↳ it's who we are now...
oc x carl grimes
season 4-7
TW: Mentions of death, gory depictions, suicide, alcohol and drug abuse, language, smoking, violence, depression, and other mature topics.
DISCLAIMER: I do not own or claim to own any of The Walk...
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At some point, I nod off. I don't know how long it takes for that to happen. I feel like I haven't even fallen asleep for a second when I wake up. My head has been positioned on my backpack, but I'm still laying on the office floor. I know Carl must've done that for me.
I sit up and rub the sleep from my swollen eyes. I feel like my exhaustion goes far deeper than physical pain. Sure, my calf is still hurting about every time I move and my muscles are sore from numerous nights of sleeping on the ground, but my mind hurts. My mind is tired. All it wants is to sleep. I don't know if I'm ever going to get to a point where that is possible.
I notice Bob still on the sofa. I can see a little bit better. It's early morning. I stand up and walk out the open door. The bodies have been removed which is relieving, but blood still stains the wooden floorboards. I don't think it's ever going to come out. From the way Gabriel is biting his fingernails at the front as he stares at the floor, I can tell he can't stand this. It's too much for him to deal with.
For breakfast, I fix myself a plate of dried baked beans and peas. A few others pick up breakfast as well. I look around to see that Daryl and Carol still haven't returned. I'm worried. Where the hell are they? Wherever they went, you'd think they'd be back by now.
"Did you get a little bit of sleep?" Carl asks, walking up behind me.
I shake my head. "No." There's no point in lying about it. I return to my meal, choking down the pasty texture.
"Sorry."
"You don't have to be sorry about everything. It isn't even your fault." I try to say the words in a thoughtful way, but it comes out more harshly than I had meant it to. I reach out my hand and pat his shoulder before turning to leave, but Carl grabs my arm and pulls me back.
"How's your leg? Ever since we got here I guess it's kinda been ignored." I believe that's far from the truth considering the fact that everyone is constantly asking me.
"I think it's starting to heal. I hope it is, at least." Carl looks at me expectantly and it takes me a moment to realize that he wants me to show him. I set my plate on the serving table and lift my pant leg. The bandage is still white, which is a good sign. I unravel the fabric and reveal the wound. It's starting to try to scab over, but the innermost part is still fleshy and red. The skin around it is red, too. I think the entire thing is far from recovery.
