Malevolent. The Walking Dead

[ 036 ] two slow dancers

036: two slow dancers

"I wrote my dad a letter." Carl muttered, after they had been walking in silence for around two hours. Joey didn't know what time of night it was—possibly ten o'clock. She didn't care. There was no light in the wood but their dull flashlights and the rain was hitting the hood of her jacket so violently she could hardly hear through the storm. Joey turned back to look at Carl, who was struggling to walk amidst the mud. She didn't slow down her tracks even though she knew both of them were getting tired. Joey liked to believe she knew where she was going, but she didn't.

"What?" She exhaled, wiping off some rain water from her face. The water felt nice on her bruises and cuts. Carl cleared his throat, but Joey couldn't really hear it. He stuffed his hands into his pockets and Joey didn't recognize him without his hat. That stupid hat. She hated it, but now that it was gone, she loved it. Carl looked too broken and old. They both were getting too old.

"I had to. He would only come after us if I didn't." Joey could hear it in his voice that he slightly regretted it. But she didn't look back at him, only trudging on slightly faster, as if she was trying to lose him. Carl knew her, and knew she was doing it on purpose. A painful feeling spread through his chest and stomach.

Instead of experiencing real, buried feelings, Joey only felt anger. She didn't feel the loneliness, the abandonment, the grief, the mourning. She only felt anger—which wasn't a feeling. It's a defense. When she can't acknowledge her true feelings, because they're too excruciating, she defends them with anger. Joey defended everything with anger—her feelings for Carl. Bill being murdered. Finn is missing. Negan. Angerangeranger. That was all she felt, all the time, since the beginning. Joey was a conduit for everything messy, irrational, and dysfunctional. That was what she was made to be.

"I know you're mad, Joey. But he needed to know." Carl yelled out over the rain, nearly tripping over a wet branch. Joey frantically looked around to make sure there were no rotters following them or Saviors hidden in the woods. "I am not mad. Stop saying that."

"I only said it once."

"Now your dad knows where to find us. Now you put him at risk." She muttered, and Carl had to jog to catch up with her. He scoffed, shaking his head at her. He got slightly scared when she gave him a look. "You're putting everyone at risk doing this."

"You agreed to come with me. I didn't make you." She stopped in her tracks, and Carl almost didn't notice.

"I came with you because you're reckless—and I care about you more than I care about myself. I think. I don't know. I don't want you to get hurt, Joey..." He was starting to ramble and had to scream over the rain. "I figured if I am with you, at least...at least I'll get hurt and you can get away." He watched her as she stared at him without blinking. "Joey?"

Joey looked at his eye patch and noticed how it was slightly pink and red—but she didn't say anything. He had packed more gauze and she would change it for him when they got to tangible shelter. The rain was making her blink more than usual and all she could think about was how cold he must be. He was shivering, actually. Joey was so focused on his injury she didn't hear or understand what he was saying. "Huh?" She cleared her throat, shaking her head. Carl let his mouth hang open slightly.

"You didn't hear anything I just said?"

"Uh...no. Sorry. What was it?"

Carl released a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Right. OK. Let's keep moving." He seemed annoyed. Joey could understand why—well, she could a little bit. She tended to annoy everyone around her, all the time. She annoyed Bill more times than she could count. Her chest hurt thinking of him, so she kept moving forward and followed Carl closely behind. A few snarls surrounded them, and a pair of rotters emerged from the left side of the path.