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M E G A N

The soft ticking of the clock echoes in the corner of the quiet room. That and the humming sound continuously coming from the air vent, in the corner.

The boy and I lie on the floor of my empty room, in the same spot we've been in all night long.

Nothing but one pillow and a small, thin blanket to share amongst both of our naked bodies. I don't really mind, though, as his warmth was enough to keep me comfortable through the first full night if sleep I've had in several days.

In between the thumping of Carl's heartbeat, the still noise of the quiet house is all I can hear.

After a slow exhale, the boy's smooth chest begins to vibrate, with a groggy whisper. "Megan, you awake?"

"Barely." I hum, nuzzling my head farther into his neck. My hand placement moves as well, as I stretch and my arm laces itself around his waist.

"Me too." The boy whispers into my hair, before using his hand to push it behind my ear. He cranes his neck and leaves a gentle kiss on the top of my ear.

I hum, before slowly turning over onto my stomach. I place my hand underneath my chin, resting them both on his chest. My groggy eyes flick up towards Carl's tired, bandageless, face. "How'd you sleep?"

"Like a rock." A cheeky grin crosses his face, as he lowers his hands to my waist and hoists me upward a bit. "Because I had the best blanket in the world."

"Shut up." I tease, shifting my body around in his grip. The both of us let out a few chuckles. "Is that all I am to you, Carl? A warm body?"

"No." The boy shakes his head, his smile dropping from his face, as his words ring out prominently. "Of course not."

His eagerness to deflect my joke instills a curiosity inside me, one that I so-rarely get the chance to have. Carl's always been somewhat of an open book, and I'm usually the one with a clump of sticky pages that can never be separated.

"Then—what am I?" I suck in a breath, a nervous smile twitching at the corners of my lips. "Who am I?To you?"

A confused look crosses the boy's face.

"You're—uh, my Megan?"

As we lie here with our naked legs entwined, I feel almost stupid for asking such an obvious question. His indirect, confusing response immediately embarrasses me, as my wide eyes gape at a shy Carl, having no idea what his words mean.

My flustered brain starts to race as I try to pull my body away from the vulnerable situation. "What time is it?"

"I should probably go check on Eug—" I start to peel myself from the boy's body and turn my head towards the lone clock on the wall.

His apologetic hands reach towards my shoulders, slowly pulling me back down.

"Time," Carl sighs. "It's important to keep track, isnt it?"

I hesitantly allow myself to settle back into the boy's warmth, despite the awkwardness created by my older question.

"What?"

The boy wraps his pale arms around my naked back, bringing me in closer, similar to the way we were, before my attempt to flee.

"Do you know why clocks are so important?" He gives my body a gentle squeeze.

I allow myself one giggle, like that of a little kid. "Why is that, Carl?"

The boy sighs, a shy smile twitching at his lips.

"They're not made so you can remember what time it is," He starts, his eye flicking upward toward the ceiling. "But so that you can afford to forget it, just for a moment."

The profound nature of his voice making me feel as though I'm forever safe under the boy's protection.

His voice then softens to a hum of a whisper. "And not spend all of your breath trying to conquer it."

Our chests rise and fall in sync, and his words hang loose.

After a few moments, I manage to understand the point of what he's trying to say. And I can even relate it to its beautiful accordance to our current situation.

My sentimental gaze quickly turns into a mischievous look of anticipation. "Where'd you learn that?" I tease. "Did you finally figure out how to read?"

"Hey," He chuckles. His body gently shakes, causing mine to move along with his, as well. The warm sound of his laughter being a comfort to my ears. "I know how to read."

"I know, Carl."

A few silent moments cross over us. Our heartbeats and pumping blood binding the warmth between us.

After the teasing ambiance dies down, the boy swallows a nervous lump in his throat.

"The first person I killed."

"What?"

"The first person I killed." He repeats, as if that makes the outlandishness of his words any easier to understand. "He's the one who told it to us. It's a quote. By William folklore."

"Faulkner?"

"Yeah, that one." He chuckles. "It's hard to remember exactly what Dale said, after all this time. Still stuck with me, for some reason."

As the boy silently reminisces, I remember what he told me, that night before we first stepped foot in Alexandria. That night seems like it was just yesterday, when it's really been over three months.

The second death that this boy was the cause of, he'd told me, then, was an accident.

And, at the time, that was all I needed to know.

"I don't quite know who you are to me. I mean, you're my—my Megan." He enunciates. His hand gently rises from the skin of my back, as he uses it to subtly motion with his words. The boy folds in his lips, before releasing a tense sigh from between them. "You're just—someone that I do love, I guess." He admits. "More than just a friend or family."

My heart drops down to my stomach. Pulsating blood pumps itself through my stunned, naked, body. A smile creeps its way onto my face, which I choose to hide in Carl's chest.

We lie for another silent moment, wrapped in each other's embrace. I soak it all in.

His morning bed-head, his warmth, his gentle words that flow along with his groggy voice.

Everything about this beautiful moment.

I sigh. "This is it. My moment."

"Huh?"

"Last night, and right now—that moment you were just talking about—that's what it is for me." I start. "The one that makes you lose track of time."

The boy allows a shy smile to creep onto his face, as his eye flicks from the ceiling, down towards my anticipatory face.

After the exchange of a few admiring glances, the boy's smile soon turns mischievous.

"And we definitely conquered it."

☆

Carl wasn't wrong when he'd told me how dangerous it could be to leave the walls of Alexandria.

But he was wrong to think that I'd go all day without knowing if he'd safely made it to Hilltop.

Once I couldn't take Carl's absence anymore, I basically yanked Eugene out of bed, for a checkup. Something to ease one side of my conscience, before I ventured outside the walls, in order to gain closure from what waits for me at Hilltop.

I'd taken it upon myself to ask Olivia for the map, one of which I've only used once before, when I first stumbled across Eric that day in the woods.

Knowing that Carl and Enid were not behind the safety of the walls was one thing.

Knowing that Carl had driven all by himself—leaving without hearing the full extent of what I had to say—was another.

Telling the unfamiliar person on watch that I'm friends with Maggie and Sasha, surprisingly granted me an easy entrance to the place I'd never even been to. Apparently the two are quite popular around these parts.

My feet trudge through the dry dirt, walking passed all of the strange, new people as they go about their day.

Circling my way around a bush, my gaze rests upon a few familiar green balloons tied to someone's grave.

"Megan?" Enid asks.

The girl quickly stands up, wiping away at her teary eyes before closing the gap between us. "Why are you here?"

"I had to know that you guys were okay." I start, allowing the girl into my arms. "Where's Carl? Didn't he come with you?"

After we pull away from the hug, the girl's eyebrows noticeably furrow. Her face then softens. The wrinkles between her brows flatten out, and her eyes slightly widen before she opens her mouth to speak. "Uh—I—"

"You're here." Maggie's voice mutters from behind us.

The woman looks a bit less sickly than when I'd last seen her. But, her frail state instills a certain fear inside me, bringing me back to that night. Except now, her problems—as well as Alexandria's—have extended far beyond the woman's (recently) treated medical issues.

After a few more moments at the site of the two fresh graves, Enid and I decide to make the grieving lady a meal.

The woman explains her situation with the Saviors, after Enid and I tell her about their ransacking of our community, just yesterday. It's easy to understand why the people of Hilltop love her so much, as the healing woman saved their community with the use of a tractor.

"You were supposed to take it easy." I say, the unsolicited medical advice making its way to the surface.

"It wasn't hard." Maggie smirks to herself, digging the ladle into the pot of soup that Enid previously placed in front of her. The woman then hesitates. "It wasn't the first time."

Enid and I exchange confused glances, before looking over at Maggie. "There was this boy in high school."

For a moment, Enid's eyes frantically look around before landing on the woman. "You ran over the boy?"

"His car." Maggie nods. A cheeky grin on the woman's face. "It was a Camaro. And then it wasn't." Enid and I chuckle at the joking woman.

Although I never truly forgot about my unanswered question, the talk of a boy and his car, begins to make my palms sweat. Having sent Carl out on his way, only to find a very guilty Enid, and not have him turn up, raises several suspicions.

Ones that I'm not sure I can bring up in front of Maggie.

I suck in a breath. "Speaking of a car, did Carl happen to dri—"

The door opens, cutting through my eager words. "Enid? Megan?"

"Hi," Enid says, her words rolling out alongside a sigh of relief.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes at the disruption, upon seeing the woman's familiar face. "Hey, Sash'."

Sasha continues to look at the both of us in awe, standing just in front of the door.

"I—We came to help." Enid takes over for the both of us.

Sasha nods. "You two came by yourselves?"

My suspicious eyes look over toward Enid, knowing that the girl is hiding something. I'm just not sure what. "Yeah, Enid. Did we come by ourselves?"

The girls eyes flick toward me, a slightly clueless look about her, before she looks back to Sasha.

"Yeah." She sighs. "Have some dinner."

I almost can't fight back another eye-roll at the girl's bluff. I've grown to trust Enid, so—as to not cause a scene nor stress out a pregnant Maggie—I continue to go along with whatever charade she puts forward, for now.

Sasha pulls out the chair next to me. "Why are there balloons on Abraham's grave?"

Enid and I look toward Maggie. "I didn't have the heart to tell you. Glenn would've. He was a bad liar."

"Yeah," I let out a quick, breathy chuckle. "He was." My reminiscent smile fades, thinking of the several times that the man failed to keep secrets.

No matter how big or small.

"Sorry." Enid huffs, an apologetic smile playing on her lips.

The two women make no deal about the balloons being on the wrong grave, before Maggie decides to hand over Hershel's pocket watch down another generation, to Enid.

I watch in a bittersweet feeling of nostalgia, as I see the familiar watch landing in the hands of one of my new best friends, after making its way through two members of my long-time group.

Hershel, and then Glenn.

Now, Enid.

If I was the same Megan—the one from before that night at the gravel lot—I might cry a little. But that's not something that comes as easily to me anymore.

Feeling anything doesn't come so easy to anyone, anymore.

"We don't need anything to remember him, by." Maggie says. "We have us." She nods across the table, her green eyes looking into my own.

Sasha and Maggie reach across the table and hold hands. So do Maggie and Enid.

I, however, watch as if I'm a spectator in the situation, and not actually present. My hesitant hand takes Sasha's, before my eyes meet Enid's.

The girl holds her hand out towards me, her apologetic eyes in play, trying to be subtle in the presence of two other people. For now, I decide to call a truce from the tension with the mischievous girl, and accept her friendly hand.

I hesitantly shut my eyes, and listen to Maggie's calming words, as to avoid the familiar clunking of the Saviors' trucks as they finally leave from the front gates of hilltop. The weight of their presence lifting off of my shoulders as the revving trucks sound farther and farther away.

"For this new morning, with its light, for rest and shelter of the night, for health and food, for love and friends, for everything that goodness sends." The woman's quiet voice echoes into the room.

Although I'm not religious, taking part in Maggie's prayer does make me ponder about quite a lot of things.

The Saviors.

Glenn and Abraham.

The people back at Alexandria.

Carl Grimes. Wherever the hell he is.

I shouldn't be thinking of the word hell during a prayer, but it's the least explicit part of my word choice when my angry mind drifts to the obvious secrets about the boy's whereabouts being kept from me.

"Amen." Maggie says, soon followed by the murmurs of an Amen from both Enid and Sasha.

Before I let go of their hands, I allow my eyes to flutter open.

"Amen."

☆

It took Enid quite a while, but I finally got her to crack.

After an hour or two of a lengthy lunch, Sasha left to go sharpen her knife, and Maggie finally went to see the doctor. It was then that the girl could no longer rely on a simple distraction to keep me from prying about where Carl was.

To my surprise, she'd tried to keep the secret for Carl, who I found out actually did help the girl travel to Hilltop.

What was even more shocking, was that they managed to work together to hide something from me. If only for a few hours. Those two people—who just short of hate one another—put aside their differences to do something out of what they thought was my best interest.

And their little plan, was definitely not in my best interest.

After Enid's confession, I said my goodbyes to Maggie and Sasha, not feeling any rush in particular to get back to Alexandria, knowing that what was done was done, and that Carl's fate was already sealed.

Only time will be able to tell me what'd happened to him. I just have no idea how long it'll take for me to find out.

The boy had already been gone for an hour by the time I left Hilltop, after he somehow hitched a ride with the Saviors. It'd be pointless for me to go out looking, so I decided it'd be reasonable to go back to Alexandria and wait for the bad news.

On my way home, I'd emotionlessly accepted Carl's fate. Whatever that may be.

Not knowing what or how to feel, I march through the front gates, seeing trucks similar to the ones that were at the hilltop a few hours earlier.

I haven't particularly allowed myself to accept Carl's death. His death—even if it were to take place right in front of me—I'd probably never be able to properly accept.

I prepare myself for the news that I thought I'd have at least a few more hours until I have to hear. The news that could reinstate the end of my life, as I've known it.

My eyes stare down the empty cab of the black truck. The one that Enid said wasn't at Hilltop, with the rest of them.

The truck belongs to the leader, who'd probably only come to drop Carl's body off on our own doorstep, to teach us another one of his lessons.

Every ongoing effort I've maintained to avoid the man, goes right out the window, as I walk straight towards my own house. I assume that if anyone has gotten the news, someone would be waiting to tell me, upon my return.

My fingers grip the straps of my pack as my feet march up my very own front steps.

Without regard for noise, I walk through my front door, not quite knowing who loudly clinks silverware about, at my own dining room table.

"I don't know where the hell he is," I hear it. The man's voice. "But Lucille, is hungry."

My body immediately stiffens at the man's voice coming from the kitchen, and I press my back against the wall.

"Carl, pass the rolls." His voice echoes from just around the corner. "Please."

The use of the boy's name is everything I need to know that he's still alive, and breathing. Just on the other side of the wall.

The man receives no response, making me believe that this might be another one of the man's ill-intended little games. Carl could actually be dead, and the man just jokes as to antagonize whoever else is in the room.

Without thinking, my eyebrows furrow and my feet take off into the dining room.

There Carl sits, at my crowded dining room table.

An empty plate in front of him, and a giant pile of spaghetti in front of that.

Carl's stern face softens upon my entrance. His lips slightly part and his bandage-less eye peaks out just below his bangs.

It's now that I know that the boy wasn't killed. He isn't dead. But whatever this man did to him, might make him wish that he was.

"Well, hello darling," My body shudders as my gaze switches from Carl, towards the man sitting next to him. "Why don't you join us? We have an extra seat."

I say nothing. I do nothing, but stand here. The man, himself, continues to stare me down with a teasing glance. His stupid eyes remain amused just above his sadistic smile.

I look back towards a helpless Carl. The boy's soothing, calm face silently pleads with me to do as the man says. I shrug my pack from around my shoulders, and let it slide down my arms, before dropping it to the floor.

"Pardon me, but—" The man teases. "I don't believe I've caught your name."

The man moves the bat from the chair next to him, and sarcastically pats the seat with his large palm. I corner the table, keeping closer to Olivia as I pull out the chair and take my seat.

"Megan."

The man forces a laugh, "Well I'll be damned," He tilts his head, leaning back. I roll my eyes. "We almost have the same name—me and you. It even rhymes. One letter away from the privilege of getting to call yourself Negan."

I can't help it. The man terrifies me, but—amidst knowing what he's capable of—I meet his teasing gaze and let out an involuntary, humorless chuckle.

"Maybe one day you'll even be proud enough to say it inst—."

"I'd rather call myself dead."

"Wow, now we get a full damn sentence." The man remarks. "Where was that little spark when I was out there killing your friends?"

My eyes remove themselves from the man, losing their moment of confidence.

In the shock of finding Carl safe and untouched, I'd forgetting all about what happened the last time I saw the man.

I shift around uncomfortably in my seat, remembering it all.

The bat, the leather jacket, Eugene and the RV, his sadistic spin on a children's riddle, as to choose which person would meet their brutal end.

Carl watches my every move, studying my face as he doesn't pay much attention to anything else. His eye never leaves me, but in order to notice that, my eyes have to stay glued to the boy as well.

So many questions race through my mind at the absence of his fresh bandage. But all that matters is that Carl is somehow left alive to answer them, himself.

The man silently sticks his pointed finger between us, waving it back and forth as his eyes do the same. His gaze finally rests across the table from me, at the boy. "Now I get it."

"Get what?" Carl asks.

The man shifts his weight, reaching his hand around to his back pocket. He silently fumbles around, before he cracks a smile, as his hands find and pull out what he's been digging for.

A small blue box.

With a wide smile, the man sucks in a breath. "I was wondering who these belonged to."

In a normal situation, my face would be beet-red. The topic of sex not being something I ever talk about. Not even to Ron, the rightful owner of the box.

And especially not with someone who's killed multiple members of my family.

But now, the earth-shattering, clarifying moment that happened between me and Carl last night, just becomes another thing for the man to toy with.

"I stumbled across 'em." He switches his gaze from an angered Carl, to myself. "Hell, I was going to take them for myself. They're a hot commodity these days. Especially with how many wives I've got."

My heart sinks, the vulgar words repeatedly jabbing into my feeble composure one sentence at a time.

The feelings worsen, as I see Olivia wince at the man's words as well. She never acknowledges the language, and keeps bobbing Judith up and down in her lap, the toddler having no idea about anything that's going on.

"But," He theatrically sighs.

The man tosses the small box onto the table, with a flick.

"I'll let you two keep 'em." The man offers a lingering, cheeky smile after his own words. "So, from now on, whenever you're in the bone-zone, you'll be thinking of me."

Carl and I stare at each other across the table, as if to silently be sure that the other is okay.

Sure, it's not the end of the world to have our private lives put on public display. Especially considering the full extent of what this man can do to our people. Plus everything he already has done.

But that doesn't mean that the boy and I aren't allowed to feel completely humiliated.

In more ways than one.

"Now—how about we dig in?"

☆

Yesterday, Olivia and Spencer were killed.

Right in front of me.

And I haven't gotten to see Carl since.

As needed, I spent the rest of my day tending to an injured Aaron, who Rick had to peel from the road and carry to the infirmary. The near-lifeless man kept Eugene's designated bed warm, as the other man's been taken to their base, for being the one to make Rosita's bullet.

After losing two of our own, and another being taken hostage, the rest of the group—Carl included—decided this morning, that they would set out to Hilltop, and extend the invitation to join us in war with the Saviors.

I decided to stay back, as my last venture outside the walls proved to be a complete waste of my time, and someone needed to be here in case Aaron needed something.

Nearly a whole day spent sleeping in a chair by his bedside finally proved fruitful when the man woke up, earlier this afternoon. After Aaron was finally back on his feet, killing time until the group came back wasn't too agonizing.

What was hard to deal with, was what—or rather who—the group brought back with them.

The Saviors—after coming back to search for a missing Daryl—completely destroyed every inch of the infirmary.

Everything of some glass decor in the place: broken.

Shattered to billions of shards.

It isn't safe to walk around inside the infirmary anymore, so, until the place is back to normal, I have to take care of the most urgent of medical matters on the front porch.

In a weird way—through tending to Aaron and attempting to clean the Saviors' mess—I did have something to look forward to.

The perfect, textbook laceration across the surface of Rosita's cheek.

Her injury is something that I soon saw as a harmless opportunity to practice my suturing.

Of course, seeing a member of the group with a cut this deep is something I don't actively wish for. But the second that the Saviors left—the first time—it was the only thing on my mind.

It was the only thing I could focus on amidst all of the grief I was too busy denying.

Rosita rolls her eyes. "I could've done this myself, you know?"

"I need to learn, someday." I pull the pliers away from her skin to sternly look at her, in the eyes. "Now, hold still."

The woman says nothing, but instead sighs.

When the Saviors left a few minutes ago, I practically had to force Rosita to sit and allow me to tend to her wound for her.

Deep down, the stubborn woman knows that letting me assist her is part of the greater good. The same greater good that she tried to fight for, with the use of Eugene's makeshift bullet.

The one that costed Olivia's life.

In a way, Rosita knows—after what she pulled, yesterday—that she owes something to someone. It's just not clear what.

"What did Gregory say?" I ask, as to distract the woman from the incoming pain.

The woman's eye slightly twitches as I'm finally able to thread the needle for the third and final suture. "The fucker wouldn't help us. Neither would the King." She starts. "But people at Hilltop want to."

My eyebrows furrow, and, for a moment, I pull my eyes away from the cut. "The King?"

"It's a long story." She slightly shakes her head. "You'll have to ask Carl ab—."

"Hold still." I scold her. "I'm almost done."

The woman clears her throat. "Sorry."

Holding my breath, I carefully fasten the last of the four sutures.

A small smile makes its way across my lips when I lean back to look at my work. It's neat for a beginner, at least.

My work is obviously not as clean-cut as that of Hershel's or Denise's.

"Don't be." I cut the surgical thread before rolling my chair away from the woman sitting in front of me. "I'm all done."

The woman—without missing a beat—pats her hands to her thighs and stands from the seat. Her boots click against the wooden porch of the infirmary as she heads towards the steps.

I clear my throat. "Aren't you forgetting something?"

Rosita stops in her tracks, turning back only slightly.

She sucks in a breath, as an involuntary smile creeps onto her face. The woman rolls her brown eyes and nods toward me.

"Thank you."

☆

After nearly two full days of turmoil, I decided to pack my infirmary contraband back into its duffel, and head home.

Going from cleaning the infirmary, straight to picking up the aftermath of the meal Carl was forced to make for the man, is what continues to stretch out the two-day period of my everlasting dread.

With a slight huff, I drop the duffel bag to the floor, and allow my own front door to gently close behind me.

I press my back against the closed door, sucking in a short breath. "Okay."

My hand reaches behind my back and—for the first time ever—I lock my front door. Something I never thought I'd have to do, upon moving into Alexandria.

Slowly, I shift my weight from the door and sluggishly walk into the dining room, anticipating the mess that awaits.

But instead, I rest my eyes upon something else. Someone else, illuminated by the light of setting sun.

Just when I start to think that I'm finally done for the day, my eyes land on the boy.

He sits at my dining room table with his head in his hands, not bothering to look up at me. His body slouches over in the exact seat he'd been forced to sit in by our unwelcomed guest.

"Hilltop was a dead-end." Carl shakes his head.

My feet slowly walk closer to the boy, whom I'd not gotten to be alone with since yesterday morning before he left to tag along with the Saviors. The boy I'd not properly spoken to, since the conversation he thought would've been our last goodbye.

In front of the boy, sits the remnants of the meal we were forced to have. The leftovers of the food that I had to force down my intolerant throat, not taking the risk of someone else being killed over something as little as spaghetti.

But—as I stare down at the basket of yesterday's stale bread rolls and the red, crusted-over pasta sauce on the plate—I understand what it's like to want to harm someone over the events that lead up to the meal.

He shrugs. "Gregory wasn't having any of what we had to say." The boy continues to mope.

As I circle Carl and approach the corner of the table, my open fist finds itself buried in the large bowl of hardened bread rolls.

"Then we went all the way to a place called the Kingdom and even that was a bust. I mean, how are we ever going to get rid of the Sav—" The boy quickly takes his head out of his hands, before looking around in confusion. "Did you just throw something at my head?"

My hand barrels back down into the uneaten pile of stale bread, before I take another one out, pulling my arm back and readying my aim.

Carl's eye squints in confusion, and he stands up from the seat, pushing the chair backwards.

"Why are you thr—" The roll slams against his chest with a hard thump. "Ow, stop!"

I grab another roll, hoisting it backwards yet again. "Why did you do it?"

"Do what?" The boy rapidly blinks, slightly raising his hands in front of his body, as to avoid another one of my makeshift weapons. "You're the one throwing things at m—"

I angrily squint my eyes. "You know what I'm talking about."

"I'll talk," He starts. The boy uses his hands to calmly motion towards the roll in my hands. "Just put down the bread."

In a surge of anger, I pull my hand back even farther, ready to release the roll at any moment.

Carl raises his hands farther out in front of him.

His eye widens and his confused face turns into that of a stern one. The boy—as if to test me—tilts his hatless head and raises his eyebrows.

With a huff, I hesitantly lower my arm and toss the bread back into the basket. Surprisingly, it lands with the loud sound of a hard thud. However, I still don't feel bad for previously chucking a few of them at the boy.

"I'm listening."

He slowly lowers his hands. "I didn't tell you, because I knew that you wouldn't have let me go that easy. I wouldn't hav—"

I angrily shake my head at the boy standing on the opposite side of the table. "I wouldn't have let you go at all, Carl."

"I know." The boy sucks in a breath. "You know, I never planned on actually having this conversation." Carl jokes.

"Yeah," I pretend to chuckle. The boy's tense face softens, at my false humor. "And that's pretty damn selfish of you."

My words that—for a moment—eased the boy's nerves, end up wounding them tightly again.

"I know." He sighs. "And I'm sorry."

"Dead people don't get to be sorry." I angrily start. "And I'm sure that you understand how close you were to not being able to tell me that, at all. But you didn't care. You still don't."

"Look," He tightens his lips for second, before circling around the corner of the table. "I'm sorry. I know messed up. But I was ready to go. I had to be. For Glenn and Abraham. For you." The boy's hands reach out to me.

I take a step back. "You don't get to do that."

"Do what?"

Sucking in an involuntary breath, I bring my fingertips to my temples. "The other night—"

My jittery eyes look around the room, before landing on the small blue box just a few feet away, on the table. "Y—You don't get to do what we did—to say what you said—and then just throw your life away."

The boy's expression drops, and his extended arms drop to his sides.

"You don't get to try to die and then tell me that it was all for me." I shake my head, after my cracking voice finally gets the words out. "Because it wasn't. It wasn't to protect me. To keep me from it. It would've been for yourself."

"You know what, love? You're right." Carl's head bobs up and down a bit with his gentle, cathartic words. "It would've been for me. All for me."

The boy shifts his weight onto his back leg, his sorrowful, blue eye lingers around the golden room.

"Blame me." He starts. The boy's eye finds mine once again. "Blame me for wanting to die, knowing that it meant you would be safe."

He takes a few steps towards me. "Blame me, for not feeling bad about it. Because I don't."

Carl takes my hands into the warmth of his own. "If me dying could stop this—If it could make things different, for us, for you—It'd be worth it."

The boy brings my knuckles up to his mouth, leaving a gentle kiss. His lips fit perfectly to every groove of my cold skin.

"But you can't blame me for wanting to do anything to protect the people I love." The boy mutters against the skin of my hand.

He then pulls his blue eye towards my own, and gently lowers our hands back down.

"Because, Megan, I'd do anything for you. All for you." Carl creeps his way closer, his voice lowering to a whisper. "I'd do anything in my power to keep you safe."

Entranced in the moment, I subconsciously lean into the boy, allowing our foreheads to rest on one another, and our noses to swiftly brush together.

"Megan Carter," He starts, with the twitch of a nervous smile and a sigh.

My eyes flutter shut.

Although indirectly, the boy's already said exactly  how he feels about me. Twice, now.

But hearing the three words come from between his lips would mean that everything we feel, everything we've done—it's all real.

And that reality—in this world—is what scares me the most.

"I lo—"

The doorknob of the locked front door, begins to rapidly jiggle. Soon followed by loud bangs against the wooden door, causing me to jump away from Carl.

I swallow a nervous lump in my throat, meeting the boy's disappointed eye. For a sliver of a moment, our two flustered souls scramble to collect what we have left of the unfinished moment.

With a sigh, I tear my eyes from the boy and we both quietly snake our bodies into the hallway.

Carl goes first, keeping an arm poised behind him, to shield me as he clicks the lock open.

With no time in between, the door flies open, revealing Aaron. The disheveled man still battered and bruised from what the Saviors did to him. "Have either of you seen Gabe?"

"Father Gabriel?"
"No?"

The man steps back from my doorway, at our unintentionally revealing responses.

I surpass Carl and follow Aaron, weaving my way in front of the boy and onto my front porch. "Why? What's the matter?"

The man haphazardly turns back around, standing in my front yard. "Pantry's been cleared out." He mutters.

My eyebrows furrow. "What does that mean?"

"It means that I think Gabe's missing."

───── ⋆✩⋆ ─────
6201 words

A/N

IMPORTANT: I added a bonus scene in the beginning of chapter four as of April 13, 2022, so if you haven't read it recently, then you won't catch the parallel in this chap

also THANK YOU THANK YOU THANK YOU FOR 10K
I'm really glad that this chapter is my 10K chapter bc it's long, action-packed and I just LOVE HOW IT TURNED OUT!!

also, I hope you guys know how much I love you and this book because:
I've been enduring hate on my tiktok :P
random people (no one in the fandom though) get mad when you make fanfic edits apparently

leave a vote bc I'm writing this in the middle of a crowded restaurant rn, SO I COULD UPDATE RIGHT WHEN I HIT 10k !

edit:

☆FR vote plz bc the waiter was literally taking my order while I was hitting publish the first time☆