't have enough life to even crunch beneath my knees, as I drop to the floor. I slip my thumb underneath the strap of my medical duffel, quickly removing it from over my neck, and dropping it to the floor beside me.

He tilts his head towards me, mustering up whatever he can of a nervous smile. "That's how it happened."

My mind is ever-so-present, being at the boy's full attention. And my hand rests itself on the zipper of my medical duffel. For a few tricky moments, I think that I can save him. I think that I'm prepared to deal with it—whatever it is that's so wrong with Carl.

That is, until the boy's fingers drift down to the hem of his shirt, lifting up at the fabric that conceals a bandage, on the boy's abdomen. The blood-battered, white piece of cotton that conceals something else.

It conceals the reason why Carl's been acting so strange. The reason for the trail of blood leading to the bathroom. An excuse as to why he's been dodging my questions, dancing around his very own answers. Why the boy chose to keep his shirt on last night, even during something so intimate.

Why, this morning, he refused whatever treatment, whatever medicine I could have offered him.

It conceals the irreversible truth.

The one injury, that—with no matter how much experience—I'll never be able to make better.

A bite.

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────
6090 words

A/N

Oh boy.

It was a literal punch to the gut when I finished writing the first scene, knowing that it would be their last moment of happiness, together :((

+ Carl not falling asleep bc he's scared he'll die/turn if he does, so he just spent the whole night holding her <\3

and I think we all know what's going to happen next chapter... unfortunately... DON'T HATE ME

also, holy CRAP, since the last update, I've gotten so much support and so so many kind messages from people who've read this story!! I'll def post a little storytime of how this book came to be + acknowledgments in my very last A/N, so be ready for that bc I'll be typing it while sobbing.

☆vote bc I'm sad ☆