Who We Are | TWD

.055

    I walk home eventually, going to my room when I realize Carl isn't in the house. Part of me is worried because he should be home by now. A whole bunch of things could've happened to him. If something did, I would feel horrible. Maybe if I hadn't left him, nothing would've gone wrong and he would've had someone to cover his back.

    I tell myself to stop jumping to conclusions. It's not even dark yet. There's a chance he just doesn't want to come back yet. Plus, Michonne was out there, too. Maybe he's coming back with her since she's still gone. My mind keeps coming up with more excuses as to why these things can't possibly be true, but I shut them down. Instead, I open the other can of fruit in my pack and read a book to help keep me distracted for the time being.

    Too much time in my life is spent worrying about people and things that I can't control. It's absolutely sickening when you realize that no matter how much you wish things could go differently, all your hopes have nothing to do in the end. What happens is going to happen. It's always going to happen.

    At about six, I hear the front door open and the close. I slam my book shut, assuming it has to be either Carl or Michonne. I don't think Rick should be back until dusk because, from the sounds of it, he and Daryl had a long day ahead of them. I creep down the dusky hallway, not particularly wanting to speak with Carl, but knowing Enid was right about me having to. Before I left her house, she had helped me practice what I would say to him, but now that I'm walking down the stairs and seeing him in the living room, everything I had previously memorized slips away.

    "Emmie, I-"

    "What the hell was that?" I ask. In the back of my mind, I can hear Enid chastising me for my aggression rather than using the calm tactic we had discussed, but I push her voice away.

    "Em, I-" he tries to say as he walks towards me, but I cut him off.

    "Carl, I don't want to hear your excuses, okay? Just tell me why. Just tell me-"

    "Tell you what? Why I had to do that?"

    "Sure! Start there. Start with the fact that you couldn't just put her down. It's been months, Carl! Months!" I think about Deanna's rotting corpse having been out in the woods for weeks upon weeks, her insides probably having become a rotting mush by now.

    "Because it wasn't my job to do. I couldn't be the one," he says as he gets closer to me. "You know that."

    "You said I didn't know that," I mumble. "Earlier, you said I didn't get it. Why?"

    "I . . . I . . ."

    "Say it."

    "You know it has to be someone that loves you. That's why your dad had to . . . you know, like you said. And I had to . . ." His mom. I want to hug him, forgive him right then and there, but I stay stiffened in place, parts of me feeling numb. "Spencer had to do it. It was only right."

    "You could've been killed," I remind him.

    "Yeah. And maybe I could've not been an asshole, but neither of those things happened." He pauses, inhaling sharply. "I just keep thinking about . . ."

    "About what?" I ask, urging him to go on after trailing off.

    "About it being you!" He tries the sentence at me. I furrow my eyebrows at first, not understanding what he's saying. He sees that and continues. "What I mean is that . . . what if it happens to you? What if you turn and-"

    "Stop thinking like that-"

    "Thinking like what? Like what always happens?" Carl stares at me, his blue eyes filled with frustration.