Tour Guide ➣ Carl Grimes

20. Kid

Hannah was sitting on her gazebo all morning, flipping through the pages of a new book. Michonne had brought her back Little Women from one of her runs. With everything that had been happening, Hannah hadn't had a chance to start it until now. Her eyes followed along the lines. She wanted desperately to distract her mind with the story, and yet the words meant nothing. They were simply letters on a page, staring back into blank eyes. Hannah's mind was too muddled to notice their meanings. That morning was the Anderson's funeral. And Hannah didn't go. She couldn't.

That past night Hannah didn't sleep at all, her mind playing the images of the last few days over and over. She felt sick for feeling bad for Ron. And yet she felt sick for not. How could she still care about the boy who shot Carl? How could she care about the boy who let Enid go out on her own? But how could she not care about her oldest friend? About the family that had been so kind to her? She wanted to hate him, she wanted to despise him for everything he did, but she knew she never could. He had been with her since the beginning. She had needed him then, and she couldn't just forget about that.

Then Hannah thought about Carl. He stayed in his house these past few days, only allowing Michonne or Denise in when necessary. Hannah had tried to visit the day before, but as she reached the door, she turned around. How could she face him, Hannah thought. It was her friend who had hurt him. Did he blame her? The thought caught Hannah off guard. Of course, she had been dancing around the idea, but the words hadn't formed in her mind until then. What if he did blame her? What would that mean?

Hannah felt rotten. She felt like the creatures that lurked outside, preying on innocent people. Neither Ron nor Carl deserved their fate. And, selfishly, Hannah felt that she didn't deserve the pain that came with it either.

She turned from her book when fallen leaves crunched under heavy boots. Coming from behind her, Hannah saw Daryl walking slowly, his head low enough that his long hair covered his face. Hannah thought he might pass the gazebo, ignoring her presence, but instead, he stood right in front of her.

"Hey, kid." His voice was gruff, hesitant.

Hannah wasn't sure what to say. She had heard about what happened outside of Alexandria.

She looked up at him, "Hi."

Daryl maybe nodded his head at her or maybe just flipped his hair out of his eyes. Either way, they could see each other now. He opened his mouth just slightly as if he were going to speak, before closing it just as quickly. He looked away and sighed, only to look back at Hannah.

"You okay?" He asked.

"Um, yeah." Hannah was even more confused now. She had only ever talked to this man once and now he acted like she was a species he had never encountered.

Daryl groaned, tired of the awkward air, "Look, I'm just, I'm sorry I wasn't there."

"What?"

"Denise, she told me what happened here. I told you-- I promised you I would teach you to protect yourself and now you're all messed up."

Hannah understood now why he was so nervous. He felt bad. She shifted in her spot on the steps, feeling like her healing wounds were somehow glowing. Enough days had passed that she was allowed to take the wrap around her forehead off, exposing the ugly markings she was left with. It barely looked like the 'W' Hannah knew it was meant to be. It was shaky and haphazard, with some parts more heavy-handed than others. Some of the lighter marks had begun to fade, leaving dark pink lines where deep red ones had once been. Hannah prayed the rest would follow in their footsteps.

She chuckled softly at Daryl, lightening the mood, "Daryl, that-- that's not your fault."

He pursed his lips slightly and nodded once more before turning to leave. Before he got too far, Daryl turned back to face her.