Archive of Our Own

Work Text

I sit on my bed, back up against my bedroom wall. A poster touches my neck. Mom cut my hair yesterday, so it's a little shorter than normal.I fidget with my hands. I don't know what to do with them. Usually when I'm in my room during the middle of the day, I'm with Enid. Usually she's staring off into nothing. Usually her left hand rests in my right, and I'm running my thumb over her soft skin. Usually my fingers have a place to go, intertwined in hers.Just thinking about her makes the black hole in my chest take up more space than usual.Ever since that new group came in, everything's been weird. Mom's been weird. Enid's been weird. Nobody knows what to do.I remember when they came in. The leader– Rick, is it?– lead the rest of them in. He had this grown out matted beard. His clothes were tattered and stained with blood. Actually, all of their clothes were.The woman who walked behind him had taken a step forward so she stood beside him. I'd be lying if I said she didn't scare me. Her face was as hard and cold as stone. Her right hand drifted to the handle of the big ass sword strapped to her back, as if preparing for a fight. And I had the feeling she knew how to use it.I didn't count how many there were. I was standing next to Mom and Sam. Sam huddled closer to Mom, grabbing onto her shirt. Enid stood with us, and yet she was apart. She always is. She was just away by a foot or so, but every time she distances herself is just a reminder of what she's been through.Another man stood a bit behind Rick. He looked kinder, his face softer, but he held this big gun with two hands and blood still dripped down his neck. It appeared fresh. A woman only a little shorter than him with short brown hair pulled back into a ponytail held his hand. It looked sweet until I saw her other hand resting on the gun on her hip. She scanned us, eyes narrowed, evaluating. She squeezed the guy's hand tighter, and he had looked over to her, whispering something.There were a bunch of others, all with weapons and distrustful eyes.But the one who caught my eye– or should I say, caught Enid's eye– was a boy who looked around our age. Freckles, or dirt, I couldn't tell, speckled his face. Shaggy, unkempt brunette hair in a sort of mullet-ish thing reached the bottom of his neck. His eyes were cast in shadow by a cowboy(?) hat, but I could still see how sharp his gaze was.He held a baby in his arms (I know her as Judith now). Her head perked up from its place on his shoulder as she looked around. She had a few blonde wisps on her head and was wearing a faded green and yellow striped onesie that looked a little too small, but that was it.The boy's eyes had cut to us. His eyebrows furrowed in confusion. He looked us up and down before his eyes widened as if he couldn't believe we existed. I heard Enid suck in a breath.She's probably off with him right now as I'm sitting here sulking. While Deanna talked to all the adults, she wanted me to introduce the new boy to all the other kids.He was quiet. He kept looking at me all weird. I had asked him why.He had shrugged. "I haven't seen another kid in so long." His voice was hoarse and it broke as if he hadn't used it in a while. He cleared his throat after that.Where had he come from? I wondered where he'd been before. Why he hadn't seen another person our age in a while. How he couldn't see another person our age in a while.I remember bringing him through the house and up to the room where we all hang out. He was looking around the whole time like the house was a palace, eyes wide and mouth open. When he got to the room, he completely stopped in his tracks.Mikey and my other friends sat around doing whatever. Playing video games, reading comics, random shit. Enid sat on the bed reading some big book. The new boy's eyes darted everywhere, lingering on the stacks of comics.Mikey stood up. "Who's this?"I had looked to the new boy, realizing I didn't know his name. A corner of his mouth twitched up a little, a hint of a smile, before disappearing just as quick as it had come. "Carl," he said, not pulling his eyes away from the comics.I introduced all of us. He only seemed to pay attention when I pointed to Enid. "That's Enid." She pulled her eyes away from the book, holding eye contact with Carl for a solid five seconds and then looking back down.Carl gulped. He seemed to be at a loss for words, for whatever reason."You like comics?" I questioned. He had a far-off look, the one Enid would have while we sat on my bed. I must've imagined it, but I swore I saw a shine glaze over his eyes. He blinked it away, nodding. I gestured to the piles of discarded editions all over the floor. His Adam's apple rose as he nodded again. Nodding. Not saying yes very often, just nodding.And I thought we could be friends. I don't know. I guess I should've known the Outside turns people into something else. Something you don't want to befriend.Except Enid. Enid's different.I don't know exactly what happened to her before she came here. Deanna knows. Reg probably knows. But all I know is that she came without her parents, without anyone else. They must've died somewhere out there.She didn't speak for a long, long time. She smiled before she spoke. She finally smiled when she saw the shelves of books in the main "kid" room. It was barely noticeable, and you probably wouldn't've even called it a smile if you didn't see her eyes. But they lit up. Widened ever so slightly so the lights reflected off of her irises and gave her a spark. Reassured me she was still alive in the way that matters.So I was set on finding books for her. She first spoke to someone other than Deanna when I handed her some book called Something Wicked This Way Comes. I had no clue what it was about, but I figured I might try to give it to her. She had given me a clearly forced smile as she took it. But I will never forget the look she had on her face when she gave it back.It was a real smile. Genuine, big, beautiful. She had the sort of smile that just makes you smile, too. "Thank you," she had mumbled, handing it back. I took it, studying her face, thinking of what to say. Because if I said the wrong thing I could easily scare her off."There's a lot more like it back on the shelves," I had told her. Is there? Who knows. I still don't know what that stupid book's about. But I didn't care then. I just wanted to keep talking to her.Her eyes darted around. "Maybe later," she whispered. She gave me another smile, locking eyes for a millisecond before turning and walking away.I can't tell if the new people are alive like Enid is. One of the men looks like a stray dog, greasy hair all oily and dirty, skin grimy with sweat and whatever else. He hasn't taken a shower yet. He hasn't taken that stupid sleeveless denim jacket off with the wings and he always has his crossbow within reach. He doesn't look alive like Enid. Hell, he brought a fucking dead possum into Alexandria and cut it open on the porch of his new house.There's a sweet woman with short gray hair. I don't know how she stayed alive with them for that long on the Outside. She keeps cooking casseroles and baking cookies and bringing them to everyone. Her name's Carol, and I know that because Sam likes to eat the food she makes. I think she's still alive.The couple that stood behind Rick when they came in definitely looks alive. Despite the fact that he was splattered with blood and her hand still shakes, aching for her gun, they smile and they hug. She presses her forehead and against his and they rub noses and laugh and whisper.I can't tell with Carl. He reads story books to the baby and ruffles her hair, making her giggle and kick her feet around. He laughs with the scary woman and they playfully shove each other. But he also had a big gun strapped to his back when he walked in. His hands clench into fists whenever someone taps on his shoulder to get his attention. His eyes light up like Enid's did when he sees Rick play with Judith. But his face falls and his eyebrows furrow when someone pulls another person from his group aside to talk privately.My skin grows hot from my anger. My room suddenly feels stuffy, the air too thick, the walls too close. I get up and storm out, intent on getting out of the house.No one else is in the house. That's fine. I slam the front door on my way out and just start walking down the street, going nowhere in particular.I walk and walk until I reach the pond. Thank God. The pond has always been my safe space, a place to go when I don't wanna be around other people, or a place I can go if I just wanna be with Enid.Except as I near the familiar fallen log I always rest on, someone else sits on it. Not Enid. He wears that God awful sheriff-cowboy hat and white and blue plaid shirt. I clench my jaw. What the fuck is he doing here?I'm not gonna walk away. He thinks he can just come in here and fuck everything up for me? Hell no.I sit down next to him, staring out at the pond and stretching my legs out. He looks over to me."Hey," he nods. And now he's trying to be nice?"What are you doing here?"He blinks. Yeah, how's that feel?"I was just talking to Enid. You're friends, right?" His leg bounces. I wanna punch him."She's my girlfriend," I say firmly, turning to stare him in the eyes. He blinks, straightening up. He's still shorter than me. I can see now he has freckles, scattered around his face, and it's not dirt. Now that he's taken a shower, his hair looks softer, fluffed up around his face. At least he won't smell like shit.He tilts his head, eyebrows drawn down. He slowly looks back to the pond. "Huh," he mumbles. He turns back to me, face softening again. "That's cool. D'you like to read, like she does?"I remember how he looked when he saw the books. He likes reading– just like Enid. The thought of them having something in common, the thought of them laughing and talking about it, talking about something I wouldn't understand makes me want to punch him. I don't. But my hands clench into fists. All I can do is shake my head in response."What do you like to do?" He asks. It seems like a genuine question, but the way he says do like that– I already know he's gonna annoy me to death.So before I hit something or throw something, I get up and walk away. That's what Mom says to do. Walk away.This is going to be the end of me, I just know it.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

That was weird.Did I say something wrong?I'll admit, I haven't been near anyone my age in a long time. Maybe I said something weird. I mean, that's why when Ron brought me into his house and there was just a room full of other teenagers it confused me. Even more confusing was the girl who liked reading just as much as I did.I stare out at the pond. Branches sway in the breeze. Bugs hum. There's a few ducks in the water. One has its head under. I hear a little girl laughing. There's kids playing and people walking on the street and smiling. Can you believe this? It's all so surreal. It's like nothing ever happened.One of the craziest things was the fact that Ron and Enid were dating. I guess I forgot kids can even do that. Experience that. When Ron told me, it really hit me then. This place, Alexandria– it's not like any place we've ever been before.But now that I'm alone again, there's a gnawing feeling in my gut and a weight on my chest. A weight pressing on something empty. An ache for something I've never had, something I never will have, and something that I could've had if things just went a little differently.An ache for the first 12 years of my life. I know it wasn't perfect. I didn't have many friends at school. Mom and Dad argued often. But I would go home to Mom. She would help with my homework, and if she didn't have any idea what to do, she would research until she did. She would draw something small on a piece of paper and leave it out for me or Dad to add to. One paper would be left out for a week until it was full of random colorful drawings. Mom's were always the best– she could draw realistically, cartoony, all abstract-like; however she wanted. Me and Dad, not so much. All of Dad's animals looked the same. My people didn't have bodies, just one big head and four limbs sticking out. And yet with every drawing I made she insisted it was wonderful, and another piece of paper would be added to the dozens already up on the refrigerator.I would go home to Dad. He would have new stories every day about his coworkers or the bad guys he would catch. I remember one time Mom called him while he was making an arrest. I overheard the other guy say something about Mom. Then I heard Dad say nothing was more important than family, and he better shut up. I remember once Dad came home with blood on his shoe. I didn't ask. Instead, I begged him to teach me how to ride a bike. We practiced next to the little pond by our house, and I fell a lot. I scraped my knees and elbows. Little pieces of gravel got in the cuts, and when we went back home Dad had to clean them out. I would cry and cry but get right back on the bike the next day. Dad kept his hand on my back and jogged alongside me. He kept his hand on my back, fingers splayed across my shirt, telling me I was getting better. I remember it didn't really matter how many times I fell, or how hard I fell, because he was there. And as long as he was there, I would be alright.My nose stings. Before tears can well up, I sniffle and look out at the ducks. Smaller than the geese that used to live by the pond near our house pond. I wonder what the geese are doing now. Do they still go to our pond? Is our pond there? Of course it is– it's a pond. But is our house there?I hope our house is still there even though I know it doesn't matter. We're never going back. If it's still standing, I'll never see it again. If it's gone, I'll never see it again. I will never see it again.I pick my head up and look around.This is real.••••••I sit with Judith on the porch, looking out at the street as we rock in this rocking chair. A rocking chair on a porch connected to a nice house in the suburbs with my family. Wow."Da," Judith sputters, pointing to Daryl sitting on the porch and skinning a rabbit. He looks up, wiping sweat and grime from his face with his forearm and smirking at her before going back to the rabbit."Hey, Lil' Ass Kicker." His voice is gruff, as always, but he's always had a soft spot for kids, so it isn't mean. There's a hint of humor to it, and I smile. Judith giggles.She's been calling Daryl "Da", which would be concerning if she didn't call Dad "Dada". I think she knows the difference. I hope so.Judith calls both Carol and me "Ca" or "Caca", which I'm pretty sure is Spanish for shit. So thanks, Judith.She calls Maggie and Michonne "Ma", Abraham "Abba", Noah "Na", Rosita "Rowowowow", and pretty much just makes happy baby noises with everyone else. Rosita's is new– she's just recently figured out the "O" sound.She's doing great.I think she sort of knows what happened to Tyresse. I know that's weird to say because she's just a baby but lately she's been crying more and more. Maybe that's just a baby thing. I don't know. But I have this gut feeling.I don't exactly know everything that happened while Tyresse and Carol took care of her. But every now and then, Carol will try something to make Judith laugh, and she'll giggle a little, but that's it. Carol would frown. "Tyresse used to make her laugh so much with that," she says.Footsteps up the porch startle me from the thoughts. I look up to see Aaron. He smiles."How are you holding up?" He tilts his head at me. Some people are still suspicious of Aaron, but I'm not. Again, it's my gut talking. I feel like we can trust him.I nod. "Good. Judith is, too," I bounce her a little bit, and she giggles once more. She looks up at Aaron with wide eyes. "Wanna hold her?" I ask. I notice Daryl's head shoots up, and he studies us with narrowed eyes."You sure?" Aaron notices, too, but I nod."Yeah."He scoops her up and stares down at her, smiling warmly. She reaches her hands up and touches his beard, gently before yanking down. He winces and pulls away, and she laughs. "She's gonna be a fighter," Aaron nods at me. I agree."Hi," he says to her."I, I, I," she flaps her arm around. I forgot to mention she's starting to say hello and goodbye. It's adorable.She starts squirming in Aaron's arms, and he struggles to hold her. I quickly take her back. "She wants to go down," I sigh. I put her down on the ground, and she grips onto my arms tightly– as tightly as she can– and wobbles sightly. She's been wanting to stand so much lately, and then she falls and gets upset, so I pick her up, but she wants to go back down. She's so determined to be independent. It would be nice if it wasn't so annoying.Aaron clears his throat. "Well, uh– have you seen your dad recently?" He looks from us to the front door and back to us."He ain't here," Daryl grunts, not looking up from his rabbit. It's skinned at this point, and he's cutting it up, picking out certain parts."Oh. Do you know where he is?"I interject before Daryl says something intentionally or unintentionally rude. "Probably Jessie's."Aaron nods. "I gotta talk to him about something. You wanna come with me? I noticed you were talking to Ron earlier and, uh– I don't know, it's good to make friends."Maybe I could ask him what I said wrong. Maybe he'll be there with the other kids and we can all play together. No– hang out. Playing is what I did when I was 8. Maybe I'll be like them. That would be super cool."Sure," I walk Judith over to Daryl, practically picking her up by her hands to prevent her from falling. "You'll be okay with her?"He nods, smiling as he pulls her into his lap, a little rabbit blood smearing onto her pants. I see Aaron wince. "We'll be alright," he shakes her around a little bit, making her giggle even more. "Won't we?"He has that handled. I turn and walk down the porch steps, Aaron looking at Daryl and Judith for a second longer before following me.••••••I take the stairs two at a time, my footsteps light and silent. I keep forgetting I don't constantly have to be quiet and on the lookout for walkers or people.I walk through the hallway, turning to go into the room Ron lead me to the first day where everyone was hanging out.But no one's there.I bite my lip, walking back out into the hallway. All of the doors are open, all except for one. I knock."Yeah?" A voice calls from inside. I think it's him."It's Carl.""Oh." A couple seconds of silence. "What do you want?" It's a question, but he made it sound more like a demand. Is he still mad? Huh.I gulp. "To, uh– hang out.""The door isn't locked, idiot," he snaps, and I almost turn around and go back down the stairs. But then I wouldn't know what I'm doing wrong, and if I don't know, I can never fix it, and I'll just keep doing the wrong thing. So I open the door and walk in.Wow.Obviously it's not my room, but it reminds me so much of it I immediately feel all my muscles relax. The walls aren't too bright, just like Mom told me not to make them. She said I would have a hard time falling asleep if they were "too bold". There's posters up, posters of bands Dad used to listen to and bands I've never heard of and video games I used to want to buy and shows Mom used to shake her head at. There's shelves with figurines and stuff on them and the bed has a navy blue blanket with rocket ships and stars and other space related things on it. I step over piles of clothes and comics and candy wrappers. Candy wrappers? Where did he get candy?"Do you have M&M's?" I look over to him. He shrugs."I don't know." He looks me up and down as if I have extra limbs. I suddenly want to walk away. But I won't. Because I've just done something wrong again and I need to know what."Why don't you like me?" I sit down on his bed and he scoots away. I scoot away, too, in case that's the right thing to do.He looks confused. And a little suspicious. "Where's Enid?"I internally sigh. Hmm. That isn't an answer. That's a question. He's avoiding my question. I wonder why.I tilt my head. "How should I know? Shouldn't she be with you? She's your girlfriend, right?" I know Glenn and Maggie are together almost all the time. But maybe that's because they're married. Do people suddenly spend more time each other when they're married? I guess that would make sense. There's so much I don't know, and I hate it.He glares at me. "Yeah, she fucking is."I blink. Woah. Cussing. That's extreme. "Why would she be with me?"He grits his teeth. "I don't know, you tell me." There's a fire in his eyes and I can tell he's holding back anger. Jesus Christ, what did I say?I notice one of his windows is open as a breeze blows the curtains aside. Sunlight streams in, and some hits his face. His hazel eyes appear lighter and his lips pinker. There's a dark bruise on the side of his face, purple in some areas and yellow in others disappearing behind his blonde hair. I narrow my eyes, reaching up to touch it."What happened to your face?" I gently brush some of his hair aside to get a better look. He winces, and a moment later hits my hand away."Dude, what the hell?" He brings a hand up to feel it, and I notice his jaw clench. "None of your fucking business, that's what," he gets up, turning away and walking towards his open window. He slams it shut. He yanks the blinds closed.The room is a lot darker, and feels a lot colder."You need to go," he gestures to the door. I open my mouth to speak, but he talks instead. "Go."I try to study his face to understand what he's feeling, but all I can get is something that makes my chest constrict enough to force me to get up and walk out.He shuts the door as I'm halfway down the stairs.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I clench my fists after I slam my door shut.That kid. That fucking kid.If I could kill him, I would. But that's, like, bad. So I won't. Not right now.Why would she be with me?The way his eyes widen like he's all innocent? This fire courses through my veins.Why don't you like me?Oh, why do you fucking think, smart ass?Shouldn't she be with you? She's your girlfriend, right?She would be with me if you didn't show up and fuck everything up! And he had the audacity to ask if I had M&M's. No I don't, freak, and even if I did I wouldn't give them to you, I'd give them to my girlfriend first.Oh my God. And the face touching? Weird as hell. What was that? What happened to your face? What happened to your face, asshole? Huh? Why are your eyes so blue? It's unsettling. It makes my stomach squirm. You should stop, man.Now I'm thinking about his face. He looks like Rick, yeah– because Rick's his dad. But he doesn't really look like any of the women he came in with, and none of them act like his mom. He seems closest to the one with the sword, but she's black, and he's very white.I guess he looks a little like the one with the short ponytail. Their noses are similar, maybe. But she seems to be with that Asian guy. They're always holding hands and smiling and being all coupley, and they have those weddings rings. If anything ever happened between her and Rick and they broke up, there doesn't seem to be any tension there.Maybe it's the one with the longer pigtails who wears the crop tops and jean shorts. She's pretty, she could be his mom. But the big scary redhead guy 👨🦰 always has his hand on her waist, and she doesn't look white. Same thing with the shorter ponytail woman— there doesn't seem to be any tension between this woman and Rick.I guess it could be the nice one with grey hair who cooks and bakes, but she seems too old for that. Rick and her seem too friendly for anything like that to happen.There's the woman with coily hair who always has it up. But she has darker skin than Carl's— lighter than the sword lady's, but still. And it just doesn't seem like there's anything there between her and Rick.There's the one with the longer ponytail, who I've overheard Carl call Tara, but she really doesn't seem interested in Rick, and I don't know why Carl would call his mom by her name.Maybe his mom's dead.I guess that would suck. I guess that makes me feel bad for him. I guess that I should be nicer.I sigh, pulling my curtains open. Sunlight hits my face, reminding me I have to raid Mom's makeup for some of that concealer again to cover up the bruise. I really wish Dad would just leave them somewhere less visible. It's really fucking embarrassing to have other people see that shit, and it's even more embarrassing when they point it out. Like, maybe just leave me the fuck alone.I look down at the street, scanning for I don't even know what when my eyes land on Enid walking next to someone, her familiar silky smooth, brown hair, shining in the sun. She touches her left shoulder with her right hand, a nervous habit of hers, and I smile.Until I realize who she's walking next to.How could I not notice that fucking hat?I bite the inside of my cheek, lifting my window open and trying to hear what they're saying."It's really... so, maybe... try... I think so!" She nods at him, and I bristle. They're bonding so quickly. It took ages for her to talk to me. Maybe it's because she's gotten more used to other people from her time here. "Well, we could... and..." her voice trails off as they walk away. I try to piece together the conversation, but I just didn't hear enough. It's a lot easier to hear from a staircase while your parents are arguing downstairs than from a second story while two people talk normally outside on the sidewalk. I sigh.Fuck Carl.Fuck his stupid fucking cowboy sheriff hat. Fuck his blue eyes. Fuck his freckles. Fuck his fluffy hair. Fuck how good he smelled after taking a shower and how bad he smelled before. Fuck his soft voice. Fuck his smile. Fuck everything that makes Enid like him. Fuck his pretend innocence. Fuck his stupidity. Fuck him for trying to steal Enid.I turn, pushing all my anger into my fist and driving it into the wall next to my bed with a loud thump.Pain shoots up my arm and I wince, drawing my hand back and looking up at the damage done to my wall.Bits of the wall crumble from the indent, darkness the only thing inside. Cracks reach out from the hole, and it's so clearly fist-shaped. Dad's gonna be mad.My chest doesn't tighten up with fear like it usually does. I just can't think about Dad. Instead, all I can picture is Carl.Fuck being nice.••••••I run my fingers over the wrappings on my knuckles. Blood seeps through in some spots, and it's still sore. I've punched my wall before, so this isn't new, but this might have been the hardest I've ever done it.I'm realizing now I forgot about putting concealer over my bruise, but I guess it's too late. I'm already out on the street, and I've already passed several people. If they noticed, word'll be out soon enough. Secrets aren't exactly kept for too long in a town like Alexandria.The thing is, people probably know about my dad and what he does to us. They probably suspect it at the very least. They just don't really care, and if they do, they're too scared to do anything about it. And that's just as fine. Doing anything about it would probably only make it worse.I've done things about it. I do stuff all the time, but it's only to protect my mom and Sam. Other than that, I'm quiet. I don't say shit. There isn't a point.A gunshot startles me. It didn't sound like it was from a lookout— it sounded ground-level. But maybe I'm hearing wrong. I jog over to the source, and another shot makes me run faster.I stop when I see Rick talking to my mom.He rests his hands on his hips, his head tilted down, looking up at my mom. She gestures vaguely down the street, then pauses when she sees me, waving me over. I groan.Rick sticks out his hand to me as I walk up next to my mom. "Ron. I've heard a lot about you from your mom," the side of his mouth quirks up in a smug smile, and I glare up at him. He's just trying to rub in that he's been talking to my mom, huh?My mom lets out an exasperated sigh, grabbing my arm and forcing my hand into his. I shake once and pull back."Excuse my son, he's–" she looks from Rick to me, rubbing her forehead. She glances back to Rick, shrugging.I look around. I guess this is where the gunshots were coming from.Four targets of wood with rings painted haphazardly sitting on top of easels lean up against stacks of cinder blocks. Three of the targets have people occupying the space, two of which hold smaller guns, one of which holds a larger gun.Wow. They're already converting this place to a fucking military base. The whole point of Alexandria was to be a place of normalcy in a post-apocalyptic world.My mom must notice my dirty look. "I know this isn't what you're used to, but these people are helping us," she nods at me. "Rick and his group thought it would be good to give people who want it some practice defending themselves." Rick studies my face for a reaction. I don't give him one."D'you want some practice?" He tilts his head to the side, his eyes narrowed. He looks so serious. It's stupid, and I'm about to walk away before I get too mad when I get an idea.I look down, trying to appear like I'm thinking. Then I bring my eyes back to Rick."Yeah. Yeah, I do."••••••"A lot of people think you need to stay firm and tight when shooting, but you don't." The woman with the coily hair tied up is teaching me, my mom, Mikey, and some others how to shoot. She told us her name is Sasha. She's a really good shot, but she insists Carol is better, which is hard for me to believe. She just seems like a sweet woman. "You can, but the recoil will feel worse. It's better to bend your elbows and knees a bit. And keep your feet about shoulder-length apart, don't forget."She gets in the stance, picking her gun up and holding it out in front of her, with her elbows slightly bent like she said. She squeezes one eye shut and moves her finger to the trigger, exhaling before shooting.Pop!I jump a little, looking away from Sasha to see where she hit the target.Dead center.She drops her hand down, turning back to us. "Now, before I give you your guns, you need to learn the main rules of handling them." She walks over to a tray that would typically be used to hold medical supplies, but now holds several types of guns. "Four at a time. Who wants to go first?"I step forward. She nods at me, glancing down at the guns and studying them before picking up a smaller one. A pistol, maybe? I don't know gun names. "The big thing is to treat every gun as loaded." She hands the small gun to me, gripping it by the top and placing the handle in my palm. "This one really is loaded," she warns, looking into my eyes. "But even if a gun isn't loaded or if you aren't sure, treat it as though it is. Some of the biggest mistakes people make with guns is because they're just messing around."My mom asks for a gun, and Sasha provides. It's a similar size than mine, but the top is slightly longer. "Related to the first rule, always point your gun in a safe direction. Notice when I handed the guns over to these two, I held it by the barrel so it was pointing away from the both of us, downrange, and when I'm not shooting, I'm holding it down so it's aiming at the ground."It's heavy. I rotate it in my hand, running my fingers over the top— the "barrel", as she called it. The dull black color is a stark contrast to Rick's gun— the glinting silver that shines in the sun. The handle of this gun has a rough pattern on it, I'm assuming to help with grip."Not all guns have a safety, but I'm pretty sure all the ones we have here do..." she trails off as she looks over two she picked up from the tray, nodding before handing them to the other two people who want to shoot. "But if you aren't shooting, keep your fucking safety on," she stares at all of us. "I mean it." She picks up her own gun from the tray and turns back to the range, bringing her gun back up. She taps the side of the gun with her pointer finger. "And never ever put your finger on the trigger until you're 100% ready to shoot whatever you're pointing at, whether it be a target, an object, an animal, a person, whatever." She sighs. "Especially a person." She slowly moves her pointer finger to the trigger, shooting once more.Pop!I jump again. I just can't help it.The second bullet hole is so close to the first the open spaces connect."And you only need to give the tri–"Sasha cuts herself off as the woman with the short ponytail who's always with the Asian guy runs up and grabs her attention. I groan as I see Carl trailing behind her."'Sup, Maggie?" Sasha nods her head up. The woman with the short ponytail— Maggie— points behind herself."Abraham, Tara, and Rosita are goin' out on a run and they want you to go with. I would go but I'm stayin' with Glenn and Eugene tryin' to talk to Deanna 'bout maybe getting a second house for all of us."Sasha nods. "Cool, I'll go." She looks back to us. "Sorry guys, we'll have to wait until another day for this."Carl steps up. "I can teach them," he suggests. It would be so easy to punch him right now.Sasha smiles. "I don't know if–""He's a pretty damn good shot," Maggie cuts in, nodding at Sasha. "I'll get Michonne to watch just in case, but he'll be fine."Sasha holds her hands up. "Alright, cool."••••••Carl and Michonne— the woman with the sword—pace back and forth behind us like prison guards. It's weird. But I try to focus on the target in front of me, and I think it's working. I've hit the wood 5 out of 9 times. I didn't get anywhere close to the middle at any of them, but at least I hit the wood.I'm not sure how many bullets are left, but I want to make them count. All of the past 5 shots, the recoil has made me stumble back. I try to steady myself but it never works. It always surprises me. I tense up all of my muscles in preparation.Two hands gently placed on my waist scare the shit out of me. I turn my head around as a fluttery feeling erupts in my stomach and trails up my chest.It's Carl.I'm seriously about to point the gun at his head when he starts to speak."You're too tight," he mumbles, adjusting my hips and bringing his hands up to my shoulders. A shudder runs down my whole body. "Just relax."I find myself tensing up even more, because what the hell?He pulls my elbows down ever so slightly, putting his hands on top of mine and bringing the gun a little closer. My grip on the gun falters. I feel my arms trembling, and I think I might throw up."You left or right handed?" His breath hits my neck warmer than the air around us. He inhales, and it's suddenly cool. I think this weather's making me lightheaded. I feel dizzy."Wh– what?""Your dominant hand?" He taps my right thigh, and I intake a sharp breath as I take a step back with my right foot.Dominant. Dominant hand. Of course."I'm a righty," I tilt my head down and back, and I try to spit the words out, but my voice shakes. Ugh.He chuckles, and I can feel it against my skin. Or maybe that's his hair tickling the back of my neck. I can't tell. My stomach squirms uncomfortably."Just give the trigger a little squeeze. That's all."I shrug him off, closing one eye and moving my finger to the trigger. I keep my body relaxed but my arms prepared. I think of something I really wanna shoot.I pull the trigger.It kicks back, but I'm ready for it, and I don't even need to take a step back.I bite the inside of my cheek and shoot three more times.I lower the gun, looking at what I did. All 4 are within an inch or two of the bullseye."Good," he says, and I look back to see him smiling. I turn away and bring the gun back up, readying for another shot.I guess I should've told him I was picturing his stupid fucking face on that target.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Up here!" Enid's voice is quiet but urgent, checking around her before running up to the wall and grabbing onto the wood beams.She quickly scales the wall, and I follow her, with much less grace. I hit my head on a beam and grunt. I cut my hand on a nail and just hope it isn't rusty. I slip several times, but once I'm at the top, I can turn myself around and drop, the bottoms of my feet aching as I try to keep my balance. I look over to her, shaking her head."You need to learn how to fall right," she sighs, taking off into the forest. I blink, taking a second to gather myself before going after her.I run as quietly as possible, but I still crunch a few leaves and snap a few branches. I stop when I realize I have no clue where I am or where Enid is.Huh."Boo."I jump, whipping around and punching the creeper in the face and dropping them. Of course, it's Enid, the only other person out here.I fall down to the ground next to her, apologizing profusely. "I'm sorry! Shit, I'm so sorry, you scared me and I'm sorry," I touch her face and she flinches away from me.I pull my hands back, waiting anxiously for her to get angry or get up and run away or something.Instead, she starts crying.Her head hung down, her chest heaves with sobs. Shit. I didn't think I hit that hard. I guess that's good but obviously not for her and I feel so bad but also proud of myself and maybe I should stop talking but I'm not even talking I'm just thinking.A gasp scares me, and I can't just sit and do nothing. I hold the side of her face I didn't punch and tilt it up, only to find no tears at all.She's hysterically laughing.She falls on her back, facing the sky, grinning as she giggles so madly she's silent. I let out a nervous chuckle, because what am I supposed to do in this situation?A crunch makes me whip my head around. I hold my hand up to quiet Enid down, even though she isn't making any noise. I look over, but she's already sitting back up, glancing around with caution.Stumbling just a few yards in front of us is a walker. It lets out a low grumble as its arm knocks into a stray branch, and I pull out my gun.Enid grabs my hand, shaking her head. I narrow my eyes. "Don't," she whispers. I slowly lower my hand.She stands up, not letting go of my hand and pulling me up with her. She walks silently over to a thick tree, and I follow behind her, stepping heel-toe just like Daryl taught.We circle the tree, and I notice it's been split open by lightning. It's almost completely hollowed out. Complete darkness.She takes one last glance at the walker, and so I do, too. She pulls me into the hollowed out tree, and the air suddenly feels a whole lot cooler. I shiver. Just once."It can't hear us as well in here," she whispers. "But still be quiet. You're kinda loud."I try to take it as a compliment. "Why didn't you let me kill it?"She sighs, and as her breath goes past my ear, I realize how close we are. "It would've been loud."I nod. "Yeah." I look at her, and I realize I have to look up. She's taller than me. How embarrassing. I'm supposed to be taller than girls. "Sorry."She smiles a little, and it's the kind of smile that just makes you want to smile, too. So I do."It's okay."I glance down and see that she's holding a knife. My eyebrows furrow. "If my gun would've been loud, why didn't you just kill it with this?" I pick up her hand in mine, nodding to the knife. Her face reddens, until she pulls her hand away."No one gets it," she rolls her eyes. I'm interested."I'll try," I lower my voice. She timidly looks at me."Fine." She locks eyes with me. "They own this world now. We did for a while, and before us it was dinosaurs and– well, you know." I look down at her lips– sometimes it's like having captions on when people talk so fast I can't fully understand what they're saying, and that's what she's doing. "But our time is over. It's their turn. That's just how the order of the world is gonna be now, and we just happened to be caught in the middle of the switch."I think I get what she's saying. "Why does that mean we can't kill them?"She looks down. "I guess it doesn't. I just–"I get a flash of Lizzie. Oh shit. "They aren't alive, Enid. They aren't still in there, no matter how they look. You need to understand that."She nods, face angry. "I know that! I know," she sighs, and I feel bad. She's about to leave the tree when I grab her wrist and pull her back."I'm sorry. I didn't mean to– uh, make you mad," I shake my head. "It's just... I mean..."She clears her throat, turning back towards me. I guess at some point she put away her knife, because she holds my hands in hers. "I know."I look into her eyes. I don't know what she's been through, but it's bad. I can see it in the way that even when she smiles, her eyes still look sad. I can see it in the way she doesn't want to talk too loud. I can see it in the way she never seems to be relaxed.I can tell that she really does know.I smile at her. "I'm sorry about your face," I say sincerely, except I realize a second after that could sound mean instead of sincere. "Me punching it!" I correct myself. "The punching, not your face, your face is great–"She laughs, and I find myself laughing, too, instead of worrying.It's hard to settle down someplace after being uprooted for years. It's hard to believe that I'm actually safe.This is nice. To not think about those things.Her eyes light up, and I pull my hands away. "I have an idea."And that's why I pulled my hands away."Let's race!"••••••As it turns out, I'm a lot slower than I thought I was. Or Enid's just really fast.My side is starting to cramp, but I still run like my life depends on it. I remember in 2nd grade when I was still in school losing races to girls was a huge deal, and it meant you were shunned. I always won the races against anyone. Maybe I lost my speed. Or maybe losing to girls isn't that bad. Why isn't it the same as losing to boys?I don't know. This isn't helping me. I try to keep my hands straight and my breathing even. In and out, controlled and easy. Except that's really hard when there's branches attempting to take my head off every two seconds.I just barely make it over a fallen log, jumping and nearly landing on all fours. I squint to keep track of Enid.My side aches. My throat burns. I smile. I push off the ground to get a steady pace going again, but I slow down when I feel my hat fly off of my head.I turn around, scrambling back for my hat. I consider it mine now, but in the back of my mind it's still Dad's. I guess it's ours.I breathe so heavily, but I couldn't hear it before because I was so focused on just running. Now It seems to be the loudest thing in this forest. I pick up my hat, stand up, and look around as I realize I have no clue where I am.But it's beautiful.I can't tell if it's sweat or humidity on my skin– probably both. Usually that would annoy me, but now it just makes me smile. I rest my hand against a thick tree trunk. The wood feels so rough underneath my fingertips. The sky is so blue. The clouds are so grey, but they're white around the edges and black where they overlap. Dew drips from leaves, the leaves that are such a deep green I can feel it in my soul. Except some of them are yellow, a sunshine yellow.It's stupid, but there are just these moments where everything's so real and it's so amazing.It reminds me of Ron, in a way. The leaves, the deep green of the forest with the yellow sunshine. It's like his eyes. I remember sitting in his room and looking up at him– yeah, I have to look up at him, too– and noticing how cool his eyes were. They're mostly a nice green but there's these golden flecks, and it just makes them seem so beautiful."Hey, slowpoke." Enid's voice startles me from my thoughts, and I jump a little. I turn to her."My hat fell," I explain, but she just raises an eyebrow."Sure," she draws the word out sarcastically with a smile, and I groan."It did!"She nods, holding her hands up. "Of course it did."I sigh. But I'm still thinking about Ron's eyes, and now I'm thinking about what happened after I stared at them. When I noticed that bruise. I wondered if he got into fights a lot, but who would it be with? Then he got angry. Maybe he lost the fight."Enid?" I ask. She looks to me in recognition. "Ron's your boyfriend, right?"I notice her face fall a little, and I feel bad. I don't know what I'm doing wrong with Ron and now I don't know what I'm doing wrong with her."Yeah," she says, shrugging slightly. "I guess."I guess. How do you guess that? Ron was confident. Maybe he forced her into a relationship? Or maybe she just doesn't like him as much as he likes her? Ugh. I need to stop speculating about everything and just mind my own business."Does he get into fights a lot?"She narrows her eyes. They dart to the side and then back at me. "Well..." She trails off, and I guess I look worried, because she rushes to finish. "No, no. But– I mean– I..." she struggles for words. Is it really that complicated?She sighs. "Don't tell anyone, okay?" I nod, confused, and sort of mischievous because I'm probably just gonna tell Michonne whatever it is later anyway because I always tell her everything. "He does fight. With his dad."I blink. Well that doesn't help. I want to know where he got the bruise. "Like... they argue?" I laugh a little. I've argued with my dad a whole lot.She looks uncomfortable. Really uncomfortable. "I guess." She pauses. "Yeah. But it's more."I think. He only fights with his dad. He could only get that bruise from his dad or himself. Would his dad hit him? I can't imagine a parent doing that to their kid. But I guess I don't know everything."Does Ron's dad hit him?" I shake my head in disbelief. Yeah, Ron's mean, but no one deserves that. Especially not from a parent. Maybe that's why he's mean.Hitting your kid. What the fuck?Enid is silent for a few seconds, and then she sighs. "No, Carl. Let's just go back."I blink.Huh.So he hits himself. Weird.••••••As Enid and I get closer to Alexandria, screams make the hair in the back of my neck stand, and my blood runs cold when she points to part of the wall.Or, where part of the wall should be.She starts to run, waving at me to follow her.We dash through the fallen wall but slow to a halt when we see what's happening.Smoke billows as several blackened homes house dying fires. Walkers wander the street, groaning, stained with blood, and I can't tell if it's dried or fresh.Glass shatters, and shouts from up ahead get me running again, past walkers crowded around dead bodies as well as alive ones.People stand in a circle uncertainly. I stumble as Enid and I come up behind them and realize what they're watching.My dad and Ron's dad roll on the street, punching and choking each other out. Pete gets on top of my dad and is strangling him. My breath catches. Ron's mom runs forward and tries to pull Pete off, but he just backhands her, sending her to the ground.He hit her.He hits Ron.My dad shouts, rolling over and getting on top of Pete, hands on his neck. I see his eyes start to dim and his limbs go limp. I rush over to my dad, and now it's my turn to try and pull one dad off of another.But my dad doesn't even glance at me. He just shoves me back, and I just barely catch myself. Enid helps get me up, and I just stare.My dad has Pete in a chokehold. He's just barely conscious. Now I see my dad's face fully, and I shudder. It's all bloody, and it's impossible to tell if it's his or someone else's. His mouth twists up in anger."Stop it. Stop it." Deanna takes a few steps forward, voice loud and firm. My dad looks up. "Right now," she shakes her head. Some more people run up to watch.My dad mutters something to Pete. All I can make out is "kill you".Deanna leans forward. "Damn it, Rick! I said stop!"Some people walk forward. I don't know what they planned to do, but I don't get to see it."Or what?" My dad spats, pulling out his gun and pointing at them, down on one knee at this point."Shit," I mumble. Enid glances over at me."You gonna kick me out?!" My dad does that head tilt, his eyes wide, pointing the gun at others including Deanna. His voice breaks. He sounds insane. He looks insane. He's acting insane.Deanna holds her hands up. "Put that gun down, Rick."He shifts, his heavy breathing the loudest thing here. He sputters. "You still don't get it." He lowers his gun, grinning like a madman and sinking to both his knees again. He looks around wildly. "None of you do! We know what needs to be done and we do it."The slight, sharp sound of a sniper from who knows where makes some people jump, looking around in fear."We're the ones who live."Two more shots."You!" My dad points to Reg and Deanna and Spencer. "You just– sit! And plan and hesitate– you pretend like you know b– when you don't!" He gestures with his gun, something he told me to never do. He's really losing it.Two more."You wish things weren't what they are," he growls. Another shot. "Well you wanna live? You want this place to stay standing?" Another. "Your way of doing things is done! Things don't get better because you- you want them to. Starting right now, we have to live in the real world." He holds one arm close. "We have to control. Who lives here.""That's never been more clear to me than it is right now," Deanna states. And it's a simple fact. I want to scream, tell my dad to shut the fuck up for once in his life, because we finally have a good thing and it's strange for him after so many bad ones.My dad is turned away, but I see him gesture to himself with his gun. "Me? Me? You–" he lets out a short laugh. "You mea– you mean me?" I take a step back. "Your way's gonna destroy this place. It's gonna get people killed– it's already gotten people killed." Deanna crosses her arms. "Now I'm not gonna stand by and just let it happen."Michonne shoves through people, storming up to Rick. I know what she's gonna do, and I want her to do it. Go, Michonne!"If you don't fight, you die. I'm not gonna stand by and just–"She whacks him over the head, letting him crumble to the ground next to Pete.I guess Dad wasn't making friends as easily as I was today.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Who does he think he is?!" I throw my hands up in exasperation as I pace around my room. Enid sighs."He's worried," she shrugs, shaking her head. She isn't even concerned that I'm upset. In fact, she's defending him. It's happening. He's corrupting her."Where were you guys?" I clench my fists, making a plan in my mind.Enid freezes. "The– you know, the gazebo." She touches her left shoulder with her right hand. The nervous thing. She's lying.Why is she lying to me?"Where were you guys?" I ask again, firmer this time, glaring at her. She looks away, mumbling something."What?"She glares right back at me. "Outside," she spats.I smile, but there's no humor, and she knows it, too. My eyebrows furrow. "You went Outside? Again? With him?" There's venom in my words.She angles her body away from me. She's closing off. She doesn't respond.I grab her arm. "Why?" I ask. She just stares. I forcefully sit on my bed next to her. "Why?!"She flinches, jerking away from me and standing up. "Because I wanted to! Because he's nice to me, and because he understands what it's like to lose people and to be out there in that unforgiving world where nothing and no one cares about you and the people you love and how you feel about anything!" Her face twists up in anger as she snaps and I pull back. "He knows how awful it is! He can't ever understand exactly how I feel but he definitely comes a hell of a lot closer than you ever will!"She throws the plastic turtle she was holding at me, hitting me in the chest. "Put it back, wherever the hell it goes," she mutters, storming out of my room and slamming the door behind her.I sit in silence, the plastic turtle in my lap slowly falling until it drops off my knee and onto the floor with a soft thud.Well shit.••••••I walk the street, eyes down, fidgeting with my fingers and thinking.What does he have that I don't?A traumatic past? Well I'm sorry my parents aren't dead and I never got kidnapped and tortured or whatever the hell made him the way he is.Has she told him about her past already? I grind my teeth. She hasn't even told me everything all this time. And I wasn't angry. I was gonna give her all the time she needed. But now, if she's already told Carl all of it? I'm gonna go insane.So something traumatic needs to happen to me. Okay. Hopefully that'll be soon.Is it because he has dark hair? No, Mikey has dark hair and Enid was never interested in him. Maybe its that his hair is longer. Or straighter. He refused to let my mom cut his hair even though there's split ends and it reaches past the bottom of his neck when it's wet. Maybe I should grow my hair out.He has blue eyes. Really blue. They're blue and he stares and it's hard to look away and it's weird. But I can't just give myself blue eyes. I just have hazel or something, and that's boring. Do we have contacts here in Alexandria? Probably not. Ugh.Maybe it's the light freckles. I have some, but they're just like birth marks– he has clusters over his cheeks and nose and shit. I don't think I can get freckles. I don't think that's how it works.Maybe it's that he's shorter. Is Enid into short guys? I thought she liked me because I was tall. I mean, she never said that, but I thought it was just implied. Girls like a tall guy. Maybe I can try and slouch to make myself seem shorter? No. That wouldn't work.Is it that hat? No. I am never wearing a hat as stupid as that one.So I should grow out my hair and wait for something traumatic to happen. That should be easy enough.Several sets of quick footsteps shake me from my thoughts, and I look up from the pavement. People, some from Alexandria and other's from Rick's group, run past me carrying weapons and shouting orders to each other."Rosita, get the South wall," Spencer points to the woman from Rick's group with the long pigtails and the crop top. I guess she's Rosita. "You too," he points to someone from Alexandria. They both nod and take off."Michonne, take the West side with Maggie and Abraham. They should already be there." He points to the scary woman with the sword, and she pulls it out with that shink sword sound, and I flinch. She leaves."You two, get to the North wall, Tara and Daryl are there with more weapons," he nods to a couple who have been at Alexandria for a while.It's just him, the Asian guy, and the black guy who looks a few years older than Carl. He hesitates, unfamiliar with these two, then sees me. His face lights up."Ron! Here," he throws a small gun at me, and I scramble to catch it. I don't think he heard the part of Sasha's gun lesson where she said to treat every gun as loaded."Glenn, Noah, come with us to the East wall." He nods to the two, and I don't know which is which.The younger one sighs but adjusts his grip on his gun– which is pretty big– and follow Spencer down the road. The older one follows, and I jog to catch up with him."What's going on?" I ask. He looks over to me."Walkers surrounding the camp. They're piling up and straining the wall too much," he explains. I assume that 'walkers' are rotters, but I ask just to make sure. He confirms."I'm Glenn," he smiles at me, holding his big gun close to his chest. I don't know how I should feel."Ron," I mutter, speeding up a bit. We're almost at the wall, and if there's rotters, we need to get them away quickly."Oh, Carl's talked about you," Glenn says. I glance back, but only for a moment. I guess he sees my interest. "Says you're kinda angry."I snort. "Yeah, well..." I trail off and slow down as we near the wall.People hold up the wall from the ground while others from lookout posts shoot down. I hear voices and shouts from the other side of the wall.Is this how these people deal with rotters?"Glenn! Get on the outside," this guy with an awful dark greasy mullet and southern accent calls from the gate, controlling it opening and closing, careful to let people in and out and scream when a rotter gets near."Got it!" Glenn nods, slipping out of the gate and out of my sight.Wow.I just barely get a glimpse of Spencer and Noah climbing up a lookout post when I'm shoved against the wall by someone, and I hold it up with my back. I hear the metal creaking and rotters groaning and the squirting of blood and the hacking of blades into skin. People shout and someone lets out a cry of pain. I push my shoulder against the wall with all of my strength, looking to who's breathing heavily next to me.Carl helps hold the wall with his back while he's leaned over, attempting to load bullets into a gun bullet carrying thing. He bites his bottom lip in concentration. He needs two hands to hold the gun, but he never drops it. When he finishes loading in the bullets, he shoves the bullet carrying thing into the bottom of the gun and flicks a switch on the side, covering a red dot. He looks up at me through his lashes as he gets a good hold on it."You got this part?" He asks. He's wearing a long sleeve shirt but the sleeves are pulled up to his elbows, forearms rippling with muscles I never noticed before. I realize he doesn't have his hat on, and locks of fluffy hair fall over his face, wisps almost blocking his wide eyes. But they don't, and I can see the blue, covered in shadow by the wall and the angle of the sun. That same uncomfortable feeling makes me shiver."I don't need you," I snap. His eyes narrow, and I press harder against the wall. He tilts his head, turning away and running to the nearest look out post, scrambling up the ladder.He readies his gun, squinting down the top of it before shooting down at the horde.His body jerks with every shot, but he never falters. After shooting a few, he takes another bullet carrying thing out of his pocket, not pulling his eyes away from the scene below as he shoves it into the bottom of the gun and unloads bullet after bullet into the horde relentlessly.I gulp.Soon enough, the groans of the rotters and the shouts of people die down until they're gone completely. Carl lowers his whole gun with one hand, his chest heaving. His grabs the bottom of his shirt with his other hand, pulling it up to wipe his forehead and exposing his midsection.There's a hint of some abs in his pale stomach, above sharp hip bones and between a waist slimmer than his ribcage. There's a small patch of skin that's redder than the rest.He climbs down from the lookout post, helping Maggie. He says goodbye and then walks over to me.He glances up at me through his lashes, eyes half-lidded and tired. I can see the whites of his eyes under his watery irises. My stomach squirms.Then he just walks past me without a word.••••••"Why would you go to the wall when there's rotters?" Mom throws her hands up, shaking her head. I roll my eyes."Spencer asked me to help, so I did," I shrug. "Would you rather I not help and let them fight by themselves?"Mom raises an eyebrow. "What did you do?"I hesitate, because I know the point she's trying to make and I know she's right. "Held the wall up...""With how many other people?"I shrug. "A lot," I mutter. She nods, trying to look into my eyes."You didn't need to be there. You needed to be here, with us. We were worried sick." She nods towards Sam, who's on the couch, and I glance over from the kitchen. He picks his nose and eats it. She nods again."Okay, Mom, I'm sorry, but–"I'm cut off as the front door slams open against the wall of the entryway. Sam freezes, whimpering and jumping up, running over to Mom and me.I clear my throat.Dad stumbles through the doorway of the kitchen. I guess he forgot to close the front door. Again.He clutches a beer bottle in his hand. "I almost didn't..." he mumbles. "Didn't make it home." He widens his eyes to glare at us, and then goes back to squinting the way he does when he's drunk. "Where were you?" He growls at me."Holding up the wall," I say flatly. He scoffs."You can't hold up anything," he laughs. "Not even a goddamn relationship. I saw that little girlfriend of yours with that new boy the other day, sneaking out of Alexandria," he slurs his words as he smiles. I blink. I don't know what to say that won't make him angry."I know," I settle on. But it was the wrong fucking decision."And you didn't do anything?!" He grumbles. His face twists with anger. "You're pathetic!" He laughs, stumbling forward, spit or alcohol or a mix of the two flying from his mouth. I reach behind me to push Mom and Sam back.I just stare at him."And you won't even do anything now!" He shouts. "It's embarrassing! Sam has bigger balls than you!" He gestures to my brother, cowering behind my mom and gripping her shirt tightly. He laughs incredulously. "This family has gone to shit!"I look back to Mom and Sam. Mom's eyes water up, and I can tell by the way she's starting to slouch Dad's words are hitting her hard. I glare at him."The only one who's gone to shit is you," I say. He stops laughing."What did you say?"I'm almost scared into silence by his tense voice, but I stand up straighter. "I said, 'the only one who's gone to shit is you'. You're a shitty dad and an even shittier husband."He seethes. We sit in silence for a second, and I turn around to face Mom and Sam.Then I'm thrown to the side, my ribs hitting the counter with a sharp pain. Fuck. I gasp as I barely keep myself from falling to the ground. I hold onto the countertop, pulling myself up.A kick to the stomach makes me collapse. The air knocked out of me, and all I can do is choke and cough as I try to get up. I hear Sam cry.His hand roughly grabs my back, clutching my shirt in his fist and yanking me up. I gasp for air as I can breathe again, but he wraps another hand around my neck."You are weak," he mutters, and I open my eyes. He stares at me, into me, and he says it like it's a fact, so confident I believe him. "You... are nothing." The stench of alcohol breath wafts from his mouth. My vision blurs as the need for air becomes so desperate I throw my fists and feet and elbows and knees at him.He releases me, and I drop. "What a waste." I feel like he's punched me again."And you two are no better, but you already know that," he steps up to Mom, grabbing her face in one hand while gripping Sam's hair with the other. "You already know that." He smiles down at Sam, then looks back at Mom. A tear falls down her cheek, her whole face tensed up.He brings his hand from her face to her waist, pulling her close and kissing her aggressively. He yanks on Sam's hair, and when Mom tries to push him away, he pulls harder.I quietly get up, locking eyes with Sam.He starts to scream, and Dad is so startled he steps back. I take the opportunity and wrap my arms around him, throwing him down to the ground. He grunts, pulling me down with him."Go!" I call out, and Mom and Sam run past us to go upstairs to the closet with the lock.Dad tries to grab me, but I elbow him in the diaphragm and scramble up. He slowly stands, breathing shallow and hands shaking."You don't talk to my mom like that," I snarl.He tries to rush me, but since he's so drunk, it isn't hard to jump out of the way and shove him forward, using his momentum against him.He falls, hitting his head on the hard armrest of the couch on the way down.After a second, his chest rises and falls.Still alive.I get up, breathing heavily and coughing. I turn to see Mom standing in the doorway from the kitchen to the living room with a kitchen knife."I told you to go," I grumble, my voice hoarse from being choked. She tries to talk, but she won't. I know she's trying to make up an excuse for leaving me then coming back and leaving me all these years. It's not an excuse for me. It's an excuse to make her feel better.Anything to make her feel better."Night," I nod at her, turning away and going up to my room. I don't hear her move.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I lay in my bed, my mind consumed with hazy thoughts. Hazy, awful thoughts. Blood. Always blood.I try to distract myself and stare up at the ceiling, but my body is restless. I squirm and readjust, but that only brings me back to my bad thoughts. I throw my arms up. It's hot as hell in here. I run my fingers through my hair. Why can't I sleep? I've slept in the woods in the middle of January nearly freezing to death. I've slept in a prison with the screams of sick dying people plaguing my dreams. I've slept in a tent a few feet away from my mom having sex, many times with Shane and several with my dad. I've slept in hot ass cars and dead-infested buildings and up against trees with insects crawling all over me. I've slept in a chair next to my comatose dad in the hospital before this all started. I've slept with a bullet in my chest.And now when I'm in a nice comfortable bed in a nice comfortable house in a nice comfortable neighborhood I can't sleep. I almost laugh.My fingers in my hair is a comforting feeling. I close my eyes, pretending it's someone else. Maybe Mom.That thought just makes me sad. So I think of someone else, an imaginary person who holds me in their arms and plays with my hair and says they think I look nice and kisses me on the lips like they do in the books.My face grows warm. I bring my hand down to my face to try and rub it away, dropping my hand when it doesn't work. My fingertips splay across my neck, cool against warm, making me shiver. I take my other hand away from my hair, trailing it across my sharp collarbone and down my chest. My nipples harden— that's weird— and I want to be disturbed, but all I can do is bite back a smile.My back arches as I graze my fingers over my stomach, goosebumps popping up on my arms and legs. It feels even weirder when I run one hand to my waist on the opposite side and squeeze, pulling me up.Wow. I'm good at this, pretending.I bring both hands to my boxers.I know how this feels. But I've never purposely tried to do it. I don't know if it will feel the same.
Might as well try.I put my hand down to the level of my crotch, resting a hand on my boxers over my dick and palming it.I let out a shaky sound, a pathetic thing that would come from something that would probably die soon.It feels the same. It feels so perfectly the same. I palm it more, my back arching higher.I look down, and the bulge of my boxers has grown. I gulp.I pull down my boxers, tossing them somewhere under the covers.My bare skin rubs against the cool sheets.I stare down at myself. What do I do now?Maybe what I've been doing. Maybe it'll feel better because my boxers are off.So I palm my dick. And it's weird. A loud noise comes from my throat, a high-pitched, desperate one. An embarrassing one.But with it comes a warmth that blooms in my stomach and reaches its tendrils further, down my thighs and up my chest.I touch myself more, but it isn't me. It's that person. Their hands are soft, and yet commanding. They move down my body and I don't argue. I adjust my hips because I want them.In my mind, they laugh. It's a low sound, and I find that it feels even better to move my hand up and down around my dick than to just palm it. The sounds escaping my mouth are like those I would make if I got hurt. It's weird to make them now since I'm feeling so good instead of so bad."Yeah? You like that?" The voice in my mind says. The voice is familiar, and it's like they're taunting me even though it's all in my head."Yes..." I find myself whispering. "Please, pl–" my voice breaks as I move my hand up and down faster. "Please."The voice hums. I squirm in bed more, my free hand gripping the sheets tightly. "Should I stop?"My hot chest seizes. I'm talking to myself and yet I'm so needy. "No, please– Mmm– I need you–" I pump myself faster, my breathing heavy, my voice whiny, that warmth spreading up my neck and down my legs now."Yeah," the person chuckles. "Yeah you do, Carl."And it's with the dark laugh and the way they say my name and the groan of frustration I realize who I'm thinking about.It isn't an imaginary person.It's Ron.Shame clouds my mind, but putting a name to these feelings make them bigger. Something like pins and needles starts up in my crotch and slowly spreads out like that warmth. I let out another pathetic noise as my hips jerk up, taking my hand off my sheets to put back on my waist and grip me tightly, so tight it almost hurts.In my mind, Ron kisses me. In my mind, we're bleeding. In my mind, I hate him, and in my mind, he's touching me like this. His hands wander all over my body and I'm begging him to not stop and I'm leaving hateful bruises on him
and he hates me, too, and I'm telling him how good he feels.I pull my hand away from my waist and up to my face, sinking my teeth into my arm in a pathetic attempt to quiet myself down as the pins and needles consume me, pleasure racking through my body every time I pump myself and he pumps me.My whole body twitches, my legs trembling, my eyes closed, a desperate attempt to see more of the fuzzy image I have of him. His eyes are dead and his eyebrows are raised as if he's amused with me. His mouth quirks up in a grin, and I finally understand what getting "butterflies in your stomach" means. He talks to me all confusing like, one second bitter and angry like usual and then the next with pitiful eyes and a voice just as desperate as mine.All of a sudden, the pleasure that goes through my body in waves starts to build up like a dam was constructed in my core. It just adds up and gets stronger and stronger until I'm crying out his name into my arm and my whole body shakes.It's the weirdest, best thing to ever happen to me.All of my muscles tense up uncontrollably, almost painfully, and then they release, and the relief is like nothing I've ever felt before.A disgusting sound that I can't help is thankfully muffled by my arm, but there's more. More of that whimpering and noises of pleasure. God. It's so good.I see him, his face, his body, despite it being pitch black in here. I see his eyes rolled, his head thrown back, sweat glinting as it slowly drips down his neck as his adam's apple bobs up and down with desperate gulps of air.For a second, I think God might exist. I think there might be such things as miracles and angels and holiness.But just as soon as I have my fucking religious awakening, it ends. I take my hands off of me. The feeling of pleasure lingers. I blink and all I can see is the darkness of the room. All I can hear is my heavy, shaky breathing.I feel something wet on the skin of my thighs and the sheets.Fuck.••••••We've been here a few weeks now. Most people like us, or at least accept the fact that we're gonna be staying here. We've trained people to fight and defend themselves. We've strengthened the walls and we've fought of hordes of walkers many times. Most people thank us for that.You know who still doesn't like us? Or, to be more specific, me?Ron.And y'know what?That's fine.That is totally fucking fine.I don't like him either.I had that dream thing. I've been studying dream interpretation in Alexandria's library and I've come to the conclusion that it was a dream of frustration, a dream of my fears. I was frustrated that he wouldn't be my friend, and now I'm frustrated we aren't all being accepted into Alexandria as a whole. I don't think I'm afraid of Ron– I could easily beat him up. But I think I'm afraid of how jealous he's getting about Enid.Enid tells me a lot of things, and so naturally, she told me about her argument with Ron the day after we snuck outside the gates. She says everyone in Alexandria just calls the entire world outside of Alexandria the "Outside". We laughed about it, because it was so stupid and close-minded.I also laughed when she told me she thought Ron was worried I was trying to "steal" her.Although, now that I think about it, it would be a pretty good way to make him mad.Ooh."Hey, Enid?" I ask, staring straight ahead. We sit next to each other, leaned up against a fallen log, eating stolen rations in the woods outside the wall.She glances over and hums in acknowledgment but doesn't speak. That's what I like about Enid. Not that she doesn't talk— she does. But sometimes she recognizes there doesn't need to be spoken words. We're similar in that way."Do you like Ron?"She furrows her eyebrows. "Yeah?" She smiles, a little uncomfortable. I suddenly feel stupid."Well– I just–" I sit up straighter, adjusting my shirt collar, pulling it down. "The, um– way you talk about him sometimes... I–... I don't know," I shake my head. "Nevermind."She lets out a sigh. "Listen. He can be a lot. He gets angry easily and he doesn't totally get me." She brings a hand to her other shoulder. I've noticed she does that. "But I really like him. He's actually really nice to me, and he's sarcastic and he cares. He cares and that's why he's angry."I just listen. He doesn't seem nice, but I guess I haven't seen him with her. Sarcastic, probably. I don't like sarcasm. It confuses me. Maybe he cares. I wouldn't know."He's my boyfriend, Carl." She says firmly, and I finally look at her. I clench my jaw. Here I am questioning his anger while my own pumps through my veins.That dream hallucination thing. It's that goddamn dream and it's fucking with my head. I take a deep breath and try to let the forest sounds drown out her breathing for a second.We're both silent for a few minutes. I stare up at the forest. The sun sets slowly, and orange light filters through the green leaves, and I hate how I think of his eyes again. The eyes that rolled back in that dream. I blink hard and look to the ground, instead focusing on a little brown spider crawling near my shoe."But I don't know if I love him like a boyfriend." She mumbles so quietly with such a hoarse voice I can barely hear. But I do. I hear.I look at her with surprise. She just went on a rant defending him— what was that about? She must sense my confusion, because she speaks again."I love him. I do. I love him and every shitty thing that comes with him." I can tell by the way she says it she really means it. "And I like him like a boyfriend. But I just don't know if I love him like a boyfriend." She sniffs, and I notice a shine in her eyes. "I can, and I will, I will," she looks up at me, defensive. "But I don't know if I can yet with everything–" she cuts herself off. She hasn't told me much about her past. "It's a lot–" a tear falls down her cheek onto her shirt. "I don't know if I can love him the way he wants me to soon enough," she mutters, and as another tear falls, she turns away.Oh.What do I do here?I've never been good at comforting people. Recently, Sasha has been freaking out. Michonne told me she left Alexandria the other day to hunt walkers and when she went to go look for her with Rosita she snapped at them. Gabriel's been a dick. I felt sorry for him when we first met, but he's fucked too much shit up.But Enid and Sasha? I care about them. And I don't know how to help."I don't think love is a timed thing," I shake my head, cautiously putting my hand on her shoulder. She flinches but doesn't shrug me away. "You don't need to rush to love him, Enid. If he makes you feel like you do maybe he isn't–" I don't finish, because I can feel her tensing up. "Maybe you need to talk to him about it. I don't really like– Okay, I'm sure if you talked to him he would understand. You said he's nice to you."She relaxes a little, turning back. Her eyes are red and she wipes her nose. "I know."But there's something else. I wait for her to say it."What if I can't? Ever?" She looks down at me. There's sadness in her eyes but my heart aches as I see it's mostly fear.I hug her, and she buries her face in my neck, wetting it with tears and probably snot. I keep hugging her anyway, and she hugs me back tightly. There's a desperation in it that almost makes me start crying, too. Almost."It'll be okay," I whisper, and she nods like she believes me.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I've been getting really good at shooting.We've expanded our shooting range ever since the rotter attack so people can practice from longer distances. Now, I can hit my intended target most of the time at 20 yards. It's really cool.Today, Sasha gave me a bigger gun. She said it was a rifle. It looks similar to the one Carl had when defending the wall.I keep thinking about that day, and it's so stupid. How focused he looked while shooting. How confident. His sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the muscles in his forearms flexing with every shot. One eye closed and the other narrowed.Lifting his shirt up to wipe his face. The angle of his hipbones, the v-line disappearing beneath his jeans. The freckles dotting his stomach.His eyes when he came back down. How they were tired and almost pleading. How he just walked past me like I didn't even exist. How I wanted to follow him.My stomach flips with disgust. I adjust my hold on the heavy gun and tap the trigger, my entire body rocked as it kicks up.Bam!Not a single hole in the wood.I aim again, bending my elbows and knees slightly and readying myself.Bam!I lower the gun.I grin as I spot a hole in the top right corner of the wood. Not where I was aiming, but at least I hit the wood.I bring the gun back up and I'm about to shoot again when I hear my name called. I turn, walking over to the gun tray to put my gun down when I see Enid. She smiles a little."Hi," she says."Hey."I'm nervous. I want to apologize for yelling at her, but I already did, and sometimes when I apologize too much she feels overwhelmed. So I just wait for her to speak."Can I talk to you for a minute?" She glances at the range, and I nod. A shouts echos across the street, probably someone ordering something as the walls are rebuilt. She walks over to Alexandria's gazebo and as I follow her, she talks again."I know you don't like when I talk to Carl," she starts, and I immediately clench my fists. Jesus Christ. Lately, all of our conversations have been about Carl. Carl Carl Carl. Why can't we just talk about us? I don't express my frustration, but she senses it anyway. "Or about him," she adds. I nod. "But I was talking to him earlier today and– well, we were talking about you."The pink light of sunset hits her face, shadows purple. Her glossy hair blows in the cool breeze, and I'm mad at her. I'm mad at her for making me feel stupid. I'm really embarrassed right now, because what were they talking about? How I've never been Outside? How both my parents are alive? How ignorant I am? I'm trying not to be. But it doesn't matter. All that matters is I don't know as much as they do."I was talking to him about my feelings, but he said I should talk to you instead." She shrugs. I nod. Typical asshole, not wanting to deal with other people's feelings and problems. And after she trusted him? The nerve of that guy! "Since it was about us," she gestures to the two of us. Oh. Why was she talking to him about our relationship?I just nod again.She blinks. "So," she sighs. "I'm gonna talk, and I don't want you to be angry with me."Again."I like you a lot."Oh God. Is she breaking up with me? That's how they start, right? Explaining how good you are but how they're sorry and it isn't working out? Shit. Shit.I can't get angry.So I just nod again."As a friend and a boyfriend." She smiles a little. "And I love you as a friend."I resist the urge to do something. I said I love you once, and all she did was kiss me. Not that that's bad– she's just never said it back. But as a friend? Is that worse than not at all?"I want to love you as a boyfriend, but I don't know if I can yet."My heart sort of drops."It's everything that happened before I got here. I never told anyone except Deanna. But I'm gonna tell you now because you deserve to know."It lifts a little."I saw my mom and dad... get, um, eaten alive, right in front of me. At the same time, by the rotters."It shakes. We reach the shade of the gazebo and she sits down on one of the benches, still looking out at the sky. I look at her."It's– um. It sounds stupid. But ever since that it's been hard for me to get close to people. Just to talk to them. I feel like they could just disappear at any moment and I don't want to know them when they do." She glances at me. "But you made it easier. I feel safe with you."I feel safe with you. For some reason, that feels bigger than "I love you". I almost don't feel bad about her not loving me as a boyfriend. Almost."I don't want to mess things up. I just–" she rubs her shoulder. I try to think. How can she love me as a friend but not as a boyfriend? How can she like me as both? I'm confused. But I stay silent, because I know sometimes that's what she needs."So I just want us to keep it slow," she finishes.I poke the inside of my cheek with my tongue, still thinking. Keep it slow? We've had sex. Why is she saying this now? Did she not want to when we did? It definitely seemed like it. Does she feel pressured to be with me? Does she feel pressured into everything? Is everything a lie?"Why are you saying this now?" I ask. My voice breaks as a lump forms in my throat. "After everything?"She sighs. "I like you a lot, Ron. I've liked everything we've done together. I've liked being with you. But I just don't want you expecting something from me that I'm not ready to give yet."I inhale shakily. She doesn't love me. She never has. At least, not as a boyfriend. Oh my God. Is she friendzoning me? After months of us dating? She doesn't love me but she likes me. Somehow that's worse than her just hating me.She's never loved me during sex. She's never loved me when we kissed. She's never loved me when we held hands. She's never loved me during our deep conversations.But she liked me.Is that enough?I want to be angry, but I don't know if I have the right to be. I want to be angry, but my throat closes up and all I can do is nod and walk away.With every step it's like a piece of the world is falling away. I love her. At least I think I do. But what is love? What is love if it's not what we had?What if I don't love her, either?But how would I not?I blink away tears. She doesn't call after me, and I'm glad she doesn't. I don't want her to see me.I'm so confused.I walk home as fast as I can.When I get to my room, I slam my door shut, breathing heavily, my body shaking with anticipation for something as I pace restlessly.Carl. Carl. It's him, he's done this. It's always been him. It always will be.I let out a cry of anger, grabbing the baseball bat next to my bedroom door and swinging it into the wall. A thump and a crack, and I yank it out and smash figurines and lava lamps and other useless shit off of my dresser.Ever since he showed up, everything's been fucked. Enid spends more time with him than me.I break a lamp, the bulb inside shattering, little broken pieces of glass flying.Everything would've been fine if he'd just stayed the fuck away.I crack the bat into a chair, wood splintering. I scream strings of curses together as I destroy everything in my room, ripping posters and breaking painted ceramics I made years ago and smashing planets hanging from the ceiling into bits.Enid doesn't love me as a boyfriend. She's gonna break up with me. And it's all Carl's fault.Energy pumps through my veins as I swing the bat at everything I can possibly break, but my arms start to shake with exhaustion.She doesn't love me. Everything's fucked.A scream rips through my throat, and it breaks, my knees buckling as I drop my bat. I fall to the floor, my body racking with a sob as an impossible weight presses down onto my chest.My room feels cold and unwelcoming as I wrap my arms around myself. The weight is suffocating. I need to breathe but it's hard, so my breaths come out in short gasps.My heart pounds. I need to calm down. I stagger to my feet, ignoring the broken bits of my life all around me.I look down to a stinging pain. A small shard of glass sticks out of my arm. I pull it out and throw it to the floor.I take the steps two at a time, immediately walking over to the fireplace when I get downstairs.We never actually use it for fires. Not anymore. Now, Dad uses it to store his alcohol where he thinks people won't find it. But I've seen him.I've seen it.I reach behind the bricks, grabbing for something, anything. I feel the smoothness of a bottle and I pull it out.I don't know what the hell it is. I don't care. I hit the top against the fireplace, forcefully popping it off. I tilt my head back and take a swig.I cough as a burning, cinnamon pain scorches my throat, moving up to my nose and making me sputter. "Aw, fuck," I exhale shakily, my whole body twitching. I'm about to put the bottle back when a warmth blooms from the pain, and I suddenly feel lighter.I don't put it back.Blood trickles down my forearm and into my palm, running over a finger. It's warm. It's the only warm thing in this room. I am the only warm thing.I'm warm because I'm alive. I'm alive and Enid's alive and my family's alive and I know what I have to do.I know what I have to do to make things right.••••••"Reg wanted me to bring some of this to the supply closet," I explain. The woman with the two long ponytails, Rosita, narrows her eyes."Why?"I shrug. "Because it needs to get inside?"She then rolls her eyes. "Fine. But be quick about it."I walk past her and into the armory.The box of random useless shit drops to the floor of the closet with a thud. I quickly study the racks and rows of guns on the wall and the counter, searching for one that at least looks a little bit like the first one Sasha gave me. I see a small one with a shorter barrel and a grippy handle, taking it.I kneel down and open drawers, looking for 9 mm caliber bullets. I remember Carl telling people that's the most common, and it was the kind that went in the gun I got on that first day.I find a box and take some out, messing with the gun randomly until the bullet carrying thing– the "magazine"– comes out. I load the bullets in, pointing down the barrel. I don't think I have it fully loaded, but I don't have much time. I put the bullet box back in the drawer I found it in and shove the magazine back in the gun. I stuff it in my waistband, pulling my shirt over it and slouching slightly to conceal it better.I walk out of the armory and past Rosita. She doesn't say anything.I make my way down the street, eyes on one of the new people's houses. The one I know Carl and his family live in.I can't see the sun anymore, and its light just barely brightens the streets. The pavement appears blue, and my skin looks paler than it really is.I search the bushes in someone's front yard. I put the bottle of shit I got from the fireplace in one of them, but now I forget which. I find it, downing some more as I talk myself up. My heart pounds, slower than it sounds like it should. I slip between two buildings, forcing myself to take heavy gulps of the disgusting sludge. I grin as the warmth spreads to my face and my brain and down my chest into my whole body. My fingers and toes tingle.This is what I have to do. I know it more and more with every swallow, every burn, every cough. It's not just what I have to do but it's what I want to do. It's what I need to do.What am I doing?Oh, right.It was half full when I got it, and I finish it off now. I throw it to the ground.I stumble from between the buildings, my mind clear but my vision swimming. The road seems to spin, and I just have to struggle to keep up with the rotations.Fog clouds my mind, all around the center of my jumbled thoughts.Kill him.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

A yawn pushes past my lips, and I groan. Judith is down for the night, and I was tempted to sleep in the room with her, but Michonne told me she would make sure she stayed safe. I'd trust Michonne with my life, and Judith's in turn.There's been these W guys fucking with some of our people when they go out on runs. Apparently, they carve W's into their own foreheads, and they do it with the walkers they get, too. Oh, yeah. They collect walkers, carve their mark into them, then use them for traps. That's what happened to Alexandria. Those people unleashed a truck of some sort close to Alexandria, letting walkers into the town.Now people are rebuilding. But honestly? I don't think it's gonna matter.We're gonna be kicked out anyway.After that stunt my dad pulled, I don't think we're gonna be allowed to stay for much longer. Daryl and Carol are already making plans for what we'll do and where we'll go when we're booted.I don't want to be on the road again. There was this constant fear, and it was so unsafe for Judith. There's nothing I can do, and I hate it. I'm so mad, mostly at myself because I'm so powerless. But I'm pretending to be mad at Dad. Mad at him for going crazy and lashing out. Mad at him for being right.A creak of a floorboard makes me freeze. I look around for a weapon in this room. No one lets me have a gun anymore, and melee weapons are hard to steal.I pick up a small granite statue of a naked woman from the bedside table, gripping her by the legs. Fierce.I slowly get up off of the bed, creeping over to the wall next to the door, pressing myself up against it and glancing to entryway.The footsteps aren't careful. They're too forceful to be Michonne's, but too light to be Dad's. Too stumble-y and too uneven for most others.I ready the naked woman.A pale hand clutches the doorframe, and the person stumbles in.Dirty blonde hair almost looks like ash in the moonlight, lighter and bluer with grey streaks and purple and green shadows. It's messy– messier than usual, and I've noticed as the days pass his mom hasn't cut it.His eyes are narrowed— almost as if he's squinting to get a better look at something far away. His breathing is slow and labored. There's not a hint of humor or anything on his face."Ron?" I lower the woman. He whips around— or, rather, he nearly falls back. He puts a hand on his waist, and I see the outline of something tucked into his waistband.Did he bring a gun?"Ron, what are you doing here?"His head sort of falls. He looks really tired. He glares up at me through his eyelashes. "I–" he mumbles, "I came to see you."My mind races, because what the hell does that mean? Is it a gun? Is he planning to kill me? Or...Heat rushes to my face as I remember my dream hallucination thing the other night. I need to hold back a smile. What the hell is wrong with me?"Okay," I nod, shrugging. "I'm here."He sniffs. I stare at his eyes longer, and I notice they're red and puffy. Has he been crying?I think back to when my Dad flipped. Pete had hit Jessie. Either Enid lied, or she just didn't know. But I think he really does hit Ron."Stop–" he grumbles. "Fucking doing that– that shit," he spats, and I furrow my eyebrows. His words blend together in a way they usually don't."What shit?" I eye the thing he rests his hand on in his waistband, then look back at him."Looking at me like that," he says, and it's a low, angry sound. "With your eyes."I sigh. "That's typically what people look with."He shakes his head, but then he groans. "Shit." I think it's supposed to be a noise of pain, but it sounds like pleasure, and I bite my lip. "I mean they– your eyes they look... they're... pretty," he slurs.I blink. My stomach flutters. "I'm– I'm Carl," I say, putting my hands up. Does he think I'm Enid? How would he? Did he go to the wrong house? How...Fuck. He's drunk.I haven't had the opportunity to see many people drunk, but from the few times the adults of the group have gotten ahold of alcohol, I know this is what it looks like."I know!" His voice is loud and aggressive, and he takes a few steps forward. "I know and I hate it, because I've never thought of anyone else's eyes like that."What is he saying?"I don't wanna think about you."He lifts his shirt up, and my breath hitches.But instead of doing whatever the hell I thought he was gonna do, I get a glimpse of the gun in his waistband, and a second later I'm slammed against a wall, his forearm pressing down on my throat and the muzzle of the gun on my temple."Stupid fuck," he grumbles. "You never should've come here."I smell the alcohol on his breath. It's awful. I look into his eyes and it's like I'm seeing into his soul. The anger in his eyes is the same I saw in Pete's eyes earlier— but it's not quite right. It's only in his eyes because he thinks it should be. It doesn't belong there."Ron, I don't want–""Don't say my name!" He practically shouts it, digging the gun into my skull, and my eyes dart to the door. Where's Michonne? Did Ron do something to her? I almost laugh. Ron couldn't do shit to Michonne."Why? Why don't you want me doing these things?"He hangs his head down, his legs shaking. "Because I like it," he whispers, his voice breaking as if his throat is torn. Then he chuckles. I gulp, one of his legs giving, his knee slamming against the wall below my crotch. I'm trying to breathe regularly but I'm trembling with fear and something else I can't put my finger on."But I shouldn't, because it's... it's wrong, and you're the reason me and Enid aren't in love anymore." He looks back up at me, and now I notice that more than anger in his eyes there's sadness and resignation."I never meant to hurt you guys," I shake my head, but he presses his arm onto my neck harder, and I choke for air."Shut up," he growls. "Shut up! You did and– and even if you didn't mean to you still did so it doesn't fucking matter." When he says fucking, a tear from the corner of his eye trails down his cheek.I want to talk back, to defend myself, but I can't. I can't even inhale anymore. Air is leaving my lungs and no more is coming in to replace it. Panic seizes me, a sense of urgency– get the fuck out.I jab my elbow into his side and he cries out, dropping his arm from my throat to clutch his ribs. I try to duck away but he kicks me to the ground, pointing the gun a foot away from my face."She never loved me," he shakes his head, eyes narrowing. "Did you know that? Was that one of the things she told you while you ran off Outside together?" He lets out a short laugh. "Or did you just fuck her? Like she–" he coughs. "Like she didn't even matter?"I hold my hands up, blinking back tears. I'm still reeling from the fact that life can be taken away so quickly with one arm. "We never did anything, man. I swear."He nods. "Okay, great," he mumbles sarcastically."Most of the time, we just– we talked about how we survived Outside. And– we–""You what?" He takes a stuttering step forward, the gun jerking closer. I notice he has his finger on the trigger. He's drunk. He could pull it at any moment, on purpose or on accident. I need to get out of here."We talked about you," I blurt out, and it's the truth. My face heats up.Another tear. His face falls, and he nods again."She talked about how amazing you were," I add on. His mouth moves to say something, but I don't let him talk. "You're nice to her, and you care. She likes that you're sarcastic. Said she loved every little shitty thing that comes with you."He blinks. "She only wants me as a friend."I need to come up with something fast."She likes how passionate you are. How you poke the inside of your tongue with your cheek. She thinks you're unlike anyone else she's ever met. She cares about you, but she has no way of showing it. She has dreams about you."The worst part is, I'm not making this shit up. The only lie is "she"."She loves your eyes. Says they're like life itself, and the more she stares into them the more alive she feels."My chest hurts. My heart constricts."But she doesn't want to feel any of that. She's scared."He lowers the gun ever so slowly. "Really?"I exhale shakily. I need to fix everything I've fucked up even if I didn't mean to, even if it hurts me. And that'll start with this."Really."••••••I roll out the sleeping bag, grabbing a flat pillow from my bed and throwing it down. I shudder at the sounds of Ron heaving and gagging from the bathroom, vomiting up the shit he drank earlier tonight.I've seen Pete wandering the street drunk sometimes. I wonder if he only hits them when he's drunk. I wonder if Ron only drank because that's what he always watched his Dad do. I wonder if that's all he's ever known.The toilet flushes, and a few more minutes pass, the sink turned on occasionally. The sleeping bag is all set up when he stumbles back into the room, his chest bare, clutching his shirt in his hand."You're still drunk?"He groans. "Doesn't just... stop," he shrugs. His eyes are tired with dark bags underneath. I wish I could wipe them away. I see the very last remains of that bruise on the side of his face. It's fading.But no matter what physically goes away, he'll always live with everything inside his head.I silently climb into the sleeping bag."Wh... what are... what?" He rubs his eyes. His skin almost has a blue-grey tint. I can faintly see the lines of his chest and ribs. His v-line is darkened, just above his grey sweatpants. I almost smile, but bite my lip instead."You sleep here. In the bed."He looks confused. "Why?""Just do it."So he gets into bed above me. Before he pulls the covers up, he sits back up."My shirt had, um... I puked on it." He holds his shirt in a ball, staring at it blankly."On the floor," I mumble. He throws it.It's silent for a while, and I'm just about asleep when his voice shakes me back."Carl. Carl. Carl." He whispers. I hum. "Come up here."I furrow my eyebrows. "What?" I mumble."Sleep in the bed with me.""Why?""Because I said so.""Okay."His words are still slurred, but if it's from the alcohol or tiredness or both at this point I can't tell. I force myself up, slipping under the covers next to him. I lay as close to the edge as possible, and when my bare leg touches his sweatpants, I yank it back. My heart beats so fast. So fast.I take the risk of glancing over.Out like a light.So I stare at him. His face. Moonlight bathes half of it in that blue light, showing me the dust that's caught on his eyelashes. Shadow covers the other half, darkening his birthmarks. His lips are slightly parted and a little cracked. He smells like alcohol and mouthwash. His nose. I can't pull my eyes away. It's painful to blink.His eyebrows aren't furrowed. He isn't frowning. His nose isn't wrinkled.He's calm.He looks so peaceful asleep. He usually seems annoyed or angry or scared when awake. Not here. Not now. And I'm gonna savor it.Locks of blonde hair fall into his face, and I brush one behind his ear. Soft. I melt into the bed, inching closer. My elbow touches his bare side and a shiver runs down my spine.I don't know how long I lay there just staring at him. Seconds, minutes, hours. It's impossible to tell.He shifts, turning onto his back. He mumbles something. "Wh... mmm..." he lets out a moan. "No." His leg jerks. "I w..." His back arches, and his head turns back to me, and I see his eyebrows upturned and his mouth slightly open, bottom lip trembling. "Oh..." he groans.Aw man. He's having nightmares. I know how those feel.I hesitantly put one arm around him, waiting for him to wake up and throw me off. But he settles down, only occasionally making whining noises.My chest is on fire. Fuck his dad. Fuck him for messing it up for everyone else. Fuck him for hurting his family, the family he's supposed to care for. Fuck him for giving Ron his anger that's too overwhelming because it's just a little too oversized for him.I run a hand through his hair.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

In the middle of the night, I wake up.It's not night terrors this time. I faintly hear my door opening and start to blink away sleep as footsteps on my bedroom floor alarm me. I try to adjust my eyes to the darkness, but it doesn't work."Who's there?" I say, voice groggy from sleep.A floorboard creaks.I feel a weight make the bottom of my bed sink down. I should really sleep with a knife under my pillow like Enid does.My chest feels tight with fear. I try and steady myself. "Who the fuck are you?" I spat, tucking my knees into my chest and clenching my fists. My voice shakes."It's just me," a soft voice startles me. He's close, and yet I can't feel him."Carl?" I narrow my eyes at the void of my room. "Why the fuck are you here?""I need you."Then two hands touch my knees, pushing them down, forcing my legs back out. My face twists up.He pushes my legs apart, a lighter weight making the area between my thighs sink down. His hand?"Get– get out of my room," I say, backing away. "Get the fuck out."I bring my knees back up, but all he does is push them back down forcefully. I shudder with anticipation. It's a confusing feeling."Please," he whispers, and his voice breaks, and it's a sound that makes my eyes widen against the dark because I don't know what to do. "Don't make me go."It's so pathetic. And my heart jumps.I don't say anything. I can't. All I can do is stare into the darkness of my room with a blank mind.And then I feel a hand on my bare chest.I'm pushed down onto the bed. My stomach erupts in a fluttery, squirmy feeling, and I suck in a breath."Wh–" I'm cut off by a gasp when both of his hands go to my hips and force me down.Something— I think his knee— moves in between my thighs, pressing against my crotch. My mind races. "What– mmph– wait wait, w– wait– what are you d– doing?" He gently rubs his knee against me. My body twitches. I bite my lip, but can't help a whimper from escaping. "Mm...– I don't–"I don't know when he got there, but suddenly his soft lips are pressed on my neck. "You don't want to?"I blink. This is all so fast. I don't know where gravity wants me to go. Since when did he like me like that? It's disgusting, isn't it? Doesn't he like Enid? I mean, he's been trying to steal her from me, right? I hate him, don't I?Through all the thinking, one of his thumbs runs over my hip bone, and I inhale shakily as my back arches into him. Helium fills my brain."I want to," I say, but it isn't me. It's something else talking. My voice is low with a hunger so strong it possesses me.Possesses me to do things I never usually would do, things I never should do.I reach up for him, feeling the soft flannel he wears. I desperately pull it off, throwing it God knows where and bringing my hands back up to his bare midsection.I run my hands up and down his stomach, tugging at his collarbones, grabbing his waist, measuring and remembering each and every inch of his back. I hold onto his hips, feel his hipbones. This is what I saw after he cleared the rotters. This is what I want.I pull him down, his jeans grinding against my sweatpants. Jeans at night?— whatever. I kiss and suck his chest and his stomach and trail my tongue over every crevice because my hands aren't enough. His back arches but I hold him down, and he lets out a moan that makes my legs shake.I frantically pull off his belt, trying to think about where things would be if there was light. I start to pull his jeans off, but he finishes, a rustle telling me he threw them aside.He runs his hands over my collarbones, then onto my neck, pushing down slightly. I'm restricted, and my entire bottom half tingles with this terrifying excitement.A disgusting moan makes my face heat up as he drags his tongue over my nipples. "Oh God," I mumble, already breathless.He presses a sloppy kiss just underneath my jawline and my hips jerk up subconsciously. Just in his boxers, he lets out a moan, head falling into my neck, nose burrowed into my shoulder.He takes his hands from my throat to run them down my chest and stomach, nails drawing goosebumps to the surface. I feel a faint, lingering press on my chest, but he's sitting up now, so I don't know where it's coming from. His weight pulls the area of the bed between my thighs down, and he effortlessly unties my sweatpants, pulling both them and my boxers off at the same time.Cool air hits me, and I stifle a moan at the sudden change of sensations. Despite not being able to see anything myself, I feel embarrassed, the back of my mind whispering that he can see when I can't, and he sees me this vulnerable. He sees me like this.He rests his hands on my thighs, thumbs rubbing the inner areas. "Fuck," I exhale shakily, and he moves them higher, massaging the muscles of my groin and around my pelvis, my dick aching for a similar touch. My noises are ones of desperation and frustration."You sound so pretty," he whispers, and I hear another faint rustling as he shifts. Is he taking his boxers off?My legs tremble with excitement. "Get on with it already," I grumble, face heated. I hate that he's here and I hate that he's doing this and I hate that I like it and I want it so bad."I'll get on with it when I want to," he snaps, his hands running up to my waist. His fingers tightly grip me, vibrations of restless need coursing through my body, nearly pulling me up. I try to resist, but there's callouses on his hands that scratch at my soft skin and it's too much so my back arches up into his hands helplessly as I moan softly.He must lean down, because next thing I know his bare chest rubs against mine, making me shiver uncontrollably. "Just be patient," he whispers, his lips against my neck. Everything in my mind screams at me to talk back, talk down to him, make him understand I have the power here.But I don't have the power.And that's terrifying.So all I can manage to do is nod along, whining with every kiss to my neck, every adjustment of his hands on my waist. His bare hips grind down onto mine, and he whimpers as he lightly bites my neck. My head falls back.I open my mouth to make sound but none comes out. "I–" I can't even speak. His wet lips plant kisses everywhere and I'm sore and every time he kisses a spot he already has the nerves underneath his mouth pop and spark and this tiny flame in my core grows. My hands frantically grab at his back, his shoulders, his hair, anything to get closer, to pull me up to grind into him.I let out a cry. His hands on my waist pull me up and my mind fills with helium, incoherent mumbles escaping my lips. "Please please, pl– ease," I stutter, digging my nails into his back."Please what?" His teeth graze my skin and I throw my head back, embarrassment almost silencing me. But I don't care. I don't care how humiliating it is, I need it. I need him and I'm gonna get him, no matter what I have do to."Please make– do whatever," I whisper into the air. My dick is so goddamn hard it hurts. I run a hand through his hair and it's so soft and I need to play with it. "Do whatever you want to me," I shake my head. "Just make me feel good. Please, please, Carl."He trails kisses up to my ear, planting one last one underneath and beside my jawline. "All you had to do was ask nicely," he mumbles, warm breath in my ear making the hair on the back of my neck stand up. Then he inhales sharply, picking his head up and sitting back up. He adjusts, moving his legs so one of his knees is on either side of me, straddling me. My dick twitches with excitement.He moved his hands from my waist up to my chest, leaning on me to help himself up. It's hard to breathe. I grin.Suddenly, my dick is enveloped in an amazing warmth that gnaws at my gut. Carl lets out a heated, loud moan, and I realize it's him around me— not just his hand, or his mouth, but his insides."Oh– fuck!" I groan. "Fuck yes, yes, oh God, please..." I mutter strings of curses and shit together, Carl breathing heavily and making sounds of pain."You okay?" I mumble. I don't know why I care. I sort of smile, anyway, proud that I'm so big it hurts."Mmph...!" He whimpers, hands pressing on my chest shaking. "So good, you– feel so good," he moans again, and my hips thrust up involuntarily. He cries out, and the top of his head with all that hair falls onto my chest. I feel his nose rubbing into the area my ribs dip into my stomach.He starts rotating his hips, and it's the best thing I've ever felt. Back and forth, around and around, and then he moves up and down, slowly bouncing on me, grinding down with trembling legs.I gasp and moan, my hands in his hair grabbing and pulling and my back arches and my head is thrown back onto my pillow.He breathes so heavily, and there's these ragged noises in between. I'm sort of concerned, but only until I hear him muttering "oh God yes" over and over against, soft lips moving against my stomach.And it's that that sends the warmth in my core leaking into the rest of my body, a curse leaving my mouth with every roll of his hips, a perfect movement that makes my whole body spasm and my hips thrust upward.I don't know what I do differently, but I hit a certain spot, and Carl lets out a desperate whimper, his head shooting up, my hands falling and gripping the sheets. "Ron!" He cries out, and it's the way he says it that makes me mumble a prayer. "Ri– oh, right there," he moans loudly, riding up and down harder and faster. His insides throb around me, and a build up feeling spreads throughout my whole body until it's like I'm holding my very heartbeat for him.There's this pleasurable tingling in my crotch that makes it impossible for me to keep still. My hips jerk, and I'm unsteady. I pull my shaking hands from the sheets to his arched back as he's sitting up. I run them down to his hips, my thumbs firmly gripping the bones while the other four fingers press into the area right above his ass. I pull him down onto me, so that I can thrust into him as deeply as I can. His hands curl into fists and they press my chest down so hard it's impossible to prevent the sounds I make, hot moans leaving his mouth and lingering in the air as he grinds down onto me, our movements so hard and intimate I can't help but whine with every breath."So good, you're doing–" he whimpers. "So good..." His hands trail back down to my waist, and he's done it so much but the feeling doesn't change every time, the fluttering in my stomach fanning the fire in my core, my entire body screaming at me to come.I pull him down onto me so desperately, and he lets out a muffled cry. "Shit–!" His throbbing insides tense up, consuming me with raw pleasure, urgent and unwavering. "I can't– can't take it," he laughs, a whine in his voice.That's it for me.The waves of pleasure racking through me have nowhere to go. They build up until it's the only thing I can feel at all. "I'm–" I can't barely speak. "I'm gonna come," I manage, my voice pathetic, low, and hoarse, and I start to force myself to pull himself off of me when he slams back down."Come in me," he moans.Oh, shit.Jesus fucking Christ, I do.Every graze of his fingertips sends ripples of goosebumps over the surface of my skin, every little noise he makes deepening the fog of finality in my mind.I dig my fingers into his hips and lower back as the feeling of his warmth around me finishes me off.White-hot pleasure suffocates my body, and yet I felt the freest I ever have. I let myself feel everything, my entire body trembling subconsciously.I don't even realize the noise I'm making until I feel the vibrations in my throat. I force myself to keep thrusting into him. The feeling of coming inside him is unlike anything I've ever felt. He moans my name so loudly, and it's the only way I want to hear my name for the rest of eternity.His grinding gets jerkier and jerkier as my cum makes my dick even more slick inside him. He goes faster and faster until his tight insides release, and I hold him down no matter how hard he squirms. He moans and cries out curses and screams my name. He comes loud and hard, spurting onto my chest, some getting on my neck and face as his whole body spasms.I grin madly, his shaky, heavy breathing getting the last bits of cum to leak from my tip inside him. He whimpers unevenly."What the hell," I mumble."I know," he whines.••••••I slowly blink awake.It's brighter now. The early morning light seeps through my blinds, casting my room in dull light.Except it's not my room, I realize. There's no posters on the wall, no furniture other than this bed, nothing on the floor except an empty sleeping bag.Where am I?I feel the lingering touch of rough fingers on my skin. I feel the ache of lips on my chest. I feel a pleasure in my crotch. I feel Carl's mouth whispering into my ear. I feel Carl.Shit.I feel Carl.I look down to the bed next to me.Sure enough, to my right lies Carl fucking Grimes, eyes closed calmly, breathing evenly in his sleep.I yank up the covers, glancing down at myself.My dick pokes my sweatpants— which are wet, by the way, as well as some of the covers. My face heats up.I glance over at his side. Completely dry.What the hell? I lower the covers. Maybe we didn't have sex. I remember it being in my room. Where are we? I also remember us both being completely naked. How the hell did I get where I am?I slap a hand over my eyes. This is so fucking embarrassing. If I think what I think happened, I had a sex dream. A sex dream, one about Carl.About a boy.My pumping blood freezes.Oh God. God. What is He thinking? How disappointed in me is He?I run my fingers through my hair and pull. My chest heaves as I pull my knees up to my chest just like I did at the beginning of the dream.My boxers and sweatpants stick to my skin. A lump forms in my throat and I blink back tears.This is bad.This is bad.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I wake up to the sound of a door slamming.I move myself with my elbow, rubbing my eyes and yawning.When I stop rubbing them, the first thing I see is Ron looming over me.I almost scream and punch him, but then I recall what happened last night.He came in drunk. He almost fucking killed me. He gave me the gun. He threw up. He slept in my bed while I slept on the floor. He invited me up to the bed. We fell asleep next to each other."Hey," I mumble, voice sleepy. He blinks."Why the hell am I here? Where the hell is here?" He breathes heavily.Does he really not remember? Does alcohol give you memory loss?"My house," I sit up fully. His knees are tucked up to his chest, and he pulls some of the covers up into a ball, gulping. "You came here really drunk last night." I don't know how much I should tell him. Did he mean to almost kill me? Was it the alcohol? Or was it the alcohol that finally gave him the courage to do what he's always wanted to?He looks at me with wide eyes. "Did we..?"My eyes are tired. I'm confused. "We fought a little," I shrug.He starts to look angry. Angry and scared. "Why is my shirt off?"Oh God. I hold my hands up. "I didn't do that. You took your shirt off. I never touched you." I don't like him, but did he really think I would do that? While he was drunk? That's gotta be a violation of some sort."We didn't have sex?" He asks.I blink, nearly choking. "What?"He shakes his head. "Nevermind."Muffled arguing from downstairs makes me turn my head towards the closed door."Why are you in bed with me?"Oh, this bitch! "It's my bed," I point to myself. "And you wanted me to sleep in here with you." I jab my finger at his chest. He slaps it away. Heavy footsteps pound up the stairs, shouting coming after them."I would never–""Well you did," I scoff, about to throw the covers off when the bedroom door slams open.I whip my head over, locking eyes with Ron's dad.He studies us in the same bed next to each other, one of us shirtless, for a few seconds, seconds so dead silent it would feel wrong to talk.Pete breathes heavily. All there is is pure rage and betrayal in that gaze."Dad, it isn't what it looks like, I swear I–" Ron sputters, scooting away from me."No?" Pete storms in, grabbing Ron's shirt off of the ground, nodding. "What's this?"Ron stammers for a response, but he can't seem to talk. His eyes are wide and he just mumbles "No, no, no" over and over."He was hot," I jump in, hoping it'll be enough of an explanation. If I tell him he threw up on it, Pete might ask why, and then I would have to explain how Ron was drinking, and that might get him in trouble, and despite the fact that I don't like him very much I still don't want to get him in trouble with his dad.His eyes dart to me, and I swear steam comes from his ears like a goddamn cartoon. "You don't talk, boy!" He takes a few steps forward and grabs me by the collar of my shirt, yanking me up as I yelp in surprise. "Don't talk," he growls, throwing me to the ground.What the fuck? I'm not even his kid and he's throwing me around! I scramble up immediately, but Pete doesn't notice. He's determined to get to Ron, who desperately crawls back against the wall and shakes his head. I see the fear in his eyes and his body. Like a cornered animal. That just confirms Pete hits him, because why else would he be so afraid?"My own fucking son?!" Pete shouts, and then he viciously grabs Ron by the throat. "What is wrong with you? What the hell is wrong with you?!" He shakes Ron, dragging him from the bed and grabbing his arm, looking him up and down.Ron attempts to cover a stain of some sort on his pants, I'm assuming sweat or piss from the nightmare he had last night, but his dad slaps his hands away."Oh, you little fucker!" He chokes him harder, and Ron coughs, eyes tearing up."Stop!" I shout.He turns to me but doesn't let go of Ron, who shakes his head. "I thought I told you not to talk," he narrows his eyes at me."I don't listen to guys like you," I spat. He just laughs."What? You don't like this?" He grips Ron's throat tighter, turning his face red. I flinch. "What about this?" He turns away from me to punch Ron in the stomach, only strangling him worse when he tries to keel over. His limbs jerk helplessly. "How you like that, fag?"I don't even know what that means, but he's turned away, and this is my chance. I look for something to use as a weapon. I put the gun in the drawer of the bedside table, but Pete's standing right next to it.I notice a vent on the floor.I run over, kneeling down and yanking up the cover. It's light, and it probably won't do much damage, but it could surprise him.Pete's about to land another blow when I whack him over the head with the vent cover.His grip on Ron's loosens, and Ron drops the the ground, scrambling back against the bed. Pete stumbles back, bringing a hand to his head. I ready the vent cover again, but he quickly turns, grabbing it and pulling it down, yanking me with it.I fall forward, and he grabs me by my hair, tugging my head back, practically giving me whiplash. "Where's that hat you always wear?"I glare up at him. "Off," I grunt.He backhands me. "You take it off to fuck my son?"I keep my gaze cold, barely flinching from the slap, more focused on his breath, which smells like literal ass. "What the hell does that mean?"His face twists up with anger, and I use the distraction to drive my knee up into his crotch.He yelps, his hand in my hair darting to clutch where I hit him. He drops to the ground, a pathetic, groaning heap.I walk over to the bedside table, opening the drawer and picking up the gun Ron came in with last night."Woah, woah–" he mumbles, eyes barely open as he watches me walk back over to his dad. "Don't– get– get the fuck away from him."His dad hurts him like that and he still defends him? I shake my head. I'm doing this shit anyway.Pete rolls over, looking up at me for just a second before I hit him over the head with the empty gun, knocking him out clean.I hold the gun up. "Where did you get this?" I ask Ron.His eyes keep darting back from me to his dad. "You–" he blinks. "I–" his eyebrows furrow. "You shouldn't've done that."I glare. "Where did you get this?"He rubs his throat. "You're the one holding it!" He coughs, raising his hoarse voice too much.I walk over, kneeling down and studying his neck. "You're the one who came in here last night trying to kill me with it," I tilt my head, bringing my free hand up to his neck. I touch red marks and run my fingertips over where I know bruises are gonna form.I set the gun down on the ground, putting my other hand over the spot on his stomach his dad punched. He shudders."Does he do this a lot?" I glance up at him, through my lashes. He gulps. Still covering for him."Doesn't matter," he mumbles, eyes darting to his pants and the stains on them. I look down, too."Nightmares?" I ask. He blinks. "I get them, too.""Oh, uh–" he nods quickly. "Yeah, yeah."I push down on his stomach, and he squeezes his eyes shut, his head falling back as he whimpers in pain. My stomach aches. With sympathy. Obviously."They'll probably just bruise," I take my hands away, picking up the gun and standing again. "Now tell me where you got the gun."He breathes shakily. "I..." he furrows his eyebrows, hopefully trying to remember and not make up a story. A few seconds pass, and then his eyes widen. "Shit. The armory."I blink. "Who gave it to you?"He shakes his head. "I stole it."I groan. "Jesus, Ron. Why?" I answer myself. "No, I know. Do you remember anything after stealing it?"He pokes the inside of his cheek with his tongue. "I was walking, 'cause... I was upset. I do that sometimes.""When did you start drinking?""I didn't!" He stands up, wincing but trying to look tough."Did, too," I retort.He grunts. "Fine. Before I stole the gun. But I only drank hard after I stole it. I was trying to... hype myself up for something. I forget what."Kill me. He was drinking to "hype himself up" to kill me. Wonderful."Anything else?"He glares. "You sure you didn't do anything to me?"He sighs. "Why do you keep asking that? You were drunk and I didn't want you to go home alone so I let you sleep in my bed while I used the sleeping bag on the floor but you asked me to come into bed with you. Simple as that."He shakes his head. "Whatever." He glances over at his dad. "I can handle him, you know."I raise my eyebrows. "Really?" He glares."I can deal with him," he snaps."Dealing with it would be chopping him up into little pieces and throwing them into the pond," I growl. He stares for a few seconds before turning away while rubbing redness from his face. I sigh. "I'm sorry. He's still your dad, I–""No." He doesn't look at me, instead picking up the vent cover from the ground and putting it over the vent. "Thanks."He just stares down at the vent for a while. I just stare at him.Thanks? He's never..."But don't mess with him anymore." He grabs his shirt from the ground. "And don't mess with me."He starts to pull the shirt over his head, but I pull it away. "There's puke on it." He blinks, anxiously rubbing the back of his neck."He'll think there's something going on," he shakes his head, glancing over at Pete.I shake my head. "Why do you both think I'm violating you? I would never–""It's more than that. He doesn't think you're– 'violating' me. He thinks it's mutual."I narrow my eyes, thinking. "He thinks we're violating each other? How does that–"He groans, rubbing his eyes. "No– it– okay. You know that... um, word he called you?"I try to remember. He called me two things. "Boy? Fag?"Ron's eyes twitches at the second word. I guess that's the one, but I don't even know what it means. I didn't even know it was a word. Is it a bad word?"It means, like– a boy who likes boys." His face twists up as he says it, as if it's a disgusting concept. I never knew he was so revolted by romance. Is that why Enid said he's sort of her boyfriend, because he doesn't really feel romantic feelings? But what was that all about her not loving him and him going crazy last night?"What's up with that?" I ask.He shakes his head. "Some guys–""No, why's that bad?"He looks down at me. Our eyes lock, and his face reddens. I almost want to smile. Maybe I am a fag."It's– it's just wrong," he turns away, and it's like a rubber band held us together but then snapped. I blink. I don't think I'm a fag. I guess if it's bad, I shouldn't be one."Why?" I press on. He kneels down next to his dad, putting two fingers on his throat to check for a pulse. He then stands."Help me get him out of here."••••••"You should stay here, for now," I drop Pete's legs as Ron lets go of his arms. He lands on the sidewalk with a thump.Ron looks up at me, one eyebrow raised, almost a smirk playing on his lips. A droplet of sweat drips down his neck, which already reddens with a bruise. A similar sheen glistens on his bare chest as a round purple mark forms near his kidney.Fag.Hmm."No," he lets out a short laugh. "I don't wanna be around you any longer than I need to."Wow. Rude."But your dad...""Yeah. That's why I gotta go home." He rolls his eyes, as if it's obvious."He'll hurt you again."He stands up, hanging his head down and sighing, trying to gain composure, I assume. "He'll hurt me worse if I stay here with you."I shake my head. "Why? Why doesn't he like me?""For starters, you hit him over the head with a goddamn vent," he suggests."Vent cover," I correct him. "And I mean before that.""He thinks we're fucking, or something, which is so stupid because I would never ever like you let alone do that and I like Enid."I throw my hands up. "What is fucking?!" I groan. "I know it's a curse but what does it mean to fuck and why would I fuck you?""I don't know!" He practically shouts. His jaw is clenched, just like his fists. "You wouldn't! I would never, okay?" He glares at me. There's a hint of hurt in his eyes. I don't get it. I don't get any of this."I don't want him–""It doesn't matter what the fuck you want," he snaps at me, and I shut up. "I'm going home. And it'll be best for everyone if you just leave me the fuck alone." He cuts his fiery eyes down at his dad for a second before turning and walking away, still shirtless, a barely noticeable limp in the way he walks."Ron, you–""Stay away," he growls, not even glancing back as he says it. As he leaves, I notice him clutching his side and rubbing his neck.••••••Later in the day, I find out Noah is dead.He was eaten alive by walkers– but it was all Nicholas's fault. I know because Glenn watched it all from the other side of a glass door. He hasn't been the same since. He's quieter, and he jumps more, and he clings onto Maggie even more than he did before, which is saying a lot.I feel sick.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I close the front door of my house behind me."Hello?" Mom calls.I start going up the stairs angrily, but she's already walking over, and she sees me."Ron!" Relief washes over her face, and she runs halfway up the stairs, where I'm standing, and hugs me. A shooting pain from my side makes me wince. She pulls away, studying me. "Oh, Ron..."I step back, turning. She stops me again. I resist the urge to slap her."He found you?" She asks warily."What do you think?" I spat, shaking my head.She sighs. "I... Well... Where were you?"I feel my face twisting up in anger. She doesn't even ask if I'm okay. Just where were you. "Carl's," I say.She furrows her eyebrows. "I thought you didn't like him? And–" she narrows her eyes. "What about Enid?""I didn't want to see Enid," I shrug. "And I don't. But at least he defends me from Dad." It's harsh, and I don't mean it. She doesn't defend me because she's terrified, and I don't want her to, anyway. I've told her not to. I don't want him to hurt her any more than he already has. But I know she feels bad about it, and I just want to make everyone feel as shitty as I do right now, and I'll say whatever the hell I have to to do it.She takes a step down, blinking as if I just smacked her. "W... what?"I nod. "Yeah. Guess what? Right now, Dad's out cold on the sidewalk in front of Carl's house, and not because he's blackout drunk, but because Carl knocked him the fuck out."She inhales shakily."Carl stood up for me when you never could."I shove past her down the stairs, grabbing a bottle of alcohol from the fireplace before storming back upstairs and slamming my bedroom door shut.••••••I forgot how messy this fucking place is now. I take a swig from the bottle, grimacing. It says it's whiskey. It's so flavorful it's flavorless. Whatever. I'll take anything.My room is trashed. I can't see the carpet flooring, just clothes and pieces of shit I smashed yesterday.I really went to kill Carl last night.I guess I blacked out at some point. I really didn't remember anything after talking myself up to doing something between those two buildings, but once Carl started talking some bits and pieces drifted into place.He told me about all these things Enid had said about me. All these wonderful things. And I wanted to believe them, wanted to believe she felt that way, but I just couldn't. Because if she does, then why doesn't she love me like I want her to? There was a lie. Somewhere in between Carl's words, I could see the lie in the way his cheeks darkened and he blinked fast. Why did he lie? And where did he get the goddamn lie?I want to cry.I wanted to kill him. My mind screamed at me, whispered, begged, but my body pulled back. My body couldn't. My body couldn't.I remember I wanted to kill him for all the wrong reasons. I was angry he'd taken Enid, angry he'd manipulated her. But more so, I was furious he'd manipulated me.All the wrong reasons. I wanted to kill him because I liked him too much. Because I walked into his room and I couldn't look away from him, and when I did, my chest hurt. Because when he looked up at me fire coursed through my veins, for all the wrong reasons. Because when I had him pushed against the wall tears pricked my eyes.And I couldn't do it. I couldn't kill him.Not then.It was the alcohol. I drank to make me more confident, but all it did was make me feel worse. I have to have a clear mind when I do it.But... doing it now would feel unfair. Before, it seemed justified— but now? He stood up to my dad for me. No one has ever done that.I can't push away how scared I was. Of him. I've only been that scared once, when I wouldn't tell him where Mom and Sam were hiding. He told me he'd kill them when he found them. He didn't, of course— but I thought he would.And I thought he might kill me this morning.He's drilled into our heads how wrong being gay is. It's a sin. We'll burn in hell for eternity if we ever commit an act such as that, all that shit. Do I think it's wrong? I don't know. I don't know anymore.I thought it was. But Carl didn't— he didn't even know what the word fag was, let alone what it meant. Meanwhile, how could I not? My dad has called me it countless times, so much before Enid. Told me he'd beat it out of me if he ever found I'd "turned out" that way.And then Carl asked "What's up with that?" I assumed he was shocked a guy could ever do that. But I started to respond, and he cut back in. "No, why's that bad?"He didn't have a single clue. He had no idea it was even considered bad. No idea it was any different than a guy liking a girl. And why? Because no one ever taught him that. I only think like this because my dad taught me to.Could my dad be wrong?No— I realize it with a jolt. Mikey thinks this way, too. So it isn't just my dad. It's everyone. Carl's just weird.We didn't have sex, thank God. But that doesn't mean that nothing happened. It just only happened to me. Which only makes my dad's anger worse, because it's real— I really did something fucked up.I had that dream. What was that about?Waking up with my boxers and sweatpants wet. Jesus. I've never been more disgusted with myself. That's why I didn't fight back.I was just glad Carl thought it was a nightmare.It's not like I didn't know it was him in the dream. I did. I did and I did all that anyway. And it was the best wet dream I've ever had, including the ones about Enid.Maybe it was the circumstances. The dark. The not knowing what would happen next. The unexpectedness of it all.It had absolutely nothing to do with him. It's just the fact that if it was with anyone else, it wouldn't have been as much of a surprise.A groan from outside my window makes me open the curtains. I look out, startled when I see a few rotters wandering the streets and yards.That's it— I need a rush. Something new.Did the walls fall again? I don't know. I don't care. I grab my bat from the mess on the bedroom floor and run downstairs, ignoring Mom calling after me as I burst outside.••••••Stumbling to the side of the house, I ready my bat. I lightly hit it against the house with a thud to get a nearby rotter's attention.It turns, snarling at me and limping forward. Sagging, pale skin and thin hair knotted with blood. His clothes hang down in tatters, and his entire left half appears to have been mangled, his leg dragging behind him, his arm so exposed I can see some of the off-white of bone within all of that gore.He steps closer, and I hold the bat behind my head, swinging it with all of my strength.Crrack!He collapses, and I hit him over the head one more time for good measure.I walk on, tracking down bloody footsteps of more rotters.A quicker one surprises me, a woman who seems to have died from a stab to the neck. She grabs my shoulder and I whip around, clubbing the side of her face. She doesn't fall. I crack one of her knees, making her drop. But she still crawls.I don't even hit her over the head. I just beat her to her second death. Destroying her legs, her stomach, her arms, and finally her face. She doesn't even twitch. Blood drips from my bat. I look around for more.I hear people shouting. I guess it's caught on. I better be fast, to get as many as I can.I notice my feet don't fully go where I want them to. I'm guessing I'm a little tipsy. Not drunk, though— I can still do this.I bash in the heads of a few more, anger fueling all of my muscles, blood spattering up onto me and my clothes.My bat caves in the skull of a young female rotter, her blood spurting up almost a foot high, when I'm tackled to the ground and my bat tumbles out of my grip.I yell at the person to get off but stop when my nose fills with the smell of death. Rotting meat, something sickly-sweet, and decay. A rotter, right on top of me.I'm face-down. I squirm, grunting and attempting to throw it off, but it's too heavy. It grips my shoulder, and I gag as the stench gets so unbearable. It's about to bite my neck.I almost scream, but suddenly, it's groaning and growling stops, and it goes limp.The slick sound of a knife pulling out of flesh is relieving. I roll out from under the rotter, looking up to whoever stabbed it.Enid.She glares down at me, shoving her pocket knife back into her pocket. "What the hell is wrong with you? Why were you out here?"I breathe heavily.I almost just died.I almost just died.I grin, covering my face with my hands, laying down in the grass on my back."Are you okay?" She sighs, grabbing my arms and pulling me up. She wipes blood from her hand onto her shirt.I laugh. "I'm great," I nod, locking eyes with her. "Enid, let me show you something."She looks hesitant."Come on. It'll be fun. Get the weed from your house and meet me in my room."••••••"What is this shit?" Her face scrunches up as she swallows a huge mouthful of the whiskey."Something I found," I shrug, smiling. "Whiskey of some sort."She shakes her head. "Great. You don't even know." But she giggles, so I guess we're good.I let out a huff of smoke, holding the joint she rolled for us between two fingers. I think it's starting to work. I'm feeling more smiley. She is, too, because she takes another swig of the whiskey, and she can't drink unless she's high, too. Says it distracts her from the disgusting taste of alcohol.She fills me in on some of the stuff that's been happening in Alexandria.Deanna and Reg are still reeling from Aiden's death. My dad's been drinking even heavier ever since— which seems impossible, but trust me, it isn't. Some nights, he doesn't even come home. People have called saying he spent the night on their lawn or on the street. He's lucky no one here has cars.Noah, a boy from Rick's group, died. I remember running to defend the wall when it collapsed with him. He seemed just a couple of years older than me. The guy I was unsure about, Glenn, says it was Nicholas's fault. Says he trapped Noah in a building with walkers. Apparently, he was just on the other side of a window in a revolving door, and he saw it all. Couldn't escape. Enid thinks Glenn's telling the truth. She insists he has no reason to lie, and she's never trusted Nicholas because he's always been a coward.The priest, whose name is Gabriel, seems to be unstable. I tell her everyone in the group seems to be unstable.Apparently, he told Deanna to kick Rick and all of his group out. He says they're dangerous, and they can't be trusted. She was going to, anyway, but I think the vote of a priest was the final push.She's kicking them out.And that includes Carl.I smile when I hear it.But for some reason, I feel like I've been punched in the gut. I feel like I need to throw up.Instead, I take a big draw, exhaling it through my nose. She chuckles."So, I know what you said about... loving me, and stuff," I pass her the joint, and she takes it, biting her lip, nodding. She inhales a whole lot— she's preparing for a rant. "But we're still dating, right?" I ask.She looks over to me, eyes slightly tinted red. She smiles. "Of course."I smirk. "So... does that mean we can still..." I poke the inside of my cheek with my tongue. "Have sex?"Her eyes widen. She looks around for a second, grabbing the whiskey and downing a couple gulps. She takes another draw from the joint before crawling over to me, straddling me and sitting on my lap. She puts the joint between my lips, and she rests her hands on my chest, rolling her hips. I groan, my mind flashing to that godforsaken dream. A lump rises in my throat, and I need to cry. But I won't. It's her. It's her. Not him, it's her, my girlfriend, the girl I love."I guess so," she shrugs, smirking, taking the joint from me and hitting it one more time before squishing it out. "As long as you can make me come twice."So fuck her. I fuck my girlfriend, Enid, not the boy I hate who makes my heart ache. I fuck her, because I want her and I love her.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

My knees, pulled up to my chest, shake slightly, just like my hands gripping them.I glance over to my bedside table and the closed drawer with the gun inside.I should take the gun back to the armory. I know I should. But I can't. I don't even think I could move if I wanted to.All I can do is attempt to breathe normally.Pete grabbed my hair, and all I could think about was that man who tried to rape me.He gripped my hair and pulled so hard it hurt and held my face down on the gravel. I remember I was only 13, only about a year ago, but I knew what he was gonna do to me. I knew what he was gonna do and I couldn't do anything at all to stop him, other than beg "no, no, no" over and over again.Stop squirming. He told me to stop squirming. I couldn't stop crying. I remember his hands on me and he started to pull my pants down but he realized he needed his off, first. I remember the sob I choked out when I heard his belt unbuckling, because I knew it was over and I knew he would hurt me and I knew he could do whatever he wanted with me and no one could do anything about it, not even my dad.I grab my shirt sleeves and pull so tight. I can feel his fat hands, and maybe if I smother them with cloth they'll go away. But they don't. Because they aren't really there, they're in my head, and I can't stop what's in my head.Ron said boys liking boys is wrong. I think I understand what he means now.That man liked boys. That man liked me. Boys who like boys are like him— they touch people who don't want to be touched and don't care how they feel. Boys who like boys will get what they want no matter what. They'll try to rape people and shush you in your ear while you wail and ignore your pleading no's and laugh when you tell them to stop.I want to rip my clothes off to feel free but I know I'll only feel exposed and vulnerable. If I put my covers over me I'll feel suffocated. There's no way for me to feel safe. I don't think I'll ever feel completely safe.I hate myself. I hate the way I can still feel his chubby fingers on me and sometimes when people hug me I feel like I want to cry because it isn't them, it's him. I hate the way I still think about him. I hate the way that if he was alive, he'd have forgotten I existed by now. I hate the way he's probably done that to other kids and actually finished it. I hate the way I hate.But most of all, I hate how I feel guilty.I know it's not my fault. It's not that at all. Dad, Michonne, and Daryl have all made sure I know that.But I feel guilty because I liked a boy, too.I didn't even know I liked him. All I knew was that he hated me. But I had a dream about him and I liked it. Then I decided to hate him because he hated me, too, and both of us hating each other is better than him hating me and me liking him.But I have thoughts about him. So many thoughts. I smile when I see him even when he frowns (I put on a frown, too). My stomach flutters when his voice gets low, but it only gets low when he's angry, so I have to pretend to be angry, too. If I was an artist, I would only ever draw his face. But I'm not. So I just look, and I glare when he notices.I think about him too much, and I know it's wrong. I know I'm wrong for that time I touched myself thinking about him, because I violated him. He didn't even know I thought about him that way. I shouldn't. If anything, I should tell him. But he might punch me. He might actually kill me. Maybe he should. Maybe he deserves to be able to kill me, just like I deserve to be able to kill that man who tried to rape me.Am I just as bad as him?Oh shit. I'm an awful person. I'm a disgusting, perverted, diseased, mentally fucked "fag".I hit myself on the head over and over and over again."Carl!" Michonne calls up to me, and I open my mouth to respond but all that comes out is a gasp. I realize tears are streaming down my face, and as I try to catch my breath, I can barely breathe at all."Carl?""Yeah?" I try to keep my voice steady, but it breaks, and my whole body begins to shake. I hear her light footsteps up the stairs, and I frantically wipe tears from my face, slapping myself in an attempt to knock some sense into me.She bursts through the door, looking at me for a millisecond before coming over onto the bed and holding my arms. "What's wrong? Carl, what's wrong?"I sniffle. My hands tremble and she grabs them firmly, and it's the only thing stable in my spinning room. My heart pounds. "I'm evil," I blubber, swallowing salty tears. "I hate– I hate myself."She shakes her head. "You are not evil," she narrows her eyes at me, and I feel so bad. I feel so bad because she doesn't know what a monster I really am."I'm the w– worst kind of person," I widen my eyes, looking up at her, trying to put an explanation in my desperate eyes. She just looks wildly confused. "Like the man who tried to... to rape me."She pulls her hands back. "What?" She looks me up and down. "You raped someone?"I hang my head. "No, I– I didn't, but– it's– almost–"She grabs my arm, and this time it's with a grip of steel. I look up and there's no sympathy or concern. Ice cold. My bottom lip trembles as another year trails down my face. "What did you do?" She whispers.I sniffle again. "I had... I had this dream."Her eyebrows furrow, and she just looks confused again. Her hand on my arm loosens."But it wasn't a dream. It was me. I was real, but the p– person wasn't, and I was imagining we were together and we were doing things we both wanted but it's wrong because he hates me and he's a boy and I can't like boys because–""Carl." She cuts me off. I reluctantly meet her eyes. She brings both of her hands up to my head to cup my face, and I just look.Her expression is so kind I want to scream. I want to scream because she doesn't understand how horrible I am. "Nothing is wrong with imagining those types of things. And nothing is wrong with imagining those types of things with boys."I blink. "B... But... he didn't know. He didn't know and I did it anyway."She shakes her head. "Thoughts are just that. Thoughts. He doesn't know because it didn't happen, and it wasn't real. You didn't actually do anything to him."I gulp."Is this about Ron?"My eyes widen. "How did you know?"She smiles a little. "Because he's the only boy you talk to.""I talk to M– Mikey," I sputter.She shrugs."He told me liking boys is wrong," I tell her. One of her eyes twitches."He's wrong. I mean–" she sighs. "That's what he thinks. But in reality, liking boys is the same as liking anyone else. And imagining things about them definitely doesn't make you anything like that sick fuck." She snaps the last few words, and I admire her. She's so amazing. So sure of herself, so sure of me. How?"Are you sure?""One hundred percent. I've imagined things like that, and I'm not like that guy, am I?"I shake my head. "No. But please don't say you've done those things, because now I'm imagining that and it's... ugh."She laughs, pulling me in for a hug. I squeeze her tight. "Deal," she chuckles.I hug her for a while longer, burying my face in her shoulder. I feel better, a whole lot better, but something painful still tugs at my chest."He hates me, Michonne. He hates me so much and I'm afraid I like him for real."She rubs my back. "There's a fine line between hate and love. I have a feeling he's balancing, but he's gonna fall soon."Silence."What does that mean?" I narrow my eyes. She just laughs some more, her locs falling over my face. She pulls away from the hug even though I don't wanna stop."He's a troubled kid, Carl. I think..." she glances to my window. "Feelings are hard for him to deal with. He's more than you see on the surface.""What does it mean to fuck?"She narrows her eyes. "Woah– what? It– to have sex. You didn't..?"I yelp. "Ew! No! Ron's dad thinks we did," I shudder. "And he's mad."She sighs, nodding as if that makes sense."And what's a fag?""It's a curse word. Don't say it– it just means being gay."I sniff. "What's gay?"She smiles a little. "Liking your own gender. You would be gay if you liked boys. There's nothing wrong with being gay."I look down, trying to think. But she interrupts my thoughts."Good news, though. Pete's been taken away from Jessie and Ron and Sam. Finally, someone did something about that shit bag," she groans, before smiling a little. "Your man's gonna be left alone," she grins, lightly punching my shoulder. I smack her hand down."Stop! He's not..." I trail off, trying to think of something to say, but just finding myself laughing. She jabs my chest, laughing, too. It's nice. It's nice and I just want to stay here laughing with her forever.A smack on the bedroom doorframe startles us out of our fits. We both look."Dad," I smile. He nods. "You done with your episode?"His face falls a little, and the corner of his mouth twitches. He inhales. "Carol and I stole some stuff from the armory, but there's more than what we took missing. I was wondering if you took anything?" He looks at me dead in the eyes. He doesn't like what I said.I just barely glance at the bedside table, but he caught it. He walks over, pulling the drawer open and grabbing the gun out. He holds it up and looks at me.I could rat Ron out. But would Dad believe me? And I don't wanna tell Dad about Ron and I's problems, anyway. I haven't ever since they started because I know I can handle them myself. He has enough to deal with."So what?" I shrug.He groans, resting an elbow against the wall. He stares at me. It's his conflicted look."You don't trust them either?" He asks."Not all of them. But most of them."He clenches his jaw, then crouches down next to the bed to look up at me. I feel like I'm 8 again. I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing."Carl, I want... I need you to know we might get kicked out. Of this place."Of course I knew that, but hearing him say it is like a slap to the face. Something normal, something regular, something ordinary, something monotonous after all these years of running and fighting and hiding and we're gonna be thrown back out?"Because of what you did," I blurt out. And his face hardens. I didn't mean to say it, and I shouldn't've, even if it's true. He's trying to protect us all, and that includes the people of Alexandria. He needs them to know that if they can't defend themselves and fight, they will die sooner or later. And he's right. But he just warned them in the worst way possible. Now everyone thinks we're the threat. Hell, I was walking down the street today and a woman clutched her baby and started speed walking. Another guy told me to get the hell out of here. Daryl said someone tried to lock him out of the town.I'm just angry. I'm angry because I'm sad and being angry is easier than being sad and I need someone to direct my anger towards.Dad scratches his nose. "I lashed out. But those people needed to hear that," he tilts his head, narrowing his eyes and almost bearing his teeth the way he does. I nod."I know."He stands up, turning to Michonne. "Can we talk? In private?"She glances over at me and gives a small smile before leaving the room with him. It's impossible when they disappear to know the severity of a situation. They can both be so serious even in the most lighthearted circumstances.I guess I feel better. I had to uncurl from my ball to hug Michonne earlier, and I want to curl back up, but I know I shouldn't. I know that will only throw me back into my mind spiral. So I force myself to stay uncurled and stand up, shaking out my sore limbs. Whatever just made me breathe really fast and freak out and think I was gonna die took a lot out of me, despite the fact that I never moved except to rock in place.Weird. But I won't question the workings of the human body. Way too complicated for a guy with a 5th grade education to comprehend.I breath in and out until my chest doesn't shake. I clench and unclench my fists until my blood pumps normally.I'm gonna sort this shit out.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

The couch is so comfortable. I could just lay here for-fucking-ever. Maybe I can. Maybe I should just sleep here and die here and never ever leave.My skin crawls with imaginary bugs, feasting on the disgusting shell of my body. My body that thinks up these fucked up thoughts and has these fucked up reactions that aren't natural and are just plain wrong.My head throbs. Mom says something from the kitchen, but I don't hear, so I don't respond. Instead, Sam gets up and answers.What I do hear are the staggering footsteps up the porch stairs and the fumbling with the doorknob."Get upstairs," I call to Mom and Sam. "Dad's home. He's mad at me. You don't wanna be down here."Sam wastes no time, darting up the stairs at superhuman speed. Just at the top he calls back down. "How is he home? They were supposed to keep him away, Mom."She hesitates. "I don't know, honey. Just go to the closet." Then she looks at me "Why is he mad at you?" She grimaces, pity in her eyes. I scowl."Go upstairs."The door starts to open, and I exhale, still laying on the couch. I try to relax but my entire body shakes. I haven't seen him since Carl knocked him out. I know he's gonna be pissed off for so many reasons: #1, he found me shirtless in bed with wet pants with Carl, a boy. #2, he thinks I lied to him about what happened. Dad doesn't like liars. Especially ones he thinks are gay. #3, Carl stood up for me. So now he thinks Carl cares about me, which means he thinks we have something going on. That's why I didn't want Carl talking to me after it all went down. #4, Carl knocked him out. That's rude. #5, we dragged him outside and left him on the sidewalk in the sun. He gets burnt easily. He's probably all red.#6, I'm a disgrace.I hear the doorknob hit the wall with a crack and I flinch. But I don't move.He breathes heavily. "Ron," he mutters. "Ron!"My muscles tense up. Should I say something? I want him to find me. I don't want him to go upstairs."Hey, Dad."The entire house seems to shake as he slams the door. He stumbles into the living room, a beer in hand. He has to lean against the wall for support. My prediction was right. He's all sunburnt."You," he spats."It wasn't what it looked like this morning," I say clearly. He takes a few steps forward to stand over me, swaying slightly. "Nothing happened. Last night–"He backhands me, cutting me off as I reach up to my face."Don't," he snarls. "I'm sick of your... excuses. I'm sick of you."I feel blood trickling down the side of my face where his ring hit me. I stare.He doesn't speak. It's awful, because he's only silent before he does something really bad. "How long have you two been fuckin'?"I shake my head. I pray he somehow believes me. I forget God is no longer on my side. "We aren't– we've never–"Another smack. "No. Tell me the goddamn truth.""I hate him!" I cry, and it's so pathetic a tear trails down my face. "I hate him, I would never–""Shut up!" He shouts. He clutches the bottle so hard his knuckles turn white. A vein in his neck pops."What have you done?" He whispers."Wh– what?" I sputter. My voice trembles. Every second is a lifetime. A lifetime of dread."What have you done?!" He roars, and I scramble back into the couch, my breathing quickening. He puts the bottle to his lips, downing the rest of the contents."Nothing! Nothing–"He turns the bottle around so he grips it by the neck, and I barely have time to turn my face away from him before he whacks the bottle down onto my skull.My head splits with pain, and I can only numbly feel my body collapsing back down onto the couch as he screams."Disgusting little freak!"The worst part is, the bottle didn't break. Another smack. I can almost feel my brain rattling around inside my skull."Fuckin' faggot, you'll never..." His voice drowns out as he hits me again and a ringing overtakes me. A fourth smack, this time my jaw, and my vision blinks in and out. I cry to force myself to stay awake, because I know if I fall unconscious he'll never stop. I feel something warm splatter my cheek, but I can't do anything. I can barely move my limbs, let alone fight him off. It's like my brain isn't sending the right signals to the rest of my body to move.On the next hit, the bottle shatters. I don't hear it, I only know because I feel the pound of it followed by tiny shards of glass embedding into my skin. On the surface, my face burns, and underneath, waves of pain throb throughout my mind."Dad, please," I croak, although I can't hear it, I just feel my mouth moving and my throat vibrating. I weakly turn my face towards my dad just in time to see his fist slam into my face.Crrack.I cry out as a splitting pain erupts in my nose, shooting up into my head, my hearing coming back with the crack. "You are not my son!" His fist connects with my cheek. It's hard to breathe.I'm not...I want to fight back. I wish I could. But there's another part of me that isn't sure I would even fight back if I was able to. Because I deserve this, don't I? This is what sinners get. They don't just get forgiveness, there's punishment and then forgiveness. This has to happen.I squeeze my eyes shut so he can't blind me and take it. I take the fists in my face because this is what needs to happen. I take my hearing fading away again. I take it until I can barely feel my head being smacked around, until all I can feel is the numbness and the whisper of a smile creeping onto my face.I gasp for air, just short enough so he can hit me again, but he never does. The weight of him falls off of me, and there's more muffled shouting. I'm underwater. God, I'm underwater, I'm floating, and it's so peaceful. The shouting is dimmed, and I smile wider because it's Carl shouting. But water clogs my mouth and nose. I can't breathe. I can't breathe.I sputter and cough, turning so I can lean over the side of the couch and spit out the shit clogging my throat. Blood drips from my face onto the carpet. My vision swims. I look back up at my dad, my head screaming at the movement.He lays on the floor, Carl standing over him while clutching something and waving that over his head. When did Carl get here? Why is he here? He can't— He shouldn't—"Don't touch him!" He yells, popping my ears, and there's something feral in the way he says it, the way his eyes are so icy yet look so fiery and are so wide and he almost bears his teeth and the muscles in his arms tense as if itching to use the weapon he holds.It's a bat— my bat, stained with rotter blood from my expedition earlier. "You stay the fuck away from Ron!"My dad clutches his ribs, crawling back. "Oh, you fucking smartass!" He scoffs. "You made– you turned my son!" The only thing in his voice is pure hatred. "You don't deserve to live, fuckin' faggot! You don't–" he coughs, holding his side. His filth taints the air it touches. "You don't belong here. You don't belong anywhere, and you never will."I see the way my dad's words hit Carl like a punch in the gut. His face, twisted up in anger, falls, his bottom lip trembling as his grip on the bat loosens."No one could ever love you."Carl's eyes widen. He swings the bat as hard as he can at my dad, but he ducks just in time, the bat cracking into the fireplace behind him.A ball of fear rises from my core into my chest as my dad reaches to his hip, drawing a knife from beneath his shirt and lunging towards Carl, slashing his thigh.Carl cries out, stumbling back and pressing a hand to the gash. Blood pools between his fingers and spills down his leg.Dad tackles Carl and holds the knife up to his throat. My entire body shakes."I'm gonna fucking kill you," he steadies his hold on his knife, and I believe him. I believe he really will murder this boy.I see the way his nose wrinkles and he holds the weapon tight the way people do before making the decision to kill something. And I don't even think. I lunge forward, throwing myself on top of him and rolling onto the floor with him as a slick sound slices through my aching mind.I open my eyes to get a sense of what's going on because all I can hear is my heart pounding. I see Dad crawling away, probably towards the knife if it was thrown. The pounding is interrupted by muffled curses, and I look over to Carl.He checks his body, stumbling back with confusion. Blood continues to spurt from his thigh, and now part of his shirt is torn open and stained with red. All I can do is stare in shock and fear.Shocked my dad wasn't too drunk to miss him completely.Fear, because I think he really will try again, and he'll fucking kill him this time.I jump for my dad, grabbing him by the shoulders and yanking him back. The glint of a blade in his hand startles me, and I desperately knock the knife out of his hand. I wrap my arm around his throat, holding him in a headlock.He tried to kill Carl.He tried to kill him.I squeeze my arm as close to me as I can, strangling him until he gasps one last time before he can't breathe any longer. All he can do is flail around and open and close his mouth.He fumbles with my fingers, and a snap in my index finger followed by shooting pain up my hand makes me lose my grip and he bursts out of the chokehold. He grabs my arms and throws me over his head, and I smack the ground so hard my breath is knocked out of me. He crawls around to face me, putting his knee right on my diaphragm so that I cry out in pain.I see him raise his fist to hit me again but before he can my hands shoot up to his throat, catching him off guard. I turn around and force him down, sitting over him and pressing down onto him with all my weight and squeezing with all of my strength.I'm done. I'm fucking done with him walking all over us. His eyes bulge, and his face turns all red. I think about all the times he's hit my mom. All the times Sam has been so terrified of the mere mention of him. All the times I've had to hide bruises and shit.One of my fingers is bent in a way it shouldn't be. I dig my nails into his flesh, and his body starts to go limp."Ron."His hand rests on my shoulder. So soft. So gentle. So kind.I loosen my grip.He gasps for air, rolling over and crawling away from us.I look up at Carl, who's standing over me. I notice blood has seeped completely through his jeans where he was cut, and now it just drips. Dark red stains his white shirt by his left hip. He kneels down to help me up, my entire body screaming at me.My breathing is erratic and shallow. My head is filled up with helium. I can barely see and my face feels like I've been stung by a swarm of yellowjackets.His breathing his ragged and heavy and he favors one side over the other.But he's here.And I'm here.I look over at my dad.He weakly stands, stumbling to the front door. He points at me with a shaking finger. "I hate you!" His voice breaks as he screams it. I know by the way he says it he means it. He hates me, and it's such a simple thing, but it's so awful. He's my dad, and he hates me, and I've said I hate him before but I don't think I ever really stopped loving him.I watch as he leaves the house, the door clicking shut behind him.I look back to Carl."Your dad tried to fucking kill me," he blinks.I catch my breath. "Yeah. Sorry."He holds my face in his hands, and I want to pull away but I'm so tired and it's such a gentle touch and I actually don't even think I want to pull away at all. I think I want to lean in closer."Sit down," he orders me, and I do.He leaves for a minute, and I'm almost afraid he leaves. But when he comes back, he carries a bucket of medical stuff, and I know where he was, the bathroom.He sits down on the couch, facing me, handing me a hand towel. "Hold this to my thigh and keep pressure on it." He grabs a pair of tweezers from the bucket. "This might hurt a little."He puts a hand on the side of my face as he studies me, bringing the tweezers up. I press the towel onto his thigh. He bites his lip.I wince as he plucks the first shard of glass from my skin. I find it's pretty distracting to just stare at his face, his blue eyes watery, his eyebrows furrowed in concentration. His freckles darkened in the moonlight. Him biting his bottom lip.He pulls a big piece out, and I whimper. He winces. I can feel his blood on the towel. "Sorry." He drops the shard to the ground. "I'm gonna ask you some things to get your mind off of this, okay?"I shrug, accidentally dragging to towel. He groans with pain."Does faggot mean the same thing as fag?"I scowl. "Yeah.""Okay. Did I turn you?""No." I stare at his lips as he smiles a little."Okay. Why don't you like the word?"I press down harder with the towel, and his breathing quickens. I feel the need to press harder. I know it hurts him. He blinks slowly, like he's tired. "It's like a curse word. For gay people."He furrows his eyebrows. "Gay people?""The boys who like boys, girls who like girls. We went over this."He gulps. "I... forget things."We're quiet for a little bit. He has to go in deeper with the tweezers to get some pieces, and I bite my tongue to stop myself from crying."Is your dad gonna kill you?" His voice is just barely above a whisper. He pulls out the last glass shard, dropping the tweezers and picking up another hand towel from his bucket. He holds my face in one hand and presses the towel against the cuts with another. I notice his head falling, and he sort of sways.I don't know. And that's the truth. He's so unpredictable, and that's why I'm scared of him. Because I can never tell exactly what he'll do and when."Why did you come here? Why were you here to... to help?" I ask him questions instead.He squeezes his eyes shut, blinking hard and slow. He looks confused. "Needed to talk," his words jumble together, and I can barely make out what he says. "H... Harder..." he mumbles, and my face heats up."What?""More pressure," he throws the hand towel from my face to the ground. Little drops of blood stain the white. I look down. The towel on his leg is almost completely red.I push harder, and his hand on my face drops to my shoulder, squeezing hard as a high pitched whine leaves his mouth. A shudder runs down my spine. He weakly grabs a bottle of disinfectant."In.. your cuts..." he nods slowly, looking up at me, his breathing shallow. He shoves the bottle in my hand.Then he falls back onto the couch, body still.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Carl?! Shit, Carl, get up!" Ron's voice is muffled. I move my mouth to respond but no noise comes out. Oh well. I'm so tired."Uhh... uhh... fuck, I don't– fuck!" His hands grab my face, then my shoulders, then he shakes me. "Get up! I don't know what to do, Carl..." I pick my hand up and reach for his face. He grabs it.I blink, but my vision is blurry. Black and white dots dance in my eyes. I can barely see Ron. I don't know what's going on, but this feels like a nightmare. My clothes stick to my skin, damp with sweat, and yet I shiver. "R... on..." I breathe quickly, and my weak eyelids fall shut despite the fact that I want to keep them open.Not being able to see makes the room spin a little less. I'm scared, but I can't do anything. I feel myself slipping out of consciousness.Ron speaks again, but I don't know what he's saying. Everything feels far away. I want to try and crawl back. But I don't."Oh my God..." I faintly hear him exhaling, and he touches my burning thigh. "I– Dude, I gotta take your pants off– it's not weird– just–" I feel and hear him frantically unbuckling my belt. I groan."Do you consent?" He shakes me. I'm limp. "You're gonna fucking die! Can I take your pants off?! Do you consent?!""Mm," I nod.He pulls my jeans off and lifts my shirt up, mumbling anxious prayers. "Oh God, no, no..." he pushes his hands onto my thigh and stomach, and soon his fingers feel slick.He pulls away, then suddenly the burning pain is intensified by a tingling. I whimper, trying to lift my head up to look at what the hell is happening.Ron pours some liquid from a bottle onto my right thigh and my left hip. The liquid bubbles up in the cuts, blood muddling it up into red foam.He grabs a hand towel from the ground, but it's already soaked through with blood. He grabs a new one, pressing down and telling me something. My head falls back, and I find every movement to be painful and difficult."Denise, Denise– where the fuck does she live? Would she still be at the infirmary?" He murmurs to himself, wrapping an arm around my midsection and pulling me up. I'm like a rag doll.I almost fall to the ground, but Ron catches me and slaps me across the face. "Stay awake, Carl! Stay the fuck awake!"I try to shake him off. It doesn't work. I realize we're moving, and when I open my eyes we're going out the front door."You gotta do something," Ron grunts, practically dragging me. "At least– mmph– move your stupid fucking feet–"So I try. Putting pressure on my legs doesn't hurt. The cuts burn, sure, but they aren't even all that bad. I just feel like I'm gonna pass out any minute. My fingers and toes tingle and my head is filled with helium.I weakly move my feet, but it doesn't do much. My legs feel like Jell-O. I cling onto Ron as we stumble down the street.I faintly hear shouting from down the road, but I'm too tired to turn and look, so I just focus on the ground and keeping my face from landing on it.Ron says things to me along the way. I can't respond, but I try to listen. "You're so stupid." "Why the hell were you there?" "Don't come to my house." "I told you to stay away!" "I'm sorry, I'm fucking sorry." "You're an idiot." "Why did you do any of that? I haven't been the nicest to you." "Thanks anyway." "But you're really dumb." "No, what were you thinking?!""Almost there, Carl, just– hang in there–" he groans, and it's a sound that makes me smile. A sound I heard in that dream hallucination thing I had."You sound pretty," I mumble. He staggers, almost dropping me. He adjusts his hold."You're bleeding out, dumbass."I nod. "I am?" I ask. "Why?""My d–" he shakes his head. "Nothing. Just keep walking, okay?"So I do. I try, anyway. My right leg feels tingly. A warm sensation creeps over my bare skin– where are my pants?– dripping down. Blood, yes. Blood. I am bleeding out. Almost forgot.I look up from the ground because Ron struggles to hold me with one arm. He swings a door open, bursting into a building and dragging me with him."Denise! Denise, help!" He shouts, and his voice is so frantic and loud next to my ear I want to tell him to shut up. "Denise!" His voice breaks, and he holds me closer, hands gripping my shirt.A woman rushes into the room from the shadows. Woah. She takes one look at me and shakes her head. "Wh– no– I mean– what happened?" She takes me from Ron, and weirdly enough, I find myself reaching back for him."Stop... lady..." I murmur. She puts me down, and suddenly I'm horizontal. On a hard surface. A table? Did she put me on a table?Her and Ron go back and forth, and it's a boring conversation. I stare out a window. I can see stars. Every since the power went out nearly everywhere a little while after the apocalypse started, I've been able to see a lot more stars. No more light pollution. It's always beautiful, every single time.I hear clattering. I hurt. I'm hurting. I wonder if the stars hurt. I know sometimes they explode. I don't think I'm gonna explode. That would suck.Can stars bleed? Can light seep out of gashes into the universe and spread their holiness to the others and pool up in the void and give life meaning?"Carl!" A hand hits the side of my face."Mm?" I look up. The woman stands over me. I would jump in fear, if I could move at all."I have to stitch it up, okay? It's gonna hurt, it'll hurt a lot, but there's not enough time to get you anything for the pain right now, you've already lost a lot of blood, nicked the femoral artery, exposed some sensitive tissue, ripped the..." she trails off. She doesn't, but in my mind she does. She talks a lot.She does stuff to my cuts, cleaning and shit I hope, and I just wince as the already throbbing pain worsens, my body jerking without my consent."I'm gonna start stitching, okay?" She looks to me. That wasn't the stitching?"Wha... stitch..?" I mumble. "I do–"I cut myself off with a scream that tears through my throat. A digging, helpless pain burrows into my thigh, and I can just barely lift my head up to look.Something shiny weaves in and out of my flesh. Dark red blood drips and begins to pool. She pulls and tugs and sews my fucking skin, and all I can do is scream. The intensity of the pain crawls deep throughout my body until it's the only thing I know, the only thing I think I'll ever know. The pain.Before I feel my body giving out, and everything goes black.••••••I can move my body before I can open my eyes. I mumble to let the universe know I'm still alive, although I don't know why I'd be dead."Carl?"I open my eyes to look at him. I smile when I see his face, all the forests in the world captured in those green eyes, the acne scars dotting his face, his bruised, puffy face, the birthmarks on his neck that look like a snake bite, a white bandage over one side of his face, the awkwardly bent bridge of his nose. Although, I didn't notice the nose part before."Hey," I wiggle my eyebrows, grinning. "How you doin'?"He blinks. "Denise," he turns his head slightly to call behind him but doesn't pull his eyes away from me. "He's awake, but– uh, I think you gave him too much of that stuff."I try to sit up, but my stomach tenses with pain. I fall back down. "Ouch."Footsteps near us. "Do you remember what happened last night?" Ron asks.I snort. "'Course, I'm not– stupid.""You are."A woman walks up behind him, smiling at me with pity. "How are you feeling?"I sniff. "It hurts. Down there." I giggle, realizing what that sounds like. "Not there, but, like–" I laugh harder.She bites back a real smile. "Carl, you were cut twice, once on your right thigh and once above your right hip bone."I nod. "Yeah, I know." I remember Ron's dad slashing at me. I remember he looked funny when he was mad. I remember everything getting fuzzier the more time passed after he cut me.I remember walking into Ron's house to talk to him. I remember seeing his Dad beating the shit out of him, screaming at him, telling him how much of a disgrace he was, calling him that f-word. I remember remembering Ron had a baseball bat in his room. So I grabbed it. And I whacked him right off that couch.I remember him saying awful things to me. I remember wanting to forget them. I remember Ron strangling Pete with a bent finger. I remember I thought if I didn't do anything, he would really kill him. And I remember not wanting to stop him. Because Pete deserves to die. But then I remembered how painful it is to kill someone, let alone a parent. I couldn't let that happen to him. I couldn't let him experience that."Are you okay?" I look over to him.His face looks soft in a way I've never seen it, softer than when he was asleep. Soft with sympathy. Strange."Me?" He chuckles. "You're asking me?"I reach over to Ron's hand, lifting his elbow off of his knee and I pull his arm towards me. One of those metal splints with blue-green foam is on his left ring finger. "Your finger," I hold his hand, and bring my other to his face.He swallows. "I'm... uh... okay." There's a window to my right, a little above me, and I can see early morning light seeping in. It's pale. It's pale and it reminds me of Ron, the beams of sunlight landing on my bare chest and lighting up the floating dust in the air.I bring my hands back to my sides, looking down at myself.A bandage like the one on Ron's face covers an area on my left side to my stomach. Where Pete cut me the second time. It wasn't bad. Not as bad as the first cut, anyway.My upper right thigh is wrapped in bandages. That one was worse. I remember realizing the second he cut it and blood spurted out he hit an artery.I'm only wearing my boxers. I want to get embarrassed, but all I can do is laugh."You took my pants off," I glance towards Ron again, grinning. He throws his hands up."You said I could!""I was barely conscious," I shake my head. "What else did you do to me, huh?"The woman's eyes widen, and she quietly slips away."Oh, you idiot!" He sputters. "I askedfor your– your permission, you said yeah, I swear!"My head falls back as I laugh harder, my stomach aching. Yet I don't want to stop. As Ron realizes I'm just making fun of him, he groans, but then starts to laugh, too.And then we're laughing. We're laughing together even though his dad tried to kill us both last night and I know I'm gonna have scars and his nose is bent crookedly and he has a splint on one finger.We're laughing.It's amazing.Bam!The infirmary door swings open, doorknob slamming against the wall, making me jump. Ron whips his head around as Glenn storms inside.He looks around frantically, eyes landing on Ron and me. He furrows his eyebrows."Woah, kid, what happened?" He walks over, eyeing Ron suspiciously."My dad happened," Ron spits bitterly. Glenn's eyes widen."Your– your dad?" He asks. "When?"Ron looks down at me. "Last night. Fucking piece of shit almost–""You don't know?" Glenn holds his head down yet still looks Ron in the eye."Know what?" He looks annoyed.Glenn lets out a short exhale, muttering something as he walks away towards the other rooms that woman appeared from last night.I hear muffled talking. Ron's eyes are narrowed. Something's wrong, that's clear– but what? And yet even though I know something's wrong, all I can do is smile because he called his dad a "fucking piece of shit" for what he did to me. To us.He gets up from the stool he's been sitting on, following Glenn with careful, quiet steps towards the door he entered. He's gonna eavesdrop. Good plan. But if he didn't tell you, maybe it's better you don't know. But I can't tell you what to do. You're not that kind of person.After a few seconds, his eyebrows furrow. He tilts his head, trying to hear better.Then his face falls.He pales, stumbling back when the door opens again.Glenn steps out and makes direct eye contact with him. He curses. "Did you... hear?"Ron just swallows. "He... wha... wh...""Shit," Glenn hisses. "Dude, I'm sorry, I assumed you knew, and–"He turns away, face blank, eyes staring off into nothing. He blinks.Then, he walks out of the infirmary.I sit up, not caring that my stomach screams at me. "What the–" I cough. "What the hell happened?"Glenn wipes his forehead. "Pete's dead," he says...."What?"No.That just doesn't make sense. How could he be dead? I stopped Ron before he strangled him to death. I saw him walk out of the house.He walked out of the house. Where did he go? Did he leave Alexandria? Maybe he's just gone. No– then Glenn would've said he's missing. Not dead.He's definitely dead."How?" I shake my head.Glenn gulps. "Your, um... dad."Fuck. Of course. Of course Dad fucked it up for everyone. Fuck. Fuck!"Pete walked up to a group of us last night, with Michonne's sword. I don't know– I don't think he meant to, but– he killed Reg." He explains it cautiously, nervously. "Deanna told Rick to shoot him. So, I mean–" he shrugs. "He did."The only thing I can think to say is: "How do you accidentally kill someone?"Glenn shakes his head. "Reg was trying to take it from him, calm him down, y'know, but Pete, like– jerked it away, and the next thing you know Reg's on the ground. Throat all... blood on the outside."Oh.Oh."Oh shit."Pete's dead, and Ron heard, and now he's gone.Shit.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I rap my fist on the door, standing idly, staring at the door blankly.When it opens, she looks awful.Mascara (I don't know how the hell she gets it) runs down her wet, splotchy cheeks. Her skin is paler than it usually is, except for her red eyes. Some blonde wisps of hair stick to her tears, and she wipes her face. "Ron," she says, voice soft, weak."How did it happen?" I ask.She blinks, sniffling. "Wh... what?""What happened last night?"She looks surprised, although I don't know why. She gestures for me to come inside. I walk over to her living room, sitting down on one of her couches.She sits on the other couch. Takes a minute to compose herself. I just stare, and stare, and stare."Your..." she starts. She has to gulp to collect herself. "Your father was becoming a danger to this community, Ron. You know– you know this.""That's not what I asked," I speak more harshly than I mean to. "What happened last night?"She shakes her head. "Listen, I'm sorry it–""How did it happen?" I ask once more, cutting her off. She looks offended for a second before she sighs."We were... having a meeting. Considering whether we would kick Rick and his group out. Reg–" she breaks off, her throat catching. My expression doesn't change. "We had different views on the matter. But before we could make a decision, Pete– your father," she quickly corrects herself, "interrupted us. He was–" her face twists up in anger. "So drunk, too drunk, and he had blood on his shirt and bruises on his neck and he kept holding his side, but– but–" she wipes her face once more. "He had Michonne's sword, her katana. I don't know how he got it, but he did, and he was threatening people. Threatening us."She smiles a little, her bottom lip trembling. "Reg, being who he is, tried to calm him down; told him everything was okay." A tear trails down her cheek and makes its way down to her throat. "He went to take the katana away. He just– he just wanted to–get him under control. But Pete fought back, and he–" her lip curls, her eyebrows furrowing. "He cut his throat. He cut Reg's throat, and he killed him, so I told Rick to shoot him.""Rick did it?"She looks over to me, and her eyes are icy cold, but I can tell all there is in there is sadness. "Damn right he did."I get up, walking back over to the front door. I speak once more as I walk out."Have a nice day, Deanna."••••••A dragonfly sends ripples across the calm pond, a duck bobbing slightly. It lets out a short quack before plunging its head underwater.If I stuck my head underwater, could I just ignore the world around me? Would the Earth stop spinning? Would everyone forget I existed? Would nothing matter?The grass is so green. There's moss on this log– I run my fingers over it, and it's soft. A lump forms in my throat. A small flower blooms from this soft moss, a bright red flower, a tiny black bug crawling over the petals.A light breeze ruffles my hair, prickling my neck. I should ask Mom to cut my hair soon.The wind is blowing. The grass is growing (that rhymed). The moss is thickening. The bugs are wandering. The ducks are swimming.I'm stuck in place. Frozen in time.I know I should be glad he's gone. Glad he's dead. Glad he got what he deserved. And I think I am. But he killed Reg before dying, and that's on me.It's all on me.I had the chance to kill him, and I didn't do it. I wanted to. But he stopped me. Carl stopped me.Is it fair of me to be angry at Carl? I guess he just isn't a violent person. But if I hadn't stopped, if I'd killed my dad, Reg would still be alive. And I would've been the one to kill him, just like I always imagined.But of course Rick jumped at the chance to kill him. Look him in the eyes, at this man who never hurt him unprovoked, and end his life. Rick knew about the shit my dad did, but he never experienced it. And now I won't ever get the satisfaction of killing him myself.I know killing is serious. I know not everyone can do it. And I know that normally, I might not be able to kill someone. But my dad, I could've. I know it because I wanted to, so bad.So why didn't I?Why did I never do it when he was passed out drunk? Why did I never do it when his back was turned? Why did I never do it when he was hurting my mom and Sam?"I thought I might find you here," a voice makes me turn. Enid. She sits down next to me, resting her hand down onto the red flower with the little bug. She crushes them.My gaze lingers on her hand. She killed the flower. She killed the bug. And it makes me want to cry. But I don't, because I shouldn't."How are you?" She asks, tilting her head to try and get a better look at my face.I nod, staring back out at the pond. "How am I," I say, still nodding at the pond. "How am I.""Yeah. I mean, how are you holding up?"When I don't respond, she goes on. "With all the–""Yeah, I know what the fuck you're talking about," I scoff. She leans back, startled. "I'm okay."She breathes shakily. "No, you're not."Her hand rests on my shoulder, her left one, the same hand that squished the flower and the bug."You're right," I look at her. "I'm not. But I'll feel a lot better when you leave me the fuck alone." My voice is venomous, and it stings her.She takes her hand away, staring at me a moment before getting back up. She shakes her head. "I–" she looks angry. Good. She'll stay away if she's angry with me. "Whatever. Just–" she takes a deep breath. "Don't do anything stupid."And she walks away.Fuck. Fuck me.Why did I do that?Enid is the only person who understands me. The only person who cares about me. Why did I do that?I guess she shouldn't. She shouldn't care about me, because I don't deserve it. I got Reg killed. I didn't get rid of my father despite all the chances I've had. And who knows? Maybe Carl and I made him so angry last night and that's why he went crazy.Did we do this?I still don't even really know why Carl was there. He said he wanted to talk. But why he did he stay? Why didn't he just leave after he saw my dad beating me? That would've been so much easier. I told him to stay away because if he didn't it would look like there was something going on between us. My dad obviously thought there was. Is that why he did what he did? He was so angry about me? With me?All I can think is questions. Questions of guilt and hatred and similar things. Those are the only things we've ever known, my dad and me.I got Reg killed. Maybe I got my dad killed, too, in a way. But it wasn't by my hand. I didn't get to kill that fucker myself.Lately, all I can think about is death. Killing Carl. Killing my dad. Killing everyone who makes my life harder. That isn't fair. But I want it to be.Restlessness makes my whole body itch.I haven't even seen Mom or Sam yet. I probably should. See how they're doing. They should be grateful, but I have this annoying feeling they'll be grieving or whatever the fuck they do.I don't wanna see them. I can't see them. I can't see anyone, actually. Nobody. Nobody.There's a lot of colors in this world, too many, and sometimes they blend together. The pale green of the grass jumbles with the grey of the sky and the dark of the pond and all the little shadows and it all mixes together into a blur of nothingness. Like nothing is real.Nothing is real.I stand up from this log I sit on, glancing down at the little smushed red flower with the dead bug on it. Were they real? The only real things in all this nothingness?I've thought like this before. When Enid said all that shit about not loving me. The morning Dad saw Carl and me in bed together. There was only one way to solve those problems then, so there has to be only one way to solve this now.I am gonna go home. I am gonna see Mom and Sam.As I walk the streets of Alexandria, I can feel people's eyes on me. They're raw and unforgiving and pitiful. I glare back at them but eventually hang my head when there's too many eyes to meet.I'm minding my own business (for the most part) when I overhear voices down the street.I follow them, my mind practically blank as I peer out from behind a house."He doesn't deserve to be buried," Rick spits out. I blink."I understand your anger," the priest, Gabriel, tilts his head. "But he is still one of God's children and deserves to be treated respectfully after death."Rick shakes his head. "No. No, it don't work like that, he–""Throw him in the woods," Deanna's voice cuts Rick off. She barely glances at the group. "Don't bother burying him."Rick leaves Alexandria with some guy who came in last night who he used to know.And my dad's body.I haven't been Outside in a long time. But I find I'm not scared. I don't care.So I follow them out.••••••I throw a last dirty look back at random people in the street before walking into my house, closing the door shut quietly behind me. I've decided I actually don't want Mom or Sam to know I'm here. I want them to forget about me. I want everyone to forget about me, about everything. I want to forget about everything.Rick and the dude— Morgan— started arguing in the woods. Morgan's a philosophical dude. He practically interrogated Rick about how morally good he is. Said something about how all life is precious.On the Outside, I'm completely helpless. I have no choice but to admit that now.I drew rotters to us, and I didn't know how to defend myself. So I just didn't. Rick and Morgan took care of them— and found the quarry.The quarry is where we keep rotters. There's this barricade to keep them out, and it's efficient— or I thought it was. But then Rick said eventually the barricade will collapse, and all of these rotters building up over time will head for Alexandria.And I don't like Rick, but I couldn't really argue with that.Inside the house, I silently creep to the fireplace, kneeling down and reaching back behind the bricks to search for solace. My nails scrape against smooth glass and I grab the neck of the bottle and pull it out. It's some sort of clear vodka. I pop the cap, tilting my head back as I take a straight swig.I wince. It's smooth, and almost absolutely tasteless. Just sharply alcoholic and bitter, stinging my throat and nose as it slides down my throat. Nothing else. Nothing like the first bottle of stuff I got from back here, spicy and cinnamon, coating my tongue in the filth.They didn't just leave my dad to rot.They buried him.Suddenly, the bottle is yanked from my hand."What the hell do you think you're doing?" My mom's voice is irritating, grating at the back of my mind. I grimace."Hi, Mom," I look up at her. She holds the bottle of vodka, staring down at it, eyebrows furrowing."What, you're drinking now?" Her faces looks amused, but I can see the sadness in her eyes. "You think it's cool or some shit?"Did she not see me grab the whiskey when I came back from Carl's? Maybe she chose to ignore it. I guess she never saw me actually drink it."It's not, okay? It's pathetic," she spats, and I know why. She doesn't want it to become a habit."I know," I stand back up. "It's stupid." I grab the bottle back from her. "So why do you care? It's just this once."She shakes her head. "No, that's– that's what they always say!""Who?! Who is they, Mom?""Alcoholics," she looks at me desperately. She thinks I can't handle this shit."I've got it under control," I say evenly, bringing the bottle to my lips and taking another large gulp. It actually burns, my face contorting with the pain.She tries to take the bottle again, but I pull back. "Don't fucking touch me," I snarl.She blinks. She exhales. "How are you feeling?"My breathing is the loudest thing in the room. It's trembling. My mouth feels dry, and I wet it with another sip of vodka. "About Dad?"Her eyes dart back and forth from my face to the bottle. She's afraid. "Yes."I bite my lip. "I wish I was the one who killed him."Her chest shakes. "No, you don't.""I almost did. Earlier that night.""What?"I take a swig. It smells clean. My throat's on fire, making me voice raw and pained. "He was beating the shit out of me. I was strangling him. I was gonna kill him, Mom."She shakes her head. "But you couldn't."I shrug. "I could've. I would've." I notice my words slowing down more. "Carl stopped me.""Why was Carl there?" She narrows her eyes."I told you, he actually gives a shit," I scoff."That's not fair. You know I care."I look over to her, my eyelids getting heavier with every sip. "He was gonna kill us, Mom. Both of us."She gulps, bottom lip quivering."I'm going upstairs," I take the first step."Don't you dare leave that room," she threatens. I ignore her."He didn't feel bad for anything. Anything at all. He fucking hated me.""He's– he's troubled, but–""He was troubled. He was an asshole. And now he's fucking dead." I hold the bottle up, smiling slightly as I make my way up the rest of the stairs. "Cheers."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"You can't leave yet, Carl. It's just not safe for you to get up. You could rip your stitches, or get an inf–""Those stitches hurt like hell, by the way," I grumble. "Don't you have anything for pain here?"The woman, who I've learned is Denise, sighs. "I... Pete handled most of that. Most everything, honestly," she shakes her head, overwhelmed. I put my hands up."I didn't mean to stress you out. I'm... I'm sorry," I say hesitantly. "But, uh– can I just go home to get a change of clothes?" I glance down at myself, wearing a bloody flannel and boxers. "Or at least some pants?"She closes her eyes, shaking her head. "Of course, yeah, sorry, I didn't even–" she chuckles. "Think about that, go– go get whatever you need," she waves toward the infirmary door. "Just come back as soon as you do. I need to watch you, make sure nothing gets infected, the stitches hold, y'know..."She helps me stand up, and as soon as my feet hit the ground, I almost collapse. The only reason I don't is because she firmly grips my arms."You're gonna be weak," she says. "You lost a lot of blood. We didn't know your type so we couldn't do a transfusion. Hey, maybe we can–""I don't know my own type," I shake my head, walking towards the infirmary door and gripping the handle tightly. "I don't even think my dad does. It's not important. I'm fine, really."She raises her eyebrows. "Don't take long strides. The cut on your thigh was sort of awkward to stitch, and stretching it too far could tear them. And don't run. Or climb. Or pretty much do anything. Don't even sit or stand quickly. Be very careful w–""I got it, Denise," I force a smile at her. "Thank you. See you later." I swing the door open and shut behind me, stumbling out, holding my side. It feels tight and raw.Alexandria isn't a large town. It can't afford to be. So, after only being here for a few weeks, I already know where most things are– including Ron's house.Walking down the street, people give me strange looks. Some are dirty. Some are sympathetic. Most are just confused as to why I'm not going very fast despite moving with a lot of effort. And probably why I'm just wearing boxers.I overhear some middle aged woman whispering to another. "Poor boy's dad... crazy... he must..." I can't hear all of it, but I see the other woman look at me with pitiful eyes.I glance over at a man kneeling down next to his young son who can't be older than ten."His daddy went insane," he points at me with no shame. "Stuff like that tends to run in the family, so stay away from him, you hear?" He pats his son's arm. "Go tell the others."The son gives me a weary look before nodding to his dad and taking off towards a group of kids his age playing in a plot of land between two houses cast in shadow, protection from the scorching sun.I focus on the objective. Ron's house. Will his mom be there? Will his brother?What about Pete? Are they gonna have a funeral? Are they gonna burn his body? Bury it? Or have they just thrown it over the wall?I don't know how they deal with dead bodies here. I assume Reg is gonna be buried and honored. And the logical part of my brain tells me the same will happen with Pete, too. He'll be buried and honored just like Reg despite how shitty he was to everyone he came in contact with. Despite the abuse. Because the community "needed" him. Because he was a doctor. Just make more doctors, the fuck? Easy solution.The house looks the same as before. I don't know why I expected it to look different. Duller, from grief, maybe. Brighter, from relief, maybe. But nothing. It's the exact same.I slowly walk up the stairs, clutching the stitches in my side and trying to ignore the pressure on the stitches in my thigh.I knock on the door, leaning my forearm on the doorframe for support. It swings open a second later."Carl," Jessie looks surprised. It's probably the whole boxers thing again. She checks behind me, and when she sees I'm alone, she furrows her eyebrows and looks down at me."Hi, Mrs. Anderson," I smile a little. "I heard about what happened. I'm... sorry for your loss." It's fake and we both know it. Well, half fake. Im sorry it's her loss. She's a wonderful woman. But I'm not sorry who the loss was.She nods. She's silent for a second, and I can tell she's thinking. She pokes in inside of her cheek with her tongue. The same habit Ron has. My smile grows despite myself.She then sighs. "Come on in, sweetie," she says, waving me inside, helping me up the small step on the way in.She tells me to sit on the couch while she goes back to the kitchen. She pours lemonade into a glass— how the hell did she get lemonade?— and gives it to me. It's lukewarm, and it's sour-sweet, and I grin when I taste it."This is really good, ma'am," I tilt my head. She shrugs nonchalantly. "Thank you.""I assume you're here for Ron?" She asks. "Or to get clothes?"I clear my throat. "Uhm, Ron, yes, but that's not to say I didn't want to see you, you're–"She waves me off. "It's fine, honey." She glances to the staircase in front of the front door. "I'll warn you, though, he's not... really in the mood to talk right now."I nod quickly. "Of course, yeah, I'd expect–""But you actually might be the one person he'd want to talk to," she considers, studying me. I tilt my head."Sorry?"She exhales. "He says you've... stood up for him. Several times. Against his father."I blink."I think you're the only one he– um– really trusts, at this point, you know? He appreciates it. I–" her voice breaks. She composes herself. "I appreciate it."I'm the only one he trusts? Out of everybody close to him? And we treat each other like this?I want to be angry. I want to hate her for not protecting her own son. I want to be mad at her for leaving me to be the only person to ever defend him.But I saw it in the way her eyes widened and glistened when he hit her in the street. There's fear. So much fear. And I can't blame anyone for being afraid. I've pretty much been afraid for almost two consecutive years now.She smiles kindly. "The least I can do to thank you is give you a haircut," she gets up, but before she goes off to get her salon supplies or whatever the fuck I stop her."I don't cut my hair," I stand, too, albeit rather slowly.She frowns. "What do you mean?" She walks towards me, grabbing at my hair and flinging it around. "All these split and dead ends..." she shakes her head. "It's unhealthy, Carl."I take a step back towards the staircase. "It's hair. I don't care how 'healthy' it is. I just–" I don't want to be mean. But when I get defensive, I feel like I need to get mean. "I'm gonna go try to talk to Ron."She looks a little startled but nods. I turn and walk up the stairs, holding a lock of my hair subconsciously. The only one who ever cut my hair after everything happened was Mom. I haven't cut my hair ever since. Well, I tried once, at the prison. But I ended up crying like a baby. So it just grows and "dies", I guess, whatever that means for strands of hair.I practically pull myself up entirely using the bannister, pressing my side firmly as I get to the top. I feel like an old man. This is embarrassing.I knock on my second door this morning, but this time it doesn't swing open.I knock again.And again.Nothing.So I figure that's a yes, and I open the door myself.I prepare myself for him to be changing and distracted or something, but that's not it. That's not it at all.He's gone.And his room is a fucking mess.I can't even tell you what's cast all over the floor. Random shit. Clothes. Glass. Plastic. Wrappers. It was messy the last time I was in here, but not like this. Y'know that expression moms use to make you feel bad for not cleaning? "It's like a tornado blew through here"? Yeah, well, this is the literal meaning.A thump startles me. It sounds like it's above me, but not quite. Outside.I notice one of his windows is open, light streaming in. I sigh.Looking out the window, I peek my head out, holding the window frame to keep me from falling. On the grass below, the screen lies crooked. He pushed it out. I look above, at the roof, but see nothing.The house next to this one is really close, just a yard or two between them."Fuck yeah," a slurred voice from above makes me look up once more.Now, I notice him.He stands on the roof of the house next to this one, clutching a bottle of something in one hand and wiping the other on his shirt. He coughs before bringing the bottle to his lips. He winces after drinking it, and that's when I know it isn't water. It's some sort of alcohol. He's been drinking again.Shit.Usually, I wouldn't care about him. Usually, I'd just let him be. But he's drunk and on top of someone else's roof. I need to make sure he's safe.He disappears, walking further down the roof. I hear a few times he stumbles.I pull myself out of the windowsill, facing inside his room, and sit on it, looking to the pipe to my left. I'm surprised he didn't fall climbing up, being drunk and all. The night he came to kill me he wasn't very coordinated.Gripping onto the thicker parts of the pipe, I start to climb. A nail or two breaks, but overall, I'm fine, as I keep my leg close to the rest of my body as to not rip my stitches.I crawl up onto his roof. It's weird. I remember eating that huge can of chocolate pudding on that sort-of roof while the walker inside stuck its arms out the window, trying to reach me. I remember swinging my legs over the edge. I remember my anger melting away.Looking to the roof of the house to the left, he's already gone. I hiss a curse, taking a few steps back in preparation to jump.I've done way worse things. Way more dangerous things. And Ron did it while drunk. I'm fine. I'll be fine.I get a running head start, taking off and leaping to the next roof. I think my shoe catches on the edge of it, because suddenly, I'm tumbling.I desperately grab at anything to stop me from rolling down and off this two story roof. I latch on. My thigh burns, a gnawing pain, and I think I feel the warm wetness of blood. Did I tear the stitches? Shit.I don't have time to check. I pull myself up with one of those grey pipe things that stick out next to chimneys, pushing myself with my feet.Scrambling up, I look around for him. I walk around the roof, the slope dangerously steep. How the hell did he not fall?Wait.Maybe he did.I start checking the ground around the house, anywhere he may have fallen.Nothing.But a figure walking into the shadow of a house catches my eye. I can't be sure it's him, but they look around his height, they have blonde hair, and there's no one else around here.I try to find a way to get down. A pipe goes up the side of this house, too, but as I start making my way down, the plastic starts cracking.If I break it, I'll get in trouble. If it just stays cracked, there could be a quick and easy weather or small animal excuse.So I jump down the rest of the way.I don't know exactly what the hell I'm doing, but I try to do what Enid did when she jumped down from the wall. Sort of roll, I think.The balls of my feet still hurt, but it's not an ache up my entire legs. Improvement! I'll have to tell her later. She'll be so proud, and–Off track.Ron.I walk behind the house the figure went behind, jogging to try and catch up with them.Here, the street turns left. I walk out from behind the random person's house and try not to look suspicious.In the sunlight, the figure is definitely Ron. Sun reflecting off blonde hair. Stumbling, swaying slightly. I sigh, following him.It's not hard to follow him. He's not observant. Not trying to look for people around him.I groan as I see where he's walking.The fucking church.Is he serious?As a heart attack, apparently. He enters the building without even peeking in first. What would Gabriel the priest dude say if he found a teenager drinking and wandering around in his church? What would he do?I sigh.And walk up to the doors.••••••No one's inside— strange, considering Gabriel's usually always here.Sunlight filters through the stained glass, a myriad of vivid light seeping together like beautiful watercolor paints over the wooden pews. Soft green, warm red, pale yellow, vibrant blue, deep purple.I can't get distracted, not now. I walk between all the pews. I feel like I'm being watched. No one's in here, and yet there are eyes on me. Is this what it's like to know God? To constantly have someone observing, judging your every move?It's suffocating.At the end of the pews, the floor is elevated. I step up.Jesus is nailed to the cross, like he's always shown. I wonder why everyone only ever talks about that. The crucifixion. The sacrifice. Not everything else he did– assuming he did do other things. I don't know. I never read the Bible.The joints of his shoulders are mangled in ways they shouldn't be. The material of his hands and wrists were molded to show thick blood pouring from the nails. The rags he's wearing expose his stomach, ribs and hip bones poking out. A crown of thorns adorns his head, digging into his flesh.Why do they think it's fine to show all the kids here this, but as soon as someone mentions the "Outside", they act like like you shot the family dog right in front of them?To the right, a door creaks as it slowly closes. I'm assuming he went through but slammed it too hard and it bounced off the wall.I enter the room, light spilling into the room from an opening on the ceiling— lead to by a ladder.Ugh.I think I know where Ron went.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Despite the fact that I love Enid, I've never told her about my spot.We have the log by the pond (where she now goes with Carl). We have the gazebo.But I have the roof of the church.This spot's mine."Ron?" A soft voice grates at my ears.Fuck.Not anymore.I turn around to scream at him but find myself wobbling, body compromised with alcohol."Okay, I got you," he scrambles from the skylight of the church, coming over and grabbing my arms to steady me. I throw him off."Get the fuck away," I slur. "Go away!"He draws back but doesn't leave. I feel my face twisting up. I bring the bottle to my lips, tilting my head back to take a swig."Don't do that," he says, and he says it so gently and kindly I just want to punch him, but I know I'd probably miss.I glare at him with hooded eyes. "The fuck– the fuck you gonna do about it?!"He blinks. "Nothing. I'm not gonna do anything. You're gonna stop yourself."I snort. "Fuck no," a laugh blurts out."You're becoming like your dad."He lays this down on the roof like it's something for me to look at. To study. He's silent after as if he thinks I'm gonna think on it."Fuck you!" I spat at him, taking another sip. His mouth twitches, and he's angry, and I grin. "No one gives a shit about what you have to say!" The sun is starting to set. He'll be going home soon.And I say other things. "You're such a freak!" I might be shouting. "So... so fucking annoying!" I can't tell. I just talk at him between swigs of alcohol.And he just sits. Just listens.Doesn't argue. Doesn't yell. Just listens.And all these thoughts spill past my lips until I don't even know what I'm saying.I hate that he's not arguing.And I start trying to talk fast but the alcohol puts my mouth in slow motion and I choke on the acid in my mouth."Hey, hey," he finally speaks, and he grabs the bottle away from me. I try to pull back but my limbs feel uncoordinated."Give it back," I snarl, alcohol dripping down my chin and onto my neck."Ugh. Calm down. Just give it a rest. 5 seconds."I count to 5, then reach for it again. He takes it back."Breathe, Ron."I hate the way he tries to calm me down. I hate the way he thinks he can make me calm down. But there's something about the way he says my name. Almost as soft as his hand on my shoulder stopping me before killing my dad.So I wipe the vodka from my chin and try to breathe. But it's ragged. And I turn to him, the sun lowering, the sky reddening. "Carl?""Yeah?""Why'd you stop me from killing him?"I see the way his chest catches. Something negative there. Usually I'd be able to tell exactly what. I can't now."I could've done it," I press on, leaning forward a bit. His face softens. I want to smack it. Stop being so soft."I know," he says, and his voice is just barely above a whisper, so low I can hardly hear it. But I hear it. "I know.""You're not upset he's dead." I find my voice to be raw, breaking as it claws its way out of my throat.He looks away from me. He doesn't seem like the lying type. But he doesn't agree, either.I can't get the image of his lifeless body in the woods out of my mind.The hole in his head. Blood and brain splattered on his forehead. Eyes closed. Mouth open.I kept expecting a twitch. A cough. A shudder. Something.But there was never anything."You wanted him dead."He locks eyes with me. "I wanted him gone. From your life."I sniff. "Why the– the fuck would you want that? He's my dad." It's so weird. I wanted him dead, too. But Carl doesn't get to think like that. Carl was never treated the way I was. "You son of a bitch, you– don't deserve to hate him!"He shakes his head. "He hurt you, Ron.""Stop saying my name!"He shushes me, and I shush him back by shoving him."I should've killed him!" I shout, and my voice cracks, scratching at my raw throat, already stinging from alcohol. "I should've fucking killed him!""You can't live with yourself after doing that," he hisses."How the fuck would you know?" The sun disappears behind the tallest trees and yet my cheeks are still warm. I realize it's tears. "He deserved to die! I could've killed him!""I know!" His face is so upset. I can't tell how he's feeling. I don't think it's just angry. "I keep telling you, don't you think I know that?!""So why the f- fuck did you–"I'm cut off as he throws his arms around me and squeezes.Tight.On purpose.I sit there, trying to squirm out of his grasp for a second. But he holds on."Wha... what the fuck are you...""Ron."I want to hate him for saying my name. For thinking he can calm me down. I hate him because he can. I hate him because it might be the first time I've ever been touched non-threateningly by anyone other than Enid, and even with her I'm always walking on eggshells. I hate him because he doesn't seem to hate me.A pressure in my chest bursts as sob escapes from my throat.I hug him back, and I pull him so close, but it's not close enough. I bury my face in the crook of his neck."What the fuck is wr- wrong with me?"His hand rests on my head, ruffling my hair, and my world spins from this vodka and I wish I hugged my dad more and I just let myself go.My whole body shakes with every inhale and exhale and he just holds me. My head falls into his lap— covered only by boxers?— and now I'm just hugging him around the waist."I don't even– I don't even know why I'm– like this–""He was still your dad. It makes sense to be sad. You're okay.""I'm not..." I pick my head up, looking up at him with red eyes for a second before uselessly dropping it back down to chase away the thought of his lips. "I don't know," I groan miserably. "It's my fault he's dead, Reg, I mean if I never made my dad angry or if I just killed him right then and there none of–" One of his hands cups my chin and tilts my head back up. His lips. Fuck. He stares down at me with those blue eyes I could just look into forever and grazes his thumb over my cheek. If I just leaned up a little more, I could—I try and focus on the slurred words spilling out of my mouth. "None of this would've happened and maybe he'd still be alive and I don't know why I'd want him alive I don't but I do and I'm such–""Ron."He leans his head down and I realize we're so close our noses practically touch.I could kiss him."There is nothing wrong with you."The words are like a punch to the gut. So awful. I've spent my whole life being told everything I can do better. Everything I've fucked up. Everyone I've disappointed. Every day I've wasted.Maybe it's the alcohol. Maybe it's his gentle touch and his even gentler words. Maybe it's the darkening sky. Maybe it's his other hand drifting up to my hair and playing with it.Whatever it is, I feel so tired, so fucking exhausted, and for some reason I feel so safe in his arms.And I cry myself to sleep on the roof of the church.••••••I wake up to soft lips pressed against mine.I try to open my eyes but they're weighed down. I'm kissed so sweetly, and then the person smiles and says something. The voice isn't masculine or feminine. It's not soft or firm. It doesn't belong to anyone. It's just happy. I don't even know what it says. It barely hangs in the air for a second before floating away, and I'm kissed again, and then my eyes drift open.The sky is a vibrant blue, wispy white clouds swirling about oddly. Something tickles my face, and as I focus on more around me other than just the sky, I can see green grass growing all around me.A breeze rustles the tall grass but doesn't quite reach me. Just a bit of my hair.A thin cloud drifts sideways, and the sun is exposed. I don't feel the physical warmth of the rays, but I feel the warmth of the colors. The yellows, the oranges, the reds. They spread over my skin. And I smile, and my smile is as green as the grass I lay in.I sit up. My head just barely reaches over the tall grass.Only, the patch I lie in is the only part of this field that's just grass.On all sides, flowers etched into the walls of my mind shout for attention. Bunches of small, pale purple petals bloom between sprouts of rich blue flowers that look soft to the touch (when I pick my hand up to check, I find I don't have a hand at all).Pink and red and orange cluster together on singular petals, clashes of colors that make me smile green again, and my green jumps to the bland white ones, turning some of them a dark, velvety green, almost black, and others a watery teal.I stand, although I don't have legs. I have no body at all and yet when I look down there's in indent in the grass I lied in.Gazing around, I realize this goes on forever. Just fields and fields of rolling hills of colors so vivacious they seem to blend together like one of Sam's watercolor paintings, the only boundaries scratchy black lines. I can't see the whole world from here. But in my soul I just know this is everything there is.That's when I realize this isn't real.And when it dawns on me, the world collapses. My world.The white clouds and the pale sky melt into the flowers on the ground, pinks fading to gray, blues dulling to the color of death, my boundless body drifting into the muddle of peaceful chaos.••••••Then, I actually wake up.No lips.And when I open my eyes, the sky is dark. A pool of ink with spattered stars. The ground isn't soft, like it was before, with the grass (although I didn't realize how soft it was until I wasn't on it any longer).I sit up, and it feels a lot realer than the other thing.A dream.I look around me, and it's so dark, so dull, I have to blink rapidly.I'm completely alone. Ice runs through my veins.I wasn't alone before, was I?Who was I with?Where am I?My thoughts race around my already spinning mind and sour bile rises up my throat. I lean over to avoid myself as I throw up on the hard surface of wherever I am.It's a murky-clearish-brown, and as it slides down, I realize I'm sitting on a slant and I start to wobble.Oh fuck.There's no way for me to right myself since I don't know which way is right.So I tumble off of the slant.I'm in the air for a full second before I hit something solid once more, the wind completely knocked out of me.My reflex is to cough, but I can't bring in any air to sputter out.So all I do is lie down really stiffly. I'm panicked.I can't breathe.I wonder if this is what it feels like to die. If me strangling my dad was worse than Rick shooting him.If I'm even happy about that.Stars twinkle, and I force myself to move my hands, trying to push myself up."Ron!"A voice rings through my mind. I can't pick my head up. Hands grab my arms and pick me up, hitting my back.After letting out a raspy cough that tears through my stinging throat, I exhale desperately. "Je... Jesus..." my voice trembles.The hands check my body, and I look up. It's Carl. I fell asleep with him... on top of the church roof. Did I just fall off of the church?I look back. Sure enough, it's the church.That's gotta be symbolic or something."I told you not to move," he grabs my face and makes me look at him. It's so dark I can barely make out his features."I was asleep," I mumble.He sighs. "Are you hurt?"I sniff. "Wh... why are you here?""You didn't answer me.""Why did you follow me to the church? I never would've told you where my spot is, I– I don't... do...""I'm worried about you." He pulls his hands away from me. "You're drinking. A lot. It won't do you any good."I scoff. "Alcohol can always do you good, you just gotta drink enough of it, that's always what my dad used to say.""And you admire him so much?""Shut up," I spat, but then step back as my own words hit me like a slap to the face. Shut up? He's the only person who's here. No one else is here. No one else wants to be around me. No one else is willing to deal with me. No one but him. "No," I stammer out. "Don't, I'm–"He looks up at me with big eyes. I'm sorry. Say it. Just say it, Ron."I'm still tired. And I'm crashing at your place tonight."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I really need to do something.He's asleep.He's asleep and he looks so calm.I don't know what I want to do.Why did I do what I did?Why didn't I just walk out of his house when I saw his dad hitting him?Why can't I just mind my own business?Is it my fault Reg is dead?Is it my fault everything's wrong, because I stopped Ron from killing Pete?But I couldn't just let him, right?I mean, that shit crushes your spirit.Even if he was a piece of shit.I couldn't let Ron live with that. It's not really even living after doing that.I don't think he's ever killed someone, and I want to keep it that way. He shouldn't have to. At first, I thought he was weak for it. But now I realize it's because I was jealous. I wish I never killed anyone. I'm gonna do whatever I can to make sure he never does.His face is still fucked up. Black and bruised, little cuts on his cheek scabbing over. I know now that the crookedness of his nose was due to Denise being inexperienced in setting broken bones. She's working on it, though.Some of the bruises are so bad they're a yellow-green, others purple. Fading pink adorns his neck where his dad strangled him. His breathing is still slightly ragged.Turns out while I was jumping over fucking rooftops, a couple of the stitches on my thigh actually did break. But I didn't wanna leave Ron, so now I'm pressing toilet paper to the cut, red seeping into the thin material and making my fingers sticky.I've only ever been angry like that once before. At the prison. When my dad and I had to kill off a bunch of walkers, and all I could think about was my mom. I just remember shooting that walker over and over and over again because I hated it and I hated the world I lived in and I hated myself.But when I walked into Ron's house and saw it happening, it was like that cliché that always happens in books and movies. Something inside me snapped.I wanted to kill him myself. I wanted to use the bat and bash his fucking head in right there. But I didn't know if Ron would appreciate that.And it was so weird, because I think I've only ever been that protective of Judith. My baby sister. Why would I feel like that with Ron, some guy who doesn't even like me?Maybe it was because I already hated Pete, and it just gave me a reason to hurt him.Should I have let Ron kill him?I don't know.I don't think so.But I don't know.Right now, everyone else is making a plan to lead this huge group of walkers away from Alexandria. Apparently there were a bunch of them at some quarry nearby, and the barricade that was keeping them in is collapsing, so they need to be relocated.And I'm stuck here.I'll admit, when I don't run outside the walls with Enid every once and I while, I get restless. I understand why she has to leave sometimes.My leg bounces. Ron lies down in my bed, like he did two nights ago, after he tried to kill me. Except then I was in bed with him. Now I'm just watching him from a chair. That night seems so far away, even though it was two nights ago.Part of me wants to get into the bed with him. Part of me aches for that night, aches for his face so close to mine I breathed in the air he breathed out, which in retrospect sounds nasty, but at the time it wasn't.I think most of me aches for all of him, though. Everything he's been through. Everything he hasn't.When he cried in my arms, I wanted to cry, too. I didn't, because that would've been weird. But I almost did. And maybe I almost did a little before, too, when he was yelling at me. I've been told a lot of things. But he was just saying these awful words, and all I wanted to do was listen. Because I know he was being 100% honest in everything he was saying, and as he went on, his words got less and less angry and more and more sad."I hate you," But then, as he talked more, "I'm sorry." "Don't tell me what the fuck to do," but then, "I don't know what the hell is wrong with me." "Stay away," but then, "please don't go." "You make me crazy." Nothing after that. What does that mean?Despite the fact I don't know what it means, I could say the same for him.It's awful and I try to shake the thought out of my mind but I can't. The thought of how he looked at me on the roof. How his tired eyes seemed to drift from my eyes to my mouth and back up. How pretty he looked despite the circumstances. His head in my lap. His arms around my waist. My fingers carding through his hair as he slept. I got up to get pants, because my legs were getting cold, and when I came back, he was on the ground.And now we're here.I don't think he knows how to deal with all of this grief. I don't think he should know. I don't think anyone our age should know.What have I gotten myself into?••••••In the morning, I leave before he wakes up. If I'm being honest, I'm afraid to be around him. So I leave.When I leave the house, Alexandria is in a panic.People are running through the streets, families herding into houses and fighters gathering weapons.I falter for only a second before following some of the fighters, confused but willing to help. As we reach the front gate, I see my dad barking orders at everyone."Daryl, Abraham, and Sasha have already left to draw them away, now it's our part! A few of us will stay at the front of the herd, but the rest of you are at the edge of the road, the edge of the woods— watch them like cops at a parade. Make sure they don't stray off course."Since when was he in charge?But everyone listens, and I grab a machete from a pile of bloodied tools on the ground and join several others in walking out the main gate and lining up on the far side of the road by the woods.Several Alexandrians are shaken, although I'm not sure what happened. Blood or soot stains their skin and clothes, and they're coddled by others. I shake my head.Then, I hear the telltale sounds of a herd.The shuffling of thousands of lead-weighted feet. The groans of hunger, of pity. The sounds of excitement.As they approach, my whole body itches for it, to lunge and strike at the dead. But I can't. And I question whether this is normal. The thirst for violence.Either way, it doesn't matter. It's there anyway.The first walker passes me. The smell hits me like a truck— it always does, no matter how long I've been around it— and its leg drags at an awful angle behind it, clothes torn and blood crusted on a slit in its throat and the mess of its mouth.The blaring honk of a car ahead of us washes over the herd, distracting them from the smell of us and keeping them on the path forward.I hear a terrified scream, and I know that kind of scream. It's the kind of scream you let out when you're consumed with pain.I think most of the Alexandrians around me know it, too, because they freeze and look around uneasily.Then gunshots, rapid and louder than the screaming, and when they stop, it's like the screaming was never there at all, just the groaning of the walkers.The barricades keeping the walkers on a trail are holding up well, and everything seems to be running smoothly.Until the screech of a horn behind us rips through the herd, and there's no mistaking where it's coming from.Inside Alexandria.Every walker in the herd from where I can see turns and begins to walk back.Oh shit.What the fuck is that?Nobody seems to know what to do. Normally, if these people knew how to fight, we could clear out at least part of the herd before it got to Alexandria, but they don't know how, so we can't.And then it dawns on me.The walls of Alexandria won't stand a chance against a herd like this. They're getting in. And sorry, but forget about Ron in my house— what about Judith?I left her there.Without hesitation, I start cutting my way across the road, shoving walkers and hacking at their heads with the machete.I cut a head clean off, and then bring the blade straight down into a skull. When I try to pull it out, the walker collapses, and I stumble back. At this point, several people from the side of the road are yelling, and I realize this was a bad decision.But I push more walkers out of the way, dodging the ones that lunge and throwing the ones that limp.I don't know if I'm bit or scratched or not. I don't care. I burst out of the herd and break out into a run back to Alexandria, mentally slapping myself for leaving Judith alone. Not only will she be eaten if walkers get in, she could die just being by herself in the first place. She could choke on her spit and die in her sleep. She could fall. Literally fucking anything could happen, and it would be my fault. I never fucking think. This is always what my dad is saying, I never fucking think.The herd is breaking up behind me, and every now and then one will start following me specifically. I can hear shouts and cries from the people lining the road. I'm not going back.As I'm running, a walker grabs my arm and yanks me back, the both of us falling to the ground.I madly grapple at its arms and shoulders and face, keeping it away from me as much as I can. I hear a faint click and look up to see a middle aged man pointing an assault rifle at the walker— but it jams, and he turns it around.I roll over and use the momentum to throw the walker off of me, scrambling up and taking the gun from the man, using the butt of it to bust the walker's head open.Blood splatters up onto my face and clothes. I glance back at the man once before taking off running once more.When I get to Alexandria, I shout up at whoever's controlling the main gate to let me in. As soon as it opens a crack, I slip in and sprint through the streets to our house.I'm pulled to a stop by Gabriel, who frantically searches my face."Carl, could you teach me how to defend myself? I'm facing it— I need to know, I can't keep going on like this, and–""Yeah, yeah, okay, just not right now," I take myself away from him and keep running. I can't be dealing with him right now.As I pass the pond, I see Enid and Ron sitting together on that log. Good, he's up. But are they not concerned for their safety? Whatever. Not my problem.I rush up the stairs of the front porch and run through the house to the room Judith sleeps in.Still asleep.I exhale, my whole body aching as I drop the gun and lean against her crib.The horn has stopped by now, but I have no clue how she originally slept through it. I'm glad she did, though.I smile down at her as she babbles and stirs in her sleep, snoring softly.I pick up the gun once again, fixing the jam and reloading it so I can use it if I need to.I wanted to hurt the walkers earlier, but now I hope I don't have to use it. I just want to sit by Judith and watch over her forever. But I know I'll kill anyone who gets too close to her, and I might as well be prepared to do it as efficiently as possible."Carl?!" A voice calls from downstairs, and my eyebrows furrow."Enid?""Carl, come down here!"She's the only person I'd let boss me around like that. I take one last look at Judith to make sure she's okay before meeting Enid downstairs, gun still in hand."I'm leaving," she shakes her head. I blink."What?""It's too dangerous here. When I first came here, I— I knew it was a bad idea, other people. But I joined anyway. God, I was so stupid, I was— I was desperate. But now I get it. I can't be here. I can't be with other people. It's not how I work. I don't think it's how anything can really work in this world anymore."Every word is like a slap in the face. I open my mouth to talk, but no sound comes out.She's leaving?"You— you can't," I take a step forward.She narrows her eyes. "What do you mean? Are you suggesting I can't defend myself?""No!" I shake my head. "I'm suggesting you can't leave because you're my friend and I like you! And you're the first friend I've had in forever, and I'm not gonna just let you leave like this place means nothing!""It doesn't! It's going to fail, and you know it! Why else would you be camped out in here hiding from the wolves?"I blink, shaking my head. "There's wolves? Why are there wolves?""The people wolves!""Werewolves?!""Oh my god, no! The— Jesus, nevermind! All I'm saying is you're cowering in here all by yourself like a little bitch because you know this place is going to fall and there's no stopping it."My brain wants to go back to the werewolves, because what the fuck? But I'm gathering that she wants to move on from that, so I will. "I'm not by myself! I came back from leading the herd away to protect Judith. Come on, I'm not that pathetic."She blinks. "Oh. That's... actually sweet."I'm about to say something snarky when I hear a shout from outside."Fuck off!" A voice snarls, and I rush over to the window expecting to see the herd has gotten inside the walls, but I don't see a single walker.Instead, I see Ron getting chased by some full grown man on the grass across the street."Enid, go upstairs and look over Judith. You're staying here, with me, right now," I lock eyes with her.She gulps. I pick up the gun and hold it up, twisting the knob of the front door. She nods.What has Ron gotten himself into?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

It's too familiar, all too familiar.Not the situation— the fear."Oh God, oh God, oh God," I mumble prayers under my breath as I press my back up against the rough tree bark, my chest heaving.I glance back.He's right fucking there."Fuck off!" I take off again, and I'm running as fast as I can, but I hear his footsteps gaining on me, the threat of the blade he holds a siren blaring through my mind.Machete? Knife? Axe? I don't even know.Then a gunshot, and I hear his body collapse followed by wails of pain.I slow down and look around frantically at the source of the shot.Carl walks down the stairs of his front porch, holding a gun as big as his whole midsection, eyebrows furrowed.I stare.The Wolf clutches his leg, clawing at the material of his pants around a bloody hole in his thigh. I look over at Carl with horror.He just walks over to the Wolf until he stands over him, gun pointed at his forehead.The Wolf breathes shakily, gasping and shuddering. "Please man please—" he reaches his hand out— "Please don't kill me man—" he moves his hand back down to his thigh. "Please! Help me clean my leg," he cries, voice breaking. Carl glances over at me. Back down at the Wolf. My chest trembles with every breath.Carl looks unsure.Then the Wolf lunges, hitting Carl's leg and grabbing the front of the gun in an attempt to yank it away, or yank Carl down.Carl struggles to keep a grip of the gun.I think the Wolf is about to take it and turn it around on him when there's another gunshot, followed by a thud.The Wolf collapses.Carl steps back.A bullet in his skull. Carl standing over him, only emotion on his face determination, eyes dead and face hard.Was this how Rick looked when he killed my father?Was this how carelessly he did it?I find my breathing comes out even faster. My mind races. I look back from Carl to the Wolf, the gunshot through his head trickling blood a way my father's wasn't. His body spasming in a way my father's wasn't."Come inside," Carl stares down at the Wolf, not even glancing at me as he talks to me. "I can keep you safe."Keep me safe?I look over to his house, and my heart drops.Enid stands in the doorway.Oh fuck no.She shakes her head slightly but I'm already looking back at Carl. The gun is held down at his chest. I see it in his eyes. The ease of this. How naturally it comes to him.And I know that he's been changed by the Outside, and I can't trust him. I can't trust any of them.Killing a random person came to him like breathing."No," I exhale.I step over the dead body of the Wolf and continue running to my own house."Ron!" He calls after me, but I ignore him. I can faintly hear Enid shouting for him to get inside, and I don't look back.••••••Nobody's home.Weird."Mom! Are you here?" I call out.Nothing.I don't want to go back outside where I could get hurt, but I need to find Mom and Sam before something happens to them. I leave from the side door by the kitchen.I'm walking around the side of the house when I hear my mom's voice."Stay outside, Ron!"She's panicked.Why didn't she talk to me inside? Something— or someone— must be in there.My chest constricts with fear as I hear two muffled gunshots from in the house followed by a slam.Silence. Deafening. Silence.I rush back over to the side door by the kitchen. She told me to stay out here, but I can't just do that.I start to twist the doorknob, my mind racking through weapons I could use. Kitchen knives. Pans. Forks. Anything.Then, screaming.I know it's my mom's. I know what her screaming sounds like.I fling the door open, eyes darting around.Slink. Slink. Slink. Slink. Slink. Slink. Slink.Seven slick stabs in between her screams of terror.I'm not rushed anymore.Dread fills my entire body, turning my legs to lead as I slowly walk into the kitchen.But then I see that she's on top of someone else, ruthlessly plunging fucking hair scissors into their chest over and over again.Slink. Slink. Slink. Slink.I realize now her screams aren't because she's afraid. They're screams of rage.She yanks the scissors out, blood coating her hands and pooling around the definitely dead person. Their body twitches uncontrollably with every stab.She breathes heavily. She doesn't know I'm here.One last cry of anger.Slink.Silence. Deafening. Silence."Mom?" I ask, voice just barely above a whisper.She looks back at me, hair and eyes wild. Blood splatters across her face. She stands up and walks over. Her boots track red across the kitchen floor."Go see your brother in the closet, okay sweetie?" She smiles and lays a bloody hand on my shoulder.Her eyes are tired.I just nod. "Okay."Walking up the stairs, my thoughts swim around each other, weaving together and knotting up into things impossible to untangle.Just this morning my mom wanted to cut my hair. She sat me down and pulled out her hair cutting stuff, including the scissors she just used to kill that Wolf.She pointed out the bandage on my face and the splint on my finger and the bruises on my neck and face. I got angry. I don't like when she points these things out. I just really wish everything he did to me would go away.And yet a part of me regrets going to Denise and getting fixed up.What I have on my body now is gonna show the last thing my dad ever did to me. The last time he ever touched me, even if it wasn't lovingly. The last time he existed in this family.My mom and I started arguing. I insisted Rick was— is— dangerous.She didn't agree.Now she's covered in blood, alone, downstairs. I make my way to the closet with the lock on the inside and knock softly, the way I have to with Sam. I have to do everything softly around him."It's just me, Sam."The lock clicks open and he opens the door just enough to let me in before closing and locking it once more."Is Mom dead?" He looks up at me. I sit down."No," I mess with his hair. "She's okay. Just wants to be alone right now."He lets out a sigh. "I was worried she would die, and there would be nothing I did about it. There's nothing I ever do about anything."I furrow my eyebrows. "What are you talking about?""It's always you. Always you who protected us from Dad and makes me feel better.""I'm older," I shake my head. "That's how things are supposed to be. It's nothing special.""You're special," he protests. I smile a little, but it's sad. I feel like all of my smiles have been sad lately.I don't know how to fix that.There's nothing I can do.There's nothing I ever do.••••••Rick's back, but apparently not all of their group returned with him. Some people are still out there.I'm sitting in the grass, flipping a knife around, stabbing the ground every once in a while. Despite how stupid it sounds, it's actually very therapeutic."Hey," a grating voice makes me look up. "You okay?"I scoff, shaking my head. The audacity he has is fucking insane."Why wouldn't I be?"He's walking closer. I pull the knife from the ground."You seen Enid?"I inhale, looking back down at the ground. "Not since I saw her with you."He's quiet for a second. Then, "I think she went over the wall, when the Wolves came in. Now she's trapped out there."I shake my head a little more. "What makes you think she isn't dead?" I spit out, the words cutting through me."Come on, man."I turn around to face him, slowly getting up."Look," he sighs. "I'll go find her." He looks into my eyes the way he does, awful and infuriating. "I need your help. We can maybe cl–""I'm not helping you, Carl," I deadpan.Another sigh. "This isn't for me. It's for Enid." Has he always been this dramatic? "Your friend.""My girlfriend," I take a step closer. "Or, I mean, 'cause she was, anyway, right?" I glare."So you wanna just leave her out there?" He shakes his head, eyes narrowing."I told her to stop going over the wall," I hit my hand. "I told her there's bad people out there," I hit it again. "And it's stupid and dangerous.""Not if you know what you're doing," Carl tilts his head down, practically cutting me off.He's set on going. Now he's just trying to convince me to go with him. Even if I say no, he'll go, anyway."Well I'm not gonna let you go," I hiss. I don't tear my eyes away from his.There's so much in that stare. Three mornings ago, taking me from my dad. Two nights ago, when he tooo me from my dad again. Last night, him holding me on the church.He turns and starts walking away without another word.A fucking alarm blares in my mind."Carl," I start after him. He can't go. He doesn't even turn. "Carl, you're not going out there," I try to keep the panic out of my voice.He doesn't look. I desperately grab his arm, pull him back."Back off," he shoves me away.Is he for real?I push him back.If this is how he wants to play it, I'll gladly—I double over in pain as he punches me in my fucking stomach. The same place my dad did the other morning.It's still sore, and I nearly fall to the ground, coughing.I look up at him. He adjusts his shirt as he walks away."I'll tell your dad," I rasp. "He'll go out there to find you then other people will, too—" I breathe shakily. "And then somebody's gonna die."It's a dick thing to say, I know. But he's the special kind of idiot that will only listen to shit like that. Threats of other people in danger.And he stops.I pick my head up. "Huh?" I raise my eyebrows.He looks back, eyes icy. Angry.I grin. "You saved my life, now I'm saving yours."He stares for a second longer. I clutch my stomach but force myself to sit up.There's a world of emotion in those eyes. It would take an eternity to decipher. I would wait.Then he shakes his head and leaves.I pray that God still listens to me and I convinced him to not go. Or at least scared him out of it.••••••David died while on a run with Scott and two of the new people, Heath and Michonne. Scott's injured, and Denise is working on him right now.David only recently got married to Betsy. My mom wanted to stop by to see how Betsy was doing. I guess she has an idea of what it's like to be a widow.It's so weird to think of my mom as a widow. I usually picture widows as old and gray, living out their last days as well.Not my mom.She's supposed to be with Betsy, so naturally, when I start hearing murmurs about Betsy, I'm alarmed.Some people run down the street to Betsy's house, and I join them, stopping when I see my mom stumbling out of the house.Followed by Betsy herself, shuffling and groaning, skin greying and hair thinning.Gasps and cries from other townspeople make my throat hurt.With no hesitation, my mom pushes rotting Betsy over, straddling her on the ground and stabbing her through the eye with a kitchen knife.She yanks it out, the sound wet, before standing up and brushing hair out of her face for the second time today."I know it's scary," she suddenly speaks. "But this is what our world is like now. If we want to live, we need to adapt. These people, Rick and his friends and family— they're different than us. But that doesn't mean we're better than them. We need to integrate our ways of life into each other to create a mode of survival that will get us all through this."Who knew my mom was so good at heroic speeches?I'm digesting everything she said. People around me begin to nod, murmuring with excitement.And just like that, the morale of the town has gone back from 0 to 100.••••••I need to do something. I can't fix me, but maybe I can fix other things.I find Rick repairing some of the damages on the wall with a big group.The Wolves were either chased out, killed, or taken captive and now being held in the basement of some building. Now, everyone is just trying to clean up after all of the mess, including Rick."Rick?" I say from behind him. He turns around, frozen for a second before responding."Uh, Ron– yes?"I brush aside his awkwardness. "I want you to teach me how to shoot. Not Carl— you."

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Everything is shit.Not everything. I'm still alive, and that's something, but part of me wishes I was dead so I didn't have to deal with this— or so that I don't not have to deal with this— I don't even know.The point is, I'm useless, and I hate it. Ron's mad at me, and there's no way for me to fix that. Enid is gone, and I can't go out to look for her without Ron fucking Anderson telling my dad and getting a whole bunch of other people dragged into it. And I was really trying to put aside the idea of her being dead, but Ron just had to bring it up.And who knows who else might be dead? Daryl, Sasha, Abraham, Glenn, and Nicholas are all still gone. Nicholas can jump into a herd of walkers for all I care. But the rest of them? They can't be gone. I don't believe it's possible for any of them to die. Not in this universe."Carl?!" My dad shouts from downstairs. Judith, in my lap, perks up. One of the few things that is not shit in my life: Judith. Thanks."Dada," she looks up at me with wide eyes. I smile."Yeah, Dad?" I call back. She looks at the door."Dada!" She practically screeches, and Dad's upstairs and in the room in half a second.He scoops her up and plants a fat kiss on her forehead, making her grin. "Could you give Ron shooting lessons?" He asks casually, not even looking away from Judith.I tense up.Shooting lessons. Where he has a gun. And I don't. And he's mad at me. And he could turn the gun around and shoot me at any point in time. That would certainly cut the lessons short.I laugh a little. "Why me? I'm not even the best shot out of everyone, and–""He's your age," he says loudly, and I can tell he's already a little irritated. Okay, damn. He doesn't want an argument.I'm not very smart when it comes to picking my battles. "Doesn't mean he likes me."He glares at me. "You guys are too old to be having petty teenage problems." I knew what the outcome of this conversation was gonna be from the start. It seems a bit contradictory, saying we're too old to be having "petty teenage problems" when we're literally teenagers. But I can't argue with him. It never works.I sigh. "Fine. Where is he?"He smiles at my agreement, as if I even had a choice. "His house, I would assume."He can be so sassy sometimes. I guess I know where I get it from.Off to the Andersons I go.••••••Jessie greets me with a hug— something so strange I almost don't hug her back. But just as she's about to awkwardly pull away, I do, finding it incredibly comforting. The intensity she holds me with reminds me too much of the way my mom would bear hug me, "trapping" me whenever I tried to do something to get myself in trouble. Gonna climb a tree everyone knew I wouldn't know how to get out of? Bear hug. And a playful shove. Gonna fake sick to get out of school? Bear hug. And a stern talk. Gonna run into oncoming traffic? Bear hug. And nails digging into my arm.Maybe letting Jessie cut my hair wouldn't be so bad.I can't tell if that thought is good or bad, and before I can start crying, I pull away."Hey, Miss Anderson," I say, my voice embarrassingly just above a whisper.She smiles. "Hi, Carl. Ron's in his room."And then she turns and walks away.It's weird to me, but maybe that's normal, so I don't question it. Instead, I just make my way over to the stairs, figuring that's what I should be doing next."Ron?" I call.No response.Weird.I take the stairs two at a time, walking towards his bedroom.My hand is just above the doorknob when I hear muffled noises from the other side of the door. I pause."Mmph... Enid," Ron's voice sounds lower than usual. I furrow my eyebrows in confusion and put my ear up against the door.This soft slapping sound is too familiar, and it makes me realize. My face blooms with heat.Oh.And Enid's... obviously not here.So he's by himself.Doing whatever the fuck it is I did that one night.Then an irritated groan. "Fuck this," he mumbles. But then silence falls, and I wonder if he somehow noticed I'm here. That would be awkward.But no. Because his voice starts up again, this time a louder moan. "Oh fuck..." and then the slapping starts again.I take a step back. My stomach feels squirmy. Who knows what he would do if he found out I was here. Probably try to fight me again. I take slow, cautious steps towards the stairs."Shit, Carl."He figured it out. I turn.But the door's still closed.And the slapping hasn't stopped. In fact, it's gotten faster."You can take it," he groans. What? My knees feel weak.I find myself taking steps back toward his door."Holy sh—..." he cuts himself off with a loud, messy moan. The slapping speeds up even more, and I can't tell if he's moaning or laughing now. Either way, it's a dark, low sound, something stirring in my stomach, something uncomfortable in my pants. I look down at myself.Oh.That's the discomfort.I mutter a curse. It's just human nature. Yeah.No. Shit. This is bad. This is bad. He keeps saying my name— my name— in that husky voice, stringing it together with curses and compliments. I'm so confused. I just punched him earlier. He's mad at me. He hates me for "taking" Enid from him."Carl, Carl... Oh fuck— your eyes," his voice is drawn out, dripping in the air like honey. My eyes? My hand wanders down to my crotch. "They're beautiful– you're beautiful." The slapping is feverish.I press my palm down on my crotch in an attempt to calm myself, but all it does is make me have to slap a hand to my mouth and throw my head back to prevent myself from making any noise.Beautiful? I've never been called that before. My stomach flutters in a way it's not supposed to. My legs tremble.I thought he hated me?"Mm— please, Carl, I need you, I—" his voice rises into a whimper before breaking off into something just short of a cry. "Need you," he repeats.I slip my hand under my pants and my boxers. I can't help it. I need you. And it's just his voice, I can't even see him.See him. Oh god. What does he look like right now? Maybe his eyes are rolled back in his head. Maybe he's biting his lip, or maybe he's grinning. Maybe he's straddled on his bed. Maybe he's shirtless. Maybe he's sweating. Maybe he—I'm painfully hard now, but shame makes me pull my hand back out.What the hell am I thinking? This is all so weird. It's not right. It's like what I did that one night. He's weird for doing this, and I'm a victim because I have to listen. Or something.That's one half of my brain. The other half tells me to ignore the first one, barge in, and finish the goddamn job, however I would even do that. Usually I wouldn't be so hesitant to do something. So why am I scared now?"God yes," Ron moans as a loud thump comes from his room. He laughs. "Oh, please, please, fuck— please—" he lets out one last heated moan, the slapping sounds less rhythmic and more sporadic, before it stops.I can faintly hear him panting.He... did that to me.Me.It sounded like it was Enid at first, but then it was suddenly me.My whole body feels hot and restless.My whole mind feels wrong.I need to throw up.I need to take care of the problem in my pants.I run down the stairs and out of the house as quietly as possible, ignoring Jessie calling my name.••••••Weird. Weird. This is so weird.My stomach churns, and I'm worried it's not because I'm disgusted, but because of something else.Oh god.I am not exaggerating when I say I ran back home. Everyone is gone. I guess Dad took Judith. So now I'm alone.Was it painful, running with whatever the fuck is going on down there going on? Yeah. Did I do it anyway? Hell yeah.I unbuckle my belt, grumbling something about being absolutely fucked before pushing my pants and boxers down, just past my ass so they won't get wet.Then, I lean back against the wall of my room and get to work.As I work my hand around myself, I attempt to think rationally about what's going on, and I mean really think, not just freak out.Ron hates me. He's made that clear. Therefore, I've grown to hate him. And yet, I still have these thoughts about him. I figure it's whatever. I'll get over it.But does he have those thoughts, too?But the whole reason he hates me is because he thinks I'm trying to steal Enid from him."He's a troubled kid, Carl." I think back to what Michonne told me the morning after he came to kill me. "Feelings are hard for him to deal with. He's more than you see on the surface."It sure as hell seems like it. I just can't figure this boy out.Enid has told me about what her and Ron have done before. Kissed, "made out", had sex.I asked her what all of that's like. What it's like to be loved in that way.She said it's warm. Mouths against each other tend to be warm, and wet, too. Especially when you've both been drinking, which is usually what leads to them doing intimate things— drinking, or smoking.She said sex is only good if someone knows what they're doing.Said that at first, neither of them knew anything. And it was mostly them fumbling around with clothes, laughing and joking around. And she said they still laugh and joke sometimes, but it's better now.Said Ron knows what to do.I asked her to explain, so I had at least a little bit of an idea of what to do when my time came, if it ever does.She couldn't go too much into it without her face going all red. Then she would groan, and since I didn't want to make her uncomfortable, I told her it was okay for her to stop.But in the short time she talked, I just couldn't stop wondering what it would be like to be in her position. Which I know is weird, because she's a girl, and Ron's a guy, and I'm not a girl, and I don't think it's even possible for two guys to do that together.She told me he has a nice dick.And now I'm thinking about him touching it, thinking about me.You can take it.What the fuck does that mean?I don't have a... thing down there for him to— uh— put it in. Assuming that's what he was talking about me "taking". All I have is—Wait.No.The thought is foreign, and I'm so fucking confused, but my hand starts to tremble on my dick. I'm unable to stop the soft moan that leaves my mouth. Ugh.Him. Inside. Me.Then...Me inside him.What the fuck would that feel like?Would it feel like this?What would any of that feel like?My mind races and my legs shake, nearly giving out, but I hold myself up.Just a little while longer, replaying his muffled moans in my mind (imagining me making him feel like that), replaying his compliments (calling me beautiful in such a genuine way), replaying his broken voice saying he needs me.Goddamn, he fucking has me.I finish, trying to catch whatever comes out of me in my hands and not get any on the floor or my pants.Every other boy my age here probably knows things about sex. Knows things about life. Things I don't know.I'm going to the library.Uh...First, I gotta wash my hands, though.••••••My gained knowledge:1. Whenever my dick gets hard, it's called an "erection". Weird.2. The white shit that comes out is called "semen". Even weirder.3. It happens when blood goes down there? Like when blood rushes to your head but instead down there. The weirdest.There was more about "reproduction", but I needed to stop. I was breathing really fast, and I felt like I needed to throw up again, because why can't I just have a vagina down there? I think that would be a lot easier.Or, at least, I thought it would be a lot easier until I found out they bleed for a week every month. What the fuck is that about? I think I'm gonna apologize to the next girl I see.Anyway, Ron—Shooting practice.Again.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Shame clouds my mind. I zip my jeans up.This is fucked up.I don't know what happened. It was Enid. I was thinking about her, but it just wasn't working, and then I thought about her talking to Carl.And it made me fucking mad.Anger makes me hornier.You can take it. What the fuck is wrong with me?Then my mind went to other things. How would he look naked? This is disgusting. How would it feel to run my fingers through his hair? How would it feel to pull? What the hell? How would he sound in bed? What would he be like? What could I make him feel like? Would his eyes be more intense than usual?My fingers rake down my face.Him holding guns entirely too big for him, muscles forearms rippling as he adjusts his grip, long, dexterous fingers pushing and pulling and playing with the magazine and the trigger. What else could those Godforsaken fingers do? How could he touch me?I feel nauseous.I was fueled by my anger. My frustration. There's nothing there except anger. It didn't mean anything.Okay. Quick solution, then. All I need is Enid.I need Enid.But she's not fucking here.I'm filled with guilt that I could even try to think about her in that way while she's missing, and then would think about a boy, the same one who's trying to take her from me.••••••Sitting in our gazebo spot, I think about kissing her. I think about her coming back in through that gate and I hold her close and kiss her and my eyes are shut tight, and it's her. No one else."Ron?"Speak of the devil. I turn. Carl adjusts his hat and clears his throat before speaking."My, uh— dad said you wanted more shooting practice?"I narrow my eyes. "Yeah. With him."He fidgets with his hands. "He's busy.""Fine. I can wait," I say, holding back a groan."You... don't wanna learn now?""I do, but with him. Not you." As I say it, he furrows his eyebrows."That's..." he tilts his head. "Kind of weird. Why do you want to be with my dad so bad?"I groan. "Not like— Jesus Christ." I get up. "Fine. I don't care."••••••"I'm not giving you live rounds.""And why the hell not?!""Why the hell do you think?!"Now we're just bickering, the way I knew we would. It's almost comforting. The feeling. It's something normal."How am I supposed to learn to shoot if they're not actual bullets?" I snap.He groans. "It's the same thing, Ron." I hate when he says my name. "Alexandria can't afford to waste more ammunition right now. You at least understand that."At least. Like I don't understand anything else. Like I'm a fucking child. He's the one who doesn't understand how shit works. Maybe he knows what the fuck he's doing Outside, but in here? He doesn't have a goddamn clue, and neither does the rest of his little group."Just teach me," I grumble.He nods, satisfied.During the shooting practice, I'm gonna make sure to not let him touch me the way he did that first time."We'll use these instead, so we don't waste any bullets. Snap caps." He holds up some red bullets before pushing them into the pistol(?) he holds. I don't know what the difference between those bullets and normal bullets is other than the color, and I don't ask.I get into the stance Sasha told us, knees slightly bent, feet shoulder-length apart, left hand on top of right hand, pointer finger along the side of the gun when I'm not shooting.I point at the wooden target posted near the metal wall, left eye shut and right eyes staring through the aiming thingie.Carl nods. "Good. What you really wanna focus on is keeping your eyes on the target. Don't look down at yourself too much, or around you. Of course, if you're in a real life situation, you're gonna need to be looking around, but for now—"I cut him off with a gunshot.It embeds into the very top left corner of the target."Jesus," he mutters. "Okay, fine. Go right ahead."I adjust my legs again, holding my arms out, trying to stabilize against the kickback. The healing finger on my left hand aches, but I continue anyway."Don't make your arms so straight," he chides.I feel my face twitch as I bend my elbows slightly. When I shoot again, it's only slightly closer to the center. More pain shoots up my broken finger. My stomach squirms with the feel of the weapon."You're leaning back too much."This fucker. I stand up straighter, not realizing how far back my shoulders were.I shoot again, and this time it's a little below the center. Again. It's further off to the left. I let out a groan of frustration and pain."It's the same problem," Carl says, and as I lower the gun I see him shaking his head and walking towards me.Then he gets behind me again.Oh hell no.My shoulders practically tense up to my ears, but he grabs them, pushing them back down, massaging them along with the back of my neck with his thumbs. It's a thing that makes my knees feel weak."You're entirely too tight," he chuckles, my core on fire, "And it won't help you at all."My legs wobble, and a strange tingling runs over my whole body. I find myself leaning into it. I want it so bad. It's so bad."Don't touch me," I try to hiss, but my whispering voice breaks."I can help, Ron," he mumbles, and I can feel his breath on the back of my neck. I swallow."I don't need help." It's almost a growl.He laughs at that. Not just a chuckle, but a full-on laugh. I find myself fighting back a smile on my warming face. "You sure about that?"He's mocking me, and I hate it, and he's so annoying. He thinks he's so much better than me. And then I'm laughing, too, gun pointed down at the ground, his hands on my shoulders as I throw my head back with laughter.What the hell is wrong with me?I realize after a few seconds, he's not laughing anymore. Only I am. I stop and turn slightly to look back at him. He's a little to my left.He stares up at me, mouth still quirked up in a smile, eyes wide and sparkling. A flush creeps into his cheeks. "I don't see you laugh nearly enough," he shakes his head.What does that mean? Is there something mean lingering underneath the words? I don't know. My face falls a little. It sounded nice, but why would he be nice to me now?"Hey, you're pretty loose now," he claps my back, walking behind me and off to the right. "Try again."Oh.Right.I ignore everything else racing in my mind and just stare straight forward at the target. Shoot. I'm shooting.My next shot doesn't even hit the target. Focus. Focus, Ron.I pretend like Carl isn't there.The next two shots are a little off to the top left like the first couple. My eighth shot hits dead center, but I don't stop. I know it was only luck. The ninth, tenth, and eleventh are the first shots that are off to the right. The twelfth is directly above the center. The thirteenth and fourteenth are so close to being dead center, and the fifteenth is off to the left again. After fifteenth, the gun clicks and cocks back. I guess that means it's empty."Good job!" Carl grins, taking the gun from me and pulling the magazine out. "Like everything else, it takes practice. But you're already getting better." He glances back at me with a smile, and I find myself almost giddy as he turns back away. I'm getting better. This is good."Have you ever masturbated?" Carl suddenly asks.I choke on my own spit."Dude, what the fuck?" I sputter, caught completely off guard, almost laughing again at the abruptness of the insane question. He rolls his eyes, only looking a little bit embarrassed when he should be a lot more."Like, uh... mm... jack off? Touch yourself?" He offers. "Plea—""No!" I wave my hand at him to stop him. "No, no. I mean— well—" I groan. "Obviously, y'know—" I shake my head. "But it's not a thing you talk about," I look at him. His eyebrows furrow."Why? It feels... good, and I wanna—"I shove his shoulder. "No, you don't wanna talk about it." I look away, disgusted by the memory of me doing that while thinking of him. Disgusted by the thoughts of him doing that entering my mind. Disgusted by the way those thoughts make my stomach flutter. "And if you do, talk about it with your friends.""You're... we're not friends?"I almost feel bad. But while I was just laughing with him a minute ago, I'm now remembering why I never liked him. He's so fucking weird."Not really," I scoff.He blinks. "Oh."Then, he nods. "Okay then. I'm gonna talk to Enid when I get her back."My eyes widen. I grab his arm and yank him down, forcing him to sit back down on the bench. "No. You're not getting Enid. And you're not telling her anything."He blinks. "But she's my friend."My face twists up. He doesn't understand a fucking thing. I want to make fun of him, but I don't think he'd understand that, either. I don't want him telling Enid about his experiences jerking off. Does he think about her while doing it? My hands clench into fists."You don't talk to girls about it," I say. "It's fucking weird. You talk to guys about that stuff, girls talk to girls about that. That's how it works, dumbass."His eyebrows furrow. "Girls can do that, too?"I groan. "I thought you read books and shit," I throw him a look of disgust. "You're supposed to know things."He looks at me. "Yeah, but— fine." He smiles a little, and I roll my eyes. "What do you do when you do it? Does it get different?"I glare at him as shame claws at my mind. "Jesus Christ, go away, faggot," I spat. He needs to know why I don't like him. Why my dad never liked him. I feel like bugs are crawling all over me just from being around him.His smile falls, and he scowls at me before slamming the gun down onto the table and storming off.Dramatic ass.••••••Rosita doesn't stand by the armory today. It's the big scary redhead who's with her a lot. I try to walk past him quickly, but his hand shoots out, hitting my chest and making me stumble back. I swallow and look up at him."Where you think you goin', boy?" He raises an eyebrow, voice gruff."Armory," I gesture vaguely.He chuckles a little past an amused smirk. "Now what the shit would you need to go in there for?"I blink at the vulgarity. "Ammunition..?" I find I can't lie to this man. He's freaky."Who told you to get ammo?" He makes a point to lean down a bit to get more on my level, eyes narrowing. His crossed arms make his shoulders look broader than usual, which is saying something, considering how broad they already are."Carl." I can lie there.He huffs. "Fine. But I'll tell you now—" he uncrosses his arms to jab a finger in my face— "You fuck with that kid, I fuck with you. Real hard, real bad."I don't say anything."Shit, not like that, I mean—" he stands straight again, punching the bridge of his nose. "All I mean is if you hurt Carl, I'll kill you, alright? There. Now go get your shitty nine millimeter or whatever the buttfuck you're lookin' for." He waves me off.I don't linger, hurrying in and out as fast as I can, grabbing some live ammo. Since Carl stormed off, he left that gun on our table at the range, which is now tucked into my waistband.When I'm down the street, I load the gun as quietly as possible.Gun. Real bullets. I'm set.For what? I don't really know. I remember telling myself I needed to be sober while killing Carl. Maybe that's it.But now...I'm not so sure I really want to kill him.And I don't have to.But how else am I going to make things right again? How else am I going to keep Enid loving me? How else am I going to make Rick pay for what he did?He killed my dad. It only seems right to kill someone he loves.Right?

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Huh.So he clearly thinks about me like that, but he doesn't want me to know it.A part of me is smug. I have that effect on him.But another part just hurts.He called me a faggot. That same word his dad called me. The same word he said he didn't like. The same thing he said I didn't turn him into.Is this something wrong with me? Or is it something wrong with him? Or both of us? Because clearly, something's wrong.Despite this, I think I've made progress with him. I think with a little more work, I could become his friend.Mostly, though?I just wish the people who are gone would come back. I could make a whole goddamn list of them. Daryl, Sasha, Abraham, Glenn, Enid.I can't think about this right now. I've been entirely too distracted lately, thinking about Ron and Enid and whatnot. I haven't even focused on my own family. I didn't even realize Daryl, Sasha, Abraham, and Glenn were gone until people told me.I feel awful about it, but I can't go back and do things differently now. If there's anything I've learned from the apocalypse, it's that you always have to be looking forward, moving forward. And a strong pain tolerance is extremely helpful.So in an attempt to help my original group, I'm reenforcing part of the wall that was damaged during the Wolves' attack (I now understand that when Enid spoke of 'wolf people' she meant the group of survivors who carved Ws into their foreheads, not werewolves).I'm on my way to help my dad (and some other Alexandrian). Carl Grimes, Son of the Year.As I near the wall, I notice a pop of color up in the sky. Several pops.Green... balloons?I'm few yards away from my dad and the other guy and I'm about to ask him what he thinks it is when Maggie suddenly darts past me."It's Glenn!" She shouts. My dad turns around to smile a little at her, although he seems a bit unsure.My heart lifts at the idea it could be Glenn. Maggie has been totally distraught these past couple days, and honestly, I've really missed him. I've been with him since the very beginning, and he's become like an uncle to me.But how would Maggie be able to tell it's Glenn from a couple of green balloons floating in the sky?Before I can even weigh the possibilities and likelihood of the outcomes, an echoing crack snaps my attention to the old church tower just outside of Alexandria.I'm not a construction worker, but I don't think buildings are supposed to lean that much.My dad and the other man start stumbling back, and I realize the church is actively leaning over more and more.Creeeeeak..."Get back!" My dad frantically yells, waving his hand back, the other man beginning to run as the church crumbles further.Down onto the wall.The area of the wall my dad and the man had been working on, which is still weak from the last attack.The sound of foundation ripping, wood snapping, metal screeching as it weighs onto the wall, seemingly tipping over in slow motion. I take a few steps back, kneeling down and shielding my head as one last boom shakes the ground as the church finally falls.My heart pounds.I look back up, eyes wild, searching for my dad in the plume of dirt and dust erupting from the fallen building. I didn't see if he got out of the way in time. He can't be dead. Not him, too. No, I can't do that. I can't do this without him."Everyone, get back!" His voice breaks the imaginary roots planting me to the ground, allowing me to move back away from the wall as I know he's alive. "Get into your houses, go!"And that's when I see them.By the dozens.They must've been attracted to the sound of my dad hammering the loud ass wall.Groaning, tripping in past the fallen wall segment, still as hungry as they were when this all started four years ago.Gunshots from my dad's Colt Python as he shoots them with one hand and rushes people away from the wall with the other. Soon Deanna joins him in the shooting, and I curse myself for not regularly carrying a gun like my dad does."You need to get back," I faintly hear him warning Deanna."We need to get back!" She snaps with all the sass of a woman her age.I turn to run to the right back towards the armory when I notice Ron standing behind me with a gun in his hand.The same gun I helped him shoot with earlier.Is he trying to help fight the walkers?He locks eyes with me before looking around uncertainly. As I move away, he stays in place. He's frozen. Then I realize he's probably never seen this many walkers in his entire life combined. He has no clue what to do, does he? There's no way he can help fight.I take a few steps back to him and grab his left arm, the one without the gun. I try to pull him but he won't move. He stares at the oncoming horde."Ron," I warn. His breath catches in his throat, eyes vacant. I look back to the horde with him.Hundreds. They have to be coming in by the hundreds now.My dad hurries Deanna away from them. There's no hope at fighting this."Ron!" I take his face in my free hand, gripping his chin tightly and forcing him to look down at me. He snaps out of it, staring into my eyes again. "We need to go, Ron."His eyes dart around my face, uncertain, but he swallows and nods, allowing me to let go of his face and hold his arm tighter and drag him along with me towards his house.I see my dad helping Deanna across the road. A cut through her shirt reveals a gash that seeps blood into the white material as she stumbles alongside him. What the hell happened? I don't know. He seems to be bringing her to the nearest house, which happens to be Ron's. I run faster to catch up with him.Quickly following them up the front steps, I shove Ron inside before looking back out into the street to see if anyone else is heading this way. Gabriel rushes inside, but he's the last one, as far as I can tell. I quietly shut the door and lock it, grabbing the nearest chair and perching it so that the back of it rests under the knob, creating at least a little resistance to give us one second more if we need it. Sometimes, a second makes all the difference between life and death.Before I can shush everyone else in the room, I'm grabbed by the hand and walked down a hallway of this house I've never been down before and practically shoved into a room— the garage.Ron slams the door shut behind us. I wince at the loudness.The click of a lock sets off an alarm in my mind.And then, with his back turned to me, he reaches behind him and lifts up a bit of his shirt to get ahold of the steel grip of a gun.Wordlessly, he turns around, bringing the gun up to me. Before he can point it at my face, I barrel into him, grabbing the collar of his shirt and slamming him into the door.He lets out a shout of anger before shoving me off, sending us both tumbling into a shelf and rolling onto the ground. The gun is knocked from his hand (my hat is knocked from my head). A metal shovel from the shelf clatters onto the floor next to us.As I scramble up, he grabs it.Oh my shit. He actually still wants to fucking kill me.I stumble back and duck as he brings the fucking metal shovel down, shattering a window instead of my skull.The groans of walkers are amplified as the sound rouses them. The pounding on the door, or my dad screaming, doesn't make them any calmer."Carl!" He calls out to me."What's going on?!" Jessie."Carl!" My dad.I find myself unable to respond as Ron jams the handle of the shovel into my throat, practically making me see stars. I desperately grip the handle, attempting to push him away, when the snap of the fence gate being opened makes me glance back out the broken window."Open the door!"Walkers stream into the backyard. I realize he would let me get bit. He wants me to get bit. I shove Ron off of me just in time for me to fall out of the way of dead outstretched arms as walkers blindly slump against the window, blood dripping from its mouth.This is what I'm used to. This is what I know how to survive. This is normal.I quickly roll a shelving thing over to the window, tipping it over to block the walkers. Ron crawls back, staring blankly at the walkers the same way he did outside.Repeated clangs make me look back. The doorknob rattles violently. The walkers outside push the shelf back with all the momentum of a dead body, leaving me to desperately shove back.Ron's eyebrows furrow. He mumbles something I can't quite make out.Suddenly, my dad bursts through the door, wasting no time before grabbing me (I get my hat and the gun first) and Ron and dragging us back inside the main house. I hear the clatter of the shelf being cast out of the way followed by more glass shattering.Ron, Jessie, and I turn to slam the door shut, but not before I catch a glimpse of walkers streaming into the garage now.My dad comes from behind us carrying a giant ass piece of furniture. We stumble out of the way as he slams it down against the door.I let my dad and Jessie walk away before glaring at Ron.First, he tries to kill me while he's drunk. Then, I get my fucking thigh slashed open to save him from his dumbass dad. Then he doesn't let me go and save his girlfriend from the "Outside" he thinks is so fucking dangerous. Then he wants to jerk off to me? And proceed to try and kill me again?I straighten out my shirt."My dad killed your dad, but..." I shake my head, dropping my arms and trying to stare past his eyes and into his fucking soul. "You need to know something."Groans of walkers fill the room. Despite the curtains being drawn, I can see the hands of dozens of walkers clawing at the windows. I tilt my head down when I say this, lowering my voice."Your dad was an asshole."He leans his head back slightly, a bead of sweat trickling down his temple.And he says nothing.••••••The plan is something I'm used to.Jessie just happens to have a few raincoat poncho looking things in her house, and right now my dad and Michonne are gutting two walkers.You can see where this is going.I realize we haven't actually been in Alexandria for that long. Almost a month, I think. It's just felt like a while. And it feels like it's been a while since we've done something like this. But I still know what to do, what not to do. These kind of things are drilled into your head, not by other people, but by the world. You have to know them to survive, so you either remember them or you die.Deanna is dying.She got bit.We're leaving her upstairs.In the corner, Gabriel's bottom lip trembles. Standing in the doorway, Ron just blinks. Jessie asks how this works. My dad explains.Sam hides his face in his mom's shirt. I wonder how old he is. Is he the same age I was when this all started?Jessie fetches the ponchos from somewhere and I waste no time putting mine on. Michonne covers herself first and then gets to me. How kind.You never really forget the smell, but goddamn, I forgot how much worse it is when you're covered in the raw guts. It's one of the few things I would call revolting.Gabriel (who my dad doesn't like right now) reluctantly drapes an intestine over his neck."We're gonna go together," my dad says, looking up at Jessie while on his knees holding a handful of walker insides. She only hesitates a minute before taking them and covering herself, turning to a silent Ron and slathering him next.When she looks down to Sam, who doesn't even have a poncho on yet, he looks to me on the verge of tears. He shakes his head as she speaks."We have to, Sam. We have to." She smiles encouragingly. He continues to shake his head, but she pretends not to notice, grabbing a poncho from the pile she got and pulling it over his head. He seems to be frozen in fear as she rubs the blood and gore all over him, and I see him gag as a tear rolls down his face.Michonne leaves the room and comes back a second later. I don't know what she saw, but it must've been something."We need to go," she says to my dad, who nods.Jessie tries to talk to Ron. He doesn't respond.As my dad gives me Judith, I realize this isn't me getting to do something I used to do all the time. I give my sister a kiss on the top of her head before holding her close to my chest and draping my poncho over her.I'm responsible for her life now.We seem to go outside too quickly. The sky is a vibrant orange as the sun sets. We didn't prepare enough. But what else would we do? We can't do anything. I try to calm my racing mind. This is happening, and we're going to get through it, just like we've gotten through everything so far.My dad is first. I hold his hand. I'm second.Behind me, I hold Jessie's left hand so she can grab her gun if she ever needs it, although I don't know how much good it would do her considering the sheer size of this horde. Do I also have a useless gun? Yes. Anyway— Jessie's third.Fourth is Sam. Fifth is Ron. Sixth is Gabriel. Seventh is Michonne.We're gonna go to the armory. Fight, I guess.Let's just hope it actually works this time.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

Sam has never seen rotters up close before. I don't even think he's ever seen one, end of story. And now he's in front of me, head whipping around as he watches guts spill out of people's stomachs."Mom?" He calls. "Mom?"None of the rotters notice.Maybe it's the smell of death or the stumbling footsteps of hundreds of people or the sun disappearing behind treetops. But a lump forms in my throat.We don't walk for too long. Rick stops everyone and starts talking about going to the quarry instead of the armory, where there are vehicles he can use to draw the herd away."Let me take Judith to the church," Gabriel suddenly speaks up. He doesn't seem to like talking to Rick much. "She'll be safer there."Rick looks at him for a second, and then nods to Carl who takes his baby sister out from under his bloody poncho. As he hands her over, my mom speaks up."Take Sam, too," she tells Gabriel."Of course—""Mom, no," Sam shakes his head. "I'm staying with you."He's so scared. He doesn't understand that being with Mom is more dangerous."Sam, you need to—""No," he raises his voice forcefully. Mom caves, not wanting him to get louder and draw rotter attention.Gabriel leaves with Judith.The night seems to come entirely too quickly as we slowly inch our way to the gate of Alexandria. The organized line we had earlier is jumbled up, Michonne behind me and Carl in front of me. The only people holding hands are me, my mom, and Sam.A rotter stumbles in front of me, flesh poking out of its decaying mouth. Michonne shoves me around it.I'm lightheaded.I feel like I might just pass out any minute. The stench is almost unbearable, bile building up in my stomach. I force myself to swallow it down, throat burning."Ron," a voice rings through my ears. I look up. Carl. He asks me a question with his eyes, but it's impossible to say everything I'm feeling with just my eyes.He holds his hand out to me.He has to know I won't want to hold his hand. But it would just be to allow the group to stick together, right?I grab it, the blood on his hand making the grip slick.That's when I realize Sam has frozen.I follow his gaze to a rotter about his size walking the opposite direction. A child. And when I look back at him, he's nearly crying.Carl snapped me out of my fear earlier when the wall first fell.It doesn't work for Sam.Rick. Our mom. Carl. Me. All whispering to him, trying to get him to snap the fuck out of it."Sam." "Keep walking, baby." "Sam, please listen." "Sam." "Sam." "We have to keep going."He shakes his head. "Mom!" He screams.He screams.No. No.No no no.I shush him, just in time to for him reach out for Mom as a rotter grabs him by the shoulder.Pulls him closer.Sinks its teeth into his face.Mom shrieks. "No!" She lunges after him, but it's no use. Dark blood pours down his cheek. An agonizing scream, a scream I've grown to know all too well over the years, a scream that makes the hair all over my body stand. He falls back into the horde.The horde.They storm forward, angered by the sudden noise. I see Mom get yanked to the side, a rotter biting her arm. Her scream breaks, ripping across the groaning of the hoard, rattling me to my core.Another one biting her side.Her throat.Then she can't talk, can't cry, can't even scream. All I hear from her is the tearing of her flesh.Carl tries to pull away but she still grips onto him tightly.Blood squirts onto my face as Rick brings his axe down once, twice, three times onto her wrist.Carl stumbles back, the gun by his waist falling and clattering onto the ground.Now with her arm disconnected, she falls back into the horde.I want to scream. I want to do something, anything. But I know it won't matter, and I can't do anything at all except stare, frozen in horror as they rip my family apart."Shit," Carl curses. He squeezes my hand harder, attempting to dragging me along with him, wherever he's going. He drops my mom's hand.I stumble. Sam still screams. I still hear him. He's still alive. He's feeling this. He's feeling everything. Please, no, no. But I can't see him. The only way I can tell they were ever here at all is the thud of my heart against my chest and the group of rotters huddled down on the ground.My tears don't come slow.I choke out a sob, my hands trembling along with my legs.Oh God. Oh God, they're dead.Oh my fucking God, they're dead.I'm not moving my hand.Something else is.Maybe it's God.Maybe He doesn't exist.I don't know.I don't know anything except the fact that we will all die.I pull Carl to a halt, kneeling down and grabbing his fallen gun, finger going straight to the trigger.I point it up at Rick."You."He did this. He's the reason we're all here, the reason my entire family is dead. Without him, we were fine. Everything became messed up when he got here.I realize I haven't been wanting to kill Carl.It's him.My face twists up in anger. Kill him. Kill him. Kill him.All of the warmth drains from my body as Carl pulls his hand away.The moon tints everything blue. The blood on Rick's clothes looks black. Not only the blood of rotters; the blood of my dad, my mom, Sam, Deanna. The blood of all the people here that have suffered because of the decisions he made.So much blood on his hands."Ron, don't do this," Carl warns. His deep breaths aggravate me, anger coursing through my veins, every consonant a grating, awful sound.I realize how much my hand has been shaking. I steady it.I bend my finger, preparing to shoot.Carl's eyes widen, darting to the area behind me."No!" He shouts.His hand shoots out and grabs my arm, yanking me forward just as a slicing pain cuts open my back and a ringing gunshot echoes in my mind.So much at once.The first thing I realize is the fact that I was the one who shot the gun. I pulled the trigger.  The gun kicked back so hard my jaw hurts. My hand trembles and I drop the weapon, looking up at Rick.He rises from a crouching position. I look to his head. His midsection. Legs. Arms. Anything. But I missed completely.Warmth collects on my shirt and drips down my back. It's a pain that hasn't quite sunk in yet.Carl's hand pulls away from my arm. I look to him, standing next to me.My heart drops.I only get a glimpse of his face before he turns to his dad, but it's enough to tell me what just happened.Blood and chunks of something else that looks more purple than red in the moonlight actively drip down his cheek and splatters his forehead and nose. A muddled hole where his eye should be draws a muffled cry from my throat.He looks at Rick.Somehow, a deafening silence."...Dad?"He collapses, Rick catching him just before he hits the ground. Michonne shoves me aside to rush to him."Carl!" She shouts, shaking him. The rotters are drawn to the gunshot."Denise—" Rick cuts her off. He turns to me."Where's Denise? Where is she?!" He yells at me, making me flinch back into a rotter. I spin and shove it away, pointing to the infirmary.Michonne leads, mercilessly cutting down any rotters in their path. Rick runs beside her, carrying Carl in his arms.I trail behind them, mind numb.What have I done?••••••The only signs of life from Carl is the fresh blood dripping down his face and his chest rising and falling with shallow breaths.I can see the bone around his eye socket. Denise explains the trajectory, something about ricocheting, but I don't pay attention.Rick grips his axe and leaves the infirmary.Michonne stares after him, and before I know it, she's gone, along with nearly everyone else in the room, fighting the rotters outside."Is he gonna live?" I ask Denise."Yes," she doesn't hesitate a second. "I'll make sure of it."Is this light, I can see him more clearly. It's pure red, the inside of his eye almost bumpy— or the space behind it. There's no eye anymore, none at all. Blood trails down his cheek and neck.I look around. On a table, a selection of surgical tools lay on a paper towel. I grab a sharp one, the blade about the size of my middle finger.I follow everyone else outside.I'm immediately met by the groaning and screeching of rotters, turning to the left to get out onto the road. Rick cuts through the horde with his axe, and Michonne does with her sword, and there are more people with different weapons.A rotter bumps into me, soft hand gripping onto my shoulder. I turn and plunge the surgical tool into its temple, where Rick once told me their skulls are easiest to penetrate.It gurgles and drops to the ground. I yank the tool out of its head, blinking at the blood splattered onto my arm.Another rotter to my left. I stab it through the eye. The stench fills my nose. Looking up, I see one making its way towards Rick, and he's so focused on driving his axe into the skull of a different one he doesn't even notice.I pull the tool out of the rotter's eye and lunge at the one behind Rick who just barely touches his back.I slam the rotter onto the ground and kneel down on it, stabbing it through the temple. Nearly every muscle in my body burns, my legs trembling, arms shaking. I get back up with my tool. Rick looks me up and down before going back to fighting.My back feels raw. I can feel a breeze coming in through a slit in my shirt where sweat makes it stick to my skin.I don't know what happened. It's not important now.Shouting draws my attention to one of the lookout towers near the wall. A man runs away from the tower, diverting a group of rotters from clawing at the support beams.That's when I see her.Enid.She nimbly climbs up the shaky tower. Looking back down I see the man is getting swarmed by the herd.I can't pay any more attention as a rotter barrels into me from behind. I'm sent sprawling on the ground, my tool falling somewhere I can't see in this dark.This fear is like worms in my stomach instead of butterflies. I squirm and my whole body feels restless. Blood drips from its gaping mouth onto my face. I roll over, forcing the rotter down onto the ground where I scramble up and stand above it.I realize one of its legs is broken. It struggles to get up.Rapid gunfire from the direction of that tower echoes across the street.Looking down at it, blood trickling down its face, I can't help but think. Any of these rotters could be the ones that ate my mom and Sam. Any of these rotters could be them. For all I know, Michonne has already sliced their heads in half.I bend my knee and bring my heel down on its face with all of my strength.A crack as the soft bone of the nose breaks.And before I know it, I'm stomping on its skull over and over again, crushing it slowly until all that's left is a barely recognizable pile of red mush. The only indications of it ever being human are the couple of teeth in the bloody mix.A knife is embedded in its side. I yank it out. It's rusty, but that doesn't make any difference. I look back at where Enid was, but she's gone, and the gate of Alexandria is open.I try to catch my bearings and look out for Rick, but I can't see him in any direction, mostly because there are rotters closing in on me from all of them.I drive the knife up into a rotter's chin, blade sinking down to the handle, and pull it back out in a split second.I shove another out of the way and stab another, but I'm not moving fast enough. Not nearly.This time, when I'm taken to the ground, I can't get back up.Gnashing teeth and the smell of blood. All I can do to try and stop myself from being bit is kick frantically and squirm as much as possible.But it doesn't mean anything, the weight of the rotters entirely too much, and then I know I'm dying here.Dying with the rest of my family.In a way, I'm okay with it.In a way, I want it.A boom startles the rotters.A blaze of light follows, and then they're off me.I crawl back, heart racing painfully fast, staring at the light.The pond is with the log Enid and I used to sit on is somehow on fire. Rotters swarm to it, some just dropping into the water and others stumbling by the edge.I frantically check myself for any bites or scratches. My back burns, scratched against the road. I don't see or feel anything. I quickly get up.I see people, Carl's group and Alexandrians using the opportunity to catch the distracted rotters off guard. I gather myself to do the same.It takes the entire night to clear all of the rotters. I mindlessly stab and push and stomp. I'm not that good at it, but since the pond fire, I haven't been so pressed, and when I was, other people were there (and when I was by myself, I almost died).I'm tired. So tired.And when they're all dead (again), I walk back to my house. I see Rick heading to the infirmary, and I consider following him, but I think he might kill me the next time he sees me.So I go back home.And Dad hasn't been here for a couple of days.I realize now I don't hear Mom humming to herself. Now I don't hear Sam pestering her about everything. And I guess I never will.It's quiet.I guess it will always be quiet.The rotters on the floor are hopefully all dead for good, but I'm too tired to check. I grab a bottle from underneath the fireplace and walk upstairs, the knife I found still in one hand.I wonder if Rick is crying over Carl. I wonder if Carl will live. I wonder if I want him to.The stairs creak when I walk up them. I think of Dad stumbling upstairs on drunken nights. I think of hearing the creaking from my bedroom. I think of pulling my covers tighter around me, squeezing my eyes shut and telling myself to go to sleep.Corpses litter the hallway. My bedroom door has been closed. When I get inside, there aren't any dead bodies, just the ruin of the stupid tantrum I threw the other day.Now, I think of nothing, really.I collapse onto my bed and pop open the bottle of alcohol.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

"Denise said it's–""It's PT," my dad finishes for me. I smile a little."You heard me?"He tilts his head. "Yeah."Michonne chuckles from the doorway. One towel is wrapped around her head, another wrapped around her body. "Rick, while you're out, could you look for some spearmint and baking soda toothpaste?"He raises an eyebrow but doesn't object. They do this little low high-five, their hands lingering on the touch for a couple of seconds.I scoff, tossing the tennis ball I have into the air.Denise says it'll help my hand-eye coordination.And seriously hand-eye.Two months have passed since the old church tower fell. Since then, we've rebuilt— in fact, we've actually expanded. Nothing too crazy, just executing Deanna and Reg's plans for Alexandria.Daryl, Glenn, Sasha, Abraham, and Enid are all back.I've been "rebuilding", too, I guess.That night, Ron shot out my right eye.Denise says I'm still healing. Every day she asks me and my dad if I've had any behavioral changes. She says even if I'm okay right now, damage to my brain could pop up at any moment.But I'm okay. Denise says it's crazy I'm alive after being shot twice, both in places that could've been fatal. So I guess I'm just that good.••••••Enid and I spend most of the day in the woods outside the wall. Coincidentally, on the night I got shot, Glenn brought Enid back to Alexandria. She's stayed with me through most of my recovery. When she's not with me, she's with her boyfriend. Ron. Who she's still dating despite having shot me.I haven't talked to him much since that night. I don't really want to. I don't think he wants to, either, and even if he does, I don't care.We keep walking further out. I don't know where we're going— I never really do. It's just fun.I walk a few steps ahead of her, looking across the forest lit by the sunlight filtered through pale green leaves."Why are we coming out here?" Enid's voice makes me look back."'Cause we're kids," I shrug, scanning the woods. "It's what we do."She's studying some paper she brought, but she glances up to lock eyes with me. Then she rolls them, dropping her hand with the paper in it. "We're not kids," she huffs.Oh. She's mad. Why... Why is she mad?I don't really know what to say to that. We are kids. I'm, like, 14, maybe 15. She's around the same age. We're teenagers. Teenagers are kids, right?At some point, we settle down against a rotting log by the ranger box we stash our stuff in. Today, we brought some of our favorite comics to the woods without telling the other which ones we brought. While we're out there, we reveal them.Enid's a fan of this comic called Invincible about the son of Omni-Man, the most powerful superhero on the planet.I show her The Sandman about Morpheus, the personification of dreams. She's more interested in the art style than the actual plot, which I don't mind."We should head back," she suddenly speaks up. I was getting invested in Invincible.I furrow my eyebrows and notice my eye hurts more than usual today. "Why?""Maggie'll be worried about me. Glenn doesn't like when I run off."I chuckle. "People not liking when you run off has never stopped you before," I joke.When she doesn't laugh, I look over to her, only to see she's standing up. "Because I didn't realize the effect it could have. They care about me, Carl. You have family that care about you, too. They probably don't like you running off out here with me.""Are you seriously mad about this right now?"She sighs. "No. I just..." She shakes her head. "Carl, you're smart. I'm smart. We know how to survive because we've had to learn." I nod. "But sometimes— sometimes crazy shit happens, and it doesn't matter how smart you are.""What are you saying?" I ask."I'm saying every time we leave the walls, we could die. I can't risk that anymore."I shake my head. "Why— What do you mean 'anymore'?"She walks behind me. I turn."Enid, what changed?"Her shoulders drop. "I finally feel like I have a family again. I'm not throwing that away. I can't."I blink. I guess I don't understand what it's like to not have a family. I've always had my dad, except for that one time I thought he turned, but that lasted for maybe 60 seconds, and those were maybe the worst 60 seconds of my life.When she mentions her family, I immediately think of Glenn and Maggie, who seem to have taken her under their wing ever since she ran away and Glenn brought her back. I wonder if that's who she's talking about.I stand up, putting our stuff back in our ranger box. "Okay," I exhale, walking away. She follows behind me.••••••"Is your eye redder than normal?"I ignore her.Enid, the master forest-navigator she is, guides us back to Alexandria. But before we get out of the woods, I hear a familiar groaning.Looking around, I spot a walker. I scan for more, but it seems to be the only one around.Pulling my gun from its holster, Enid stumbles forward."Carl," she warns."Michonne's out here," I whisper, remembering how she said she was gonna try and hunt this morning. "I'm not leaving it."Pushing shrubbery aside, I take a few steps closer. It's walking the other way, so I do a short whistle.It turns.My face falls as I recognize it.It's Deanna."No," Enid mumbles from behind me.I take a step forward. "Hey. Come on.""What are you doing?" She hisses."Come on," I urge."What are you doing?" She snaps as I get closer.What's her problem? I find myself angry. "Just go."Deanna walks closer.For a second, it's just us breathing."We should kill it." Her voice is lower than usual. The words are like individual knives to my chest.I glance back at her, eyes narrowed. "Just go home.""No—""Enid.""This is bullshit— it should be dead—"I grab her arm as she takes a step forward. As I look down at her hands, I see she pulled out her knife.She doesn't just fucking get to do it.Her eyes widen as she tries to pull away and I only tighten my grip. "L— Let go!" She twists her arm."Just leave."We lock eyes for a second.Then two hands grab her shoulders and pull her back, pull her away from me. She whips her head around and stumbles back.I shove the walker to the ground."We're not killing it." I glare daggers at her. She takes another step back.Her face twists up. "What the hell is wrong with you?"Me?! I try to take a deep breath to calm my angrily pounding heart. "You wouldn't understand."The walker slowly attempts to get up."You don't wanna be out here. You said it," I spat. "So go home."After a few seconds of her huffing, she storms off.Good.I look down at Deanna, and suddenly, I'm 13 again.I love Maggie. I'd trust her with my life. But I didn't trust her that much then. And I knew the person in the room who knew her the most was me.It felt wrong, to let Maggie kill my mom.I definitely wouldn't want someone else to kill her before I could even see her.I can only imagine that's what Spencer would want, too.••••••I point up at the dark sky splattered with stars. So many. So many. I don't know shit about constellations, but I pretend I do with Judith."That's the Archer constellation," I grab her chubby hand and have her point up, too. She looks up, wide-eyed. Is that even the Archer? Probably not. But I can say it is anyway.Michonne walks up the front porch stairs. She looks down at me in a way she only does when she wants to talk about something serious. My head hurts.She's silent for a second. Then, "Why didn't you kill Deanna?"I focus my attention on Judith to prevent me from snapping. I don't know why I feel so angry right now. "Didn't want to.""You never have any problem killing walkers."I inhale. Exhale. "It was his mom. Spencer had the right to do it."She furrows her eyebrows. "Is this about your..?""No," I shake my head even though she's maybe just a little bit right, shakily standing up, preparing to walk inside if I get too angry."It's dangerous, Carl. When we start thinking like this. Why did—""Because it should be someone who loved her, someone's who's family, and I—" I catch my breath— "And I'd do it for you."Michonne studies my face.I almost want to apologize.No one could ever replace my mom. And yet, other than my dad and Judith, Michonne is the closest I've ever felt to home. The closest I've ever felt to safety. And I can genuinely say I love her, and I trust that she loves me, too."You're my best friend, Michonne.""You're mine, too."Then, she hugs me.I feel strangely weak."You're mine," she repeats.I do an awkward one-armed hug back as we sandwich Judith between our bodies, who giggles madly.We end up laughing, too, and as I look up at her, I know that what we have is family.••••••Judith's asleep. Michonne and my dad are watching her. Apparently my dad and Daryl found Jesus while on a supply run, and he's now tied up in our prison. That has to be a sin or something.Anyway, there's nothing to do.I should go to bed. My body is tired but my mind isn't. So I leave the house to walk around, as I usually do— "usually" as in the past two months.I'm supposed to change my bandages every morning and night. Pretty much every adult in our group has offered to help me if I need it, but I say I'm good. They have enough to deal with, with watchtower rotations and leadership and whatnot.I can change my bandages. Sure, it's a bit difficult to do myself, but it's not impossible.And yet I don't do it as much as I should.I don't do it until I start to smell it. I know, it's fucking nasty, but I need to look in a mirror when I do it, and I just hate seeing it.It's hard to go to sleep when I can feel it festering. It's so gross, it seems to radiate heat the longer I go without cleaning it and changing the bandage. I just can't stand myself.The cuts on my thigh and hip have mostly healed. The one on my thigh is still pink, and it feels raw sometimes, but I don't focus on it as much anymore. The one on my hip has scarred over.The street is quiet. Just the sound of insects. I scan the street.How unlucky do I have to be to get shot twice?How lucky do I have to be to have survived both times?Which one is worse?Nobody is out this late. I look up at the moon. It looks down at this town. Maybe the moon is laughing at us. I don't believe in gods or a God, but if there was one or more, I wonder if they'd be laughing at us right now. I wonder if this is because they hate us. I wonder if they're punishing me for something.Maybe the sun laughs at us, and maybe some higher power, but I don't think the moon does. The moon has never laughed at me no matter how shit life has gotten.There's a guilt I feel.Something has felt so wrong since that night. Something more than just my eye. Something in my chest, in my stomach, a painful emptiness that just seems to expand every time I wake up.I'm lucky to be alive. So many people I loved have died. So many people I hated have died. So many people I've never known have died. And yet I'm alive. It's a miracle. I should be glad. And in a way, I am.But I can't help but think someone else should be in my place.So many people died that night, but there's a voice in the back of my head that tells me there should've been more. Someone else should have died. Ron pointed that gun at my dad. Michonne was about to stab him in the back when I pulled him away, and then he shot me. My dad can't die, he's the leader. Michonne can't die, she's practically invincible.But me and Ron?We could die. Other than make a few people sad, nothing would happen if we died.I don't think I'm supposed to be alive.I'm glad I am, I just don't think I deserve it.I can almost feel my eye socket decomposing, begging for fresh bandages. I press on my face, only wincing a bit at the pain.I don't like anyone other than Denise seeing it. It feels so wrong, my face. I don't want it. At least not like this.Every time I've seen Ron ever since that night he has a bottle in his hand. Nobody tells him to stop drinking. Nobody has even taken him in. He still lives in his house. All alone.Honestly, I wish someone would do something about him, like get him adopted or something, but I guess that's what everyone wishes. Everyone thinks "I'm not doing that," but still wishes someone else would.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I saw him.He was walking down the street at night. He does that. He didn't see me, though. Most nights he does. Not tonight.I was sitting on the curb with a bottle of tequila. Moonlight glinted off the glass, liquid sloshing like the acid in my stomach, no food for it to digest so instead digesting my stomach lining. I felt it burning. I felt myself being eaten away from the inside out.My foot tapped against the pavement. I'm surprised he didn't hear it then. He usually always notices me because even when he's stumbling with fatigue, he still manages to be alert to every sound, every movement, every single thing around him. Learned survival instinct, I guess.Anyway, he walked a dozen or so yards ahead of me on the street. He stared up at the moon. I stared at its reflection on my tequila. The liquid glimmered and sparkled like far away stars. I must've stared at it too long, because before I knew it, he was out of sight.I took a swig. It burned, tasted weird, but at this point I've become a bit desensitized. The street was bare, naked, dark. The leaves on the trees didn't move. Nothing moved.So, I did. I stood and wiped my mouth as I turned and headed back up the porch steps and into my house.My house. It's weird, calling it that now, because it really is my house. Before, I would've called it my house, but it really would've been my mom and my dad's. No longer.I looked to my living room. Remembered. On the couch. My dad punching me, caving my face in, recreating me— at least, I wish he did— Carl patching me up. I looked to the floor. My mom stabbing a man over and over and over again. I looked to the fireplace. My lifeblood. I looked to the stairs. Yelling at my mom.I shouldn't have done that. I shouldn't have done a lot of things. Most things. One good thing I did was clear out the house without help. I dragged all the rotters out and burned them in the lawn. Surprisingly, I didn't have much of a problem with it. The only thing I had a problem with was Enid complaining about the smell afterwards. What did she expect?Enid. I had talked to her yesterday. I sort of forgot what we talked about. I seem to forget a lot.I walked upstairs to my room. Sat on my bed. Looked around.I went to sleep and dreamt about climbing a tree with unmoving leaves for days, but when I looked down, I was standing on the ground.••••••I wake up crying.I'm frustrated. I couldn't get the the top of the tree. I wonder if there was a top.I can't begin to get out of bed. My carpet is soaked dark with tequila— no, no, no, how much of it spilled?— I reach down and grab the bottle and turn it upright but it doesn't help much. It's only about a fourth full now. Or an eighth. Let's say a sixth.My tears are hot and uncomfortable, my nose all stuffed. I'm suffocating in here, in my bed, in my body. I begin to sob. I squeeze my eyes shut because I can't look at my room. Every time I do I imagine them standing there, Sam annoying me, my mom lecturing me, my dad shouting at me, one of them, all of them. They will never annoy me again. They will never love me again. They will never talk to me again. None of them will ever talk to me. I try to imagine their voices, and for a split second, I can't. Two months. It's been two months, and I'm already forgetting them?I don't know what to do with myself, my brain is so out of order. I carve reminders into the walls with kitchen knives. I don't bother covering damage I've caused. No one comes to the house. Except Enid. Not much, though. I've been a shitty boyfriend. I can't stand getting naked in front of her anymore. I've lost too much weight I look unhealthy. We don't do sexual things anymore. I can't. How did I get here? Thinking about this?A few scars from glass shards litter the left side of my face. My broken finger refuses to properly heal. My nose is permanently crooked.A thick gash runs down half of my back. It's probably about 2 inches wide at its widest point in the middle. Despite it being two months since Michonne sliced my back open, it looks barely healed. I could still see the white layer of fat a week after it happened. Even now, not all of the exposed red flesh is protected by new skin. It itches like Hell, and when I touch it I want to scream. When I put shirts on I want to scream. When I lay down on the couch or my bed I want to scream.I can't do anything without some sort of pain. I am never calm. I am never at peace. I am never safe.Always up. Always awake. When I fall asleep, I have nightmares, so most of the time, I drink and then try and force myself to stay awake.I have to use mirrors to clean my back, so I see myself enough I can picture it now, my dad's face. That's all I can see when I look at myself. I need to turn around because I would rather look at my mangled back than my face, his face.Everything seems to be wrong with me physically. I've been hurt too many times to count and it shows. I've lost the little bit of strength I used to have. My whole body is fucked up. I know it. Mentally isn't better. I've lost the little bit of strength I used to have there, too. I feel like I've gone out of my fucking mind and at the same time I can't escape it.Sometimes, like now, the only way I know I'm alive is the way my breathing shakes the stagnant air of my bedroom, the way my heartbeat fills the space with noise. If I don't listen to those things, I forget I'm not dead, because I feel like I am, and there are no other sounds to let me know there is anything else living in the world.I feel like everyone is dead. I saw Carl last night. I see him most nights. In my mind, he's dead. I see a ghost wandering the streets. Sometimes I think of his dad, how I tried to kill him, and I think maybe I did. I think he's dead, too, because we all are."Ron?" Enid's voice calls upstairs. She must have come into the house at some point. I don't bother wiping my tears away, hiding the bottles around my room, or answering. I let her come to me.When she steps into the room it gets a little bit colder. My curtains are closed but a little bit of light still seeps in. My room is gray. I look at my girlfriend and see she is gray, and I bet I am, too. I bet everything is gray.Her lips the same gray shade as her hair start to move. "Where were you yesterday?" Her gray hair bounces as she shakes her head. She's angry."What do you mean?" I taste salt when I say it."We were supposed to sit by the lake. Together." She straightens up, although I didn't realize she was hunching over to talk closer to me. "Like we used to.""I'm sorry. I forgot.""You forgot last time, too.""I know. I'm sorry.""I don't think you are, no. If you were sorry, you wouldn't've done it again.""I'm sorry.""Stop just saying that.""I'm s–""Stop."Since I have nothing else to say, I just look at her. She just looks back at me. Eyes gray. Mine are, too. That's all there ever is. Gray. Not even black and white. Just different grays.She lets out a breath of air and I realize I haven't heard anyone else's breathing in two days, since the last time she visited me. The only other signs of life I've heard in this town have been Carl's footsteps at night. An entire miracle civilization in the middle of an apocalypse and still I am alone.I feel the need to beg her to not leave me. I know that's what she's thinking.I wonder if she's also thinking of how we were at the beginning or our relationship. How she would chuckle around me like she did with no one else. How we'd sit in silence and it wouldn't be awkward. How we'd get high together and say whatever was on our minds, usually crazy "what-if" situations. How I'd touch her soft hair. I wonder if she's thinking the same thing I am, that maybe this never would have worked out because I am not the kind of boy who stays with a girl like her forever, because a girl with potential like her doesn't stay with a boy with none like me who just weighs her down.I think she is. Because something in those gray eyes change, not a realization but a resignation that you're strong enough to act on that realization you had a long time ago."I'm sorry, Ron." She turns and leaves.I hear her footsteps down the stairs. Across the wooden floors. Out the door.She's sorry.My brain has the audacity to ask itself "Why is she sorry?" and I almost laugh. However, I find my body won't move beyond the lungs remarkably expanding and deflating and the heart amazingly beating and the blood miraculously pumping.The only living person left me, and I feel a punch caving in my sternum, the fist unclenching and reaching in and scooping out my insides. I keel over.What is wrong with me? Why can't I remember simple things? Why can't I heal? Why can't I stop drinking? Why can't I be better for someone I love? Why can't I love her properly? Why can't I be normal? Why can't I be someone else? Why can't I be a good person?I can't burst into sobs because I can't breathe. I'm choking on my own filthy air and tears spill from my eyes onto the carpet but the only sounds are gasping.

----- CHAPTER BREAK -----

I'm back home just in time to hold a man at gunpoint as he takes down a painting from our wall."What the hell are you doing in our house?"I waste no time with the safety. I hear his breathing stop. "I'm, uh, sitting on the steps, looking at this painting, waiting for your mom and dad to get dressed."My mom and dad? He moves his head just slightly, but I still can't see his face. Long brown hair and a brown beard are all I can see, although he's wearing a beanie, too. I narrow my eye and tilt my head."Hi. I'm Jesus."Footsteps, and I turn my head, still keeping the gun trained on him.My dad is shirtless. He zips up his pants, hair disheveled, clearly disoriented. Michonne walks up behind him, towel around her. I don't have time to process. I look back at Jesus.Daryl, Glenn, and Abraham are suddenly filing up the stairs, all with guns drawn and pointed at the Biblical figure. Daryl is dutifully staring at him while Glenn and Abraham look back and forth from my dad to Michonne."You said we should talk," my dad says from behind me. He sighs. "So let's talk."••••••"So how'd you get out?" Dad asks Jesus. Daryl paces around the table. Abraham stands menacingly with his arms crossed behind me. Me, Dad, Michonne, Glenn, Maggie, and Jesus sit.I stare at Michonne. I can't help a little smile from creeping up on my face.Michonne... and my dad.Jesus is cryptic. "One guard can't cover two exits. Or third floor windows. Knots untie and locks get picked– entropy comes from order, right?""Right," Daryl grunts. He studies Jesus, who adjusts a bit uncomfortably. I don't even know what he means.He isn't making any sense. None of this is making any sense. Maybe it's just the fact that I also feel like I have an awful fever. Or maybe it's the fact that I really don't know how to feel about seeing my dad and Michonne together like that, thinking about them like that."I checked out your arsenal," he looks to my dad and nods. "I haven't seen anything like that in a long time. You're well-equipped, but your provisions are low. Very low for the amount of people you have." He looks around. My dad shakes his head and although he's facing away from me, I can bet he's biting his lip in that way he does when he's trying not to punch someone. "54?""More than that," Maggie says lowly. Her arms are crossed, too, and she arguably looks scarier than Abraham.Jesus looks around awkwardly. "Well I appreciate the cookie. My compliments to the chef."Daryl gets up from his rest against a shelf position. "Yeah, she ain't here."Jesus looks up at him. Turns in his chair to face him. "Look, we got off to a bad start—" He raises his eyebrows— "But we're on the same side– the living side." He looks around at the rest of us as though that's supposed to be a huge breakthrough, then back at Daryl. "You and Rick had every reason to leave me out there, but you didn't. I'm from a place that's a lot like this one. Part of my job is searching out other settlements to trade with. I took your truck because my community needs things, and both of you looked like trouble."I can't argue with that. My dad and Daryl aren't exactly the most welcoming duo."I was wrong," Jesus nods to himself. "You're good people. And this is a good place. I think our communities may be in a position to help each other.""Do you have food?" Glenn chimes in."We've started to raise livestock. We scavenge, we grow. Everything from tomatoes to sorghum." I don't know what the hell that is.My dad throws his hand in the air. "Tell us why we should believe you." He only looks at Jesus on the last word."I'll show you. If we take a car, I can take you back home in a day, and you can all see for yourselves who we are and what we have to offer.""Wait," Maggie leans forward. "You're looking for more settlements. You mean you're already trading with other groups?"Jesus grins and looks around at all of us."Your world's about to get a whole lot bigger."••••••And now they're loading into the RV.I'm loading up red gas cans. I stand up with one, a bit wobbly, and look up to see my dad walking up to me holding Judith, who gives me a little wave with a pacifier in her mouth. I can't help but smile."You sure?" I ask my dad."No. But if he's telling the truth, this could be the start of everything." I nod a little. We both turn to see Jesus and Michonne walking down the porch steps together, laughing a little.He knows what I'm thinking."Look, I was gonna tell you about me and Michonne, but... it just happened." For emphasis, he says it again. "It just happened. Last night."Wow. I give a little nod. I find myself surprised at how unphased I feel. He opens his mouth once as if to say something but has to gather himself."This– this is different."I let out a laugh. "It's cool."He acts normal, nodding, but I can tell the relief washes over him. He looks around. "Alright. Well, get your stuff. Gabriel can take care of Judith while we're gone.""No, I'm not coming." All I can think about is the ache in the hollow of my face where my eye should be.He blinks. I shrug. "Someone's gotta stay back, keep this place safe. A kid with a messed-up face probably wouldn't make the best first impression anyway." I chuckle, make it a joke. But he's concerned.He's concerned but says nothing. Just studies me while we trade the things we're holding, giving me Judith as I hand him the gas. He walks away."Let's chew up some asphalt!" I hear Abraham call. Then they're loading into the RV, taking off out through the gates as Judith babbles nonsense to me.There's a feeling I can't place. The gates close, the RV gone. I look back in the direction of my house. I think about Michonne in there. With my dad. With Judith. With me. I've thought of our group as a family for the longest time, but I've always known the true family was my dad, me, and Judith.When I thought Dad was dead, there was Shane. But he was never a replacement Dad. He was always still just Uncle Shane.But I guess I've thought of Michonne as family, too. Part of the family I've chosen for myself. She's my best friend. She's my #1, there's no other way to put it.And yet it feels wrong, thinking of her in the place of Mom.She isn't my mom. She's my best friend. Is that wrong? Is she supposed to be my mom now?I don't know. I just don't know.Despite Michonne being my #1, I don't want to talk with her right now. I know our next conversation is going to be a nightmare of awkwardness and I just don't have the mental energy to deal with awkwardness right now. Awkwardness, defensiveness— I can't. I just need to let go.I figure I'll walk around the walls, at least seem like I'm doing something while I'm deep in thought. I hoist Judith into a more comfortable holding position, sun beating down and warming my eye wrap and making it sweaty and uncomfortable underneath. It's itchy, but when I first woke up after it happened it was itchy, too, and Denise told me not to touch it or I'd make it worse. The same probably applies now.I feel like I'm sick. Maybe it got infected. I wouldn't be surprised, with my shitty sanitary habits.I just can't.I can't stand looking at myself.I can't stand knowing myself, what I look like, what I am.I don't even really know what I am. I just feel wrong. All wrong. I'm barely human. The only human thing about me is my body, and even that feels like it's being ripped away from me. Because, sure, you have an eyepatch, pretty neat. Until you take it off and instead of a cool, angsty scar it's a giant messed up fucking hole where your eye should be. There's nothing cool about that. There's nothing cool about a boy just a year older than you shooting your eye out. There's no cool backstory. It's just that we fucked up that night, and his family and my eye paid the price.Sometimes I think about him. How warm his hand felt in mine, sticky and slick with walker blood, as we walked through the herd infesting Alexandria. I think about how before I thought I may have had feelings for him, and I thought he may have had feelings for me, too. Before, I saved his life. Before, we laughed together. Before, we would at least fight, and before, he would at least come to my house drunk in the middle of the night to shoot me because he thought his girlfriend was falling for me.And now it's nothing.I barely see him, but when I do, there aren't any words, or even any looks. I see him drunk on the side of the road and just walk away. He sees me on the street and he gets away from me as fast as possible.I don't know if I prefer it that way or not.Sure, I'm fucking pissed about my eye, but I have a feeling he's just been getting worse and worse, and this time I'm not there to watch him and make sure he doesn't do anything too crazy.Judith lightly smacks my face. I tap her nose, making her giggle. "Let's go on an adventure."Sometimes I think about him. But I try not to.••••••At night, I can't sleep.Gabriel and I are Judith's caretakers for now. I guess Dad trusts me with so much, a baby isn't that much more.Gabriel is staying at our house. He's so worried about Judith he insisted on sleeping in a chair next to her crib. I told him she sleeps alone most nights and she's fine. He didn't want to hear it.So eventually, after softly kissing the top of Judith's head and making sure Gabriel is passed out, I leave the house.The night is cool, so cool I begin to shiver, yet my eye is hot. It hurts. The bandage rubs against it and it's tender, and I know I should go back inside and clean but I can't. I can't look at myself.I contemplate taking the bandage off, letting the wound air out. It feels like it needs to. It's wet like it's still bleeding, and it itches.I realize my whole body is wet. I reach up to the back of my neck and wipe, pulling my hand away. It's slick with sweat. My hand wavers. My whole body wavers.Where was I going? Did I have a destination in mind? I can't seem to remember.I look around the street. I can't tell which house is mine because my vision swims. My shirt sticks to my back, hot and uncomfortable, and my bare arms prick with goosebumps. I walk to the side of the road, to grass, because I need to sit down for a minute.Every step I take is slow and heavy and my legs throb with the effort. My whole body feels the need to shiver from the cold but I don't have the energy for that, and I wonder if I have the energy to make it to the grass.Black and white dots dance in my eyes. I step onto grass. It tickles my ankles. I breathe a sigh of relief, and then I'm falling.I can only faintly feel my body hit the ground.