Our Life (Sequel to "Remnants")

Another Day

-Riley-

"The name's Negan..."

"Accidents happen, Riley..."

"I'm glad I... Good luck..."

"You're friend Carol... She was delaying the inevitable..."

"Go to hell!"

"This is hell!"

—-

These voices, spoke by different people, echoed in my mind. Carol's last words... Negan's haunting torture - they all plagued my sleep in an equally tormenting manner.

I awoke in a typically frantic manner, jolting upright and reaching in a dazed panic for a firearm which I didn't possess.

I was glad Carl didn't have to witness this - the mentally unstable wreck his boyfriend had become. It was pathetic and embarrassing, not to mention weak.

Once I came to my senses, a task which I felt stupid for having to do every morning, I sighed in frustration, collapsing back into my surprisingly comfortable single bed.

I yawned loudly, wiping my eyes and peering out the window at the opposite end of the room, which gave me a particularly pleasant view of the community and the surrounding woodland - waking up to this view never ceased to amaze me; even in my irritable state, this sight reminded me that the world was not quite over yet.

On this particular morning, however, the view was not quite so welcoming. The rhythmic drizzle of rain against the glass, as well as the foreboding, dark grey sky, indicated that today was not one of the finest I had seen in the past few months.

If it weren't for my bedside analog clock informing that it was about 8:15, the dark cloud could easily trick me into thinking that it was still night-time.

But it wasn't, and today was my 'lucky day' to accompany Daryl and Michonne on a run in search of two primary resources: supplies, such as medicine and ammo, and - the more unusual of the two - new members for the community.

In my opinion, giving strangers the location of a large community full of food and guns was practically asking for conflict and bloodshed, something the Alexandrians were surprisingly against.

At any rate, going in search of strangers was honestly not the part I worried about the most. That part, was that of all people, Daryl Dixon was accompanying me - the one who refused to forgive my accidental killing of Rick, and would most likely deal out a similar punishment to me were he given the chance.

Suddenly, I was distracted by an unexpected knock on the door, which frightened me as all loud noises now did and sent me jolting backward. Thanks to the narrow size of the bed, this jolt now sent me tumbling out and landing on the floor, pulling the sheet down with me.

I knew who was knocking: Carl, the only person who was still modest enough to knock in an apocalypse.

"Come in," I groaned, as Carl opened the door to greet me. His hair and clothes were drenched as a result of outside's rainfall, but apparently the sight of me - tangled in a mass of bed-sheets on the floor - was much more amusing, as he burst into laughter upon merely laying eyes on me.

Once again, I felt a small, out of place and certainly unexplainable twitch of anger at the sight of Carl laughing at me. A sort of... humiliation, perhaps. It was stupid - so, so stupid, but I felt angry that he would laugh at me in spite of what I was enduring inside.

But that's just it - he doesn't know what I'm going through...

I told myself this - reminding myself that this boy was the love of my life - and I was able to successfully suppress the increasingly worrying anger that surged inside of me.

"Morning," I grinned, as Carl offered me his hand. I refused it, albeit grateful for his offer, and hauled myself to my feet.

"You look... wet," I remarked at the sight of his dripping mop of hair, which I continuously and fruitlessly insisted he had cut. He nodded with a groan.

"Typical Monday," he sighed in response, motioning to the rainfall outside. I nodded in agreement, before walking over to the light-switch and introducing some much-needed illumination to the room.

"To be honest Carl, it's not the weather that's really bothering me about today," I admitted, nervous with knowledge of Daryl's... 'lack of fondness for me,' as Carl had mildly described it.

Carl sighed with a loving smile.

"Riley Palmer," be began with a grin, walking over to me and taking my hands softly in his, "the boy who can survive three months on his own, and yet get's afraid of making friends."

I chuckled at this, reaching out to entwine our hands, when my warm fingers made contact with his unexpectedly cold ones.

"Jesus, you're cold Carl," I pointed out, "come on, I think I've got some of that crappy brand of hot chocolate still left in the cupboard. That ought to warm you up a little."

Carl smiled appreciatively, following me through to the kitchen of my cottage.

That's right: my own cottage! I was eternally grateful for some freedom, from everyone other than Carl. I had always wanted to suggest moving in with him, or vice versa, but it was quite awkward since we were almost always in the company of adults.

When I entered the kitchen, I opened the top cupboard and took out some nameless tub of, seemingly - and hopefully - legitimate, hot chocolate.

As I set about creating the warm drink, which was as close to a luxury taste-sensation as we could usually get these days, Carl walked up beside me, joining me in admiring the not-so-pleasent view of the dull sky.

It could be worse, though. It could be a lot worse...

Optimism was something I rarely showed these days, even in spite of our situation, which was undeniably more fortunate than most.

The window vaguely displayed the reflection of the two of us stood together - with our faces beside one another, smiling lovingly, the moment was one of an utter perfection.

This was shaping up to be one of the better days of my endurance with PTSD, at least so far, but my later run with Daryl Dixon may change that.

I would just have to wait and see...