where the graveyard blooms - carl grimes

XIII

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xiii.

cold little heart
"do you ever fight it? all the pain?"

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I wake up with a jolt, the rough fabric of the couch sticking to my skin. My body aches, and the light streaming through the window feels too harsh for the morning. It's definitely almost noon. I rub my eye, trying to get my bearings. Carol's standing over me, arms crossed, looking down with a faint smile that doesn't quite reach her eyes.

"Carl. You sleep like you're hungover." She says, her voice soft but carrying that dry humor I remember so well. There's something off in her tone, though—something tense, like she's holding back.

I stretch out, groaning a little as I shift into a sitting position. "Sorry about crashing here last night." I mumble, feeling a little awkward. It's strange, being here in her and Ezekiel's house. I've known her for years—watched her go through so much, more than most could handle. But I haven't been around her in a long time, before yesterday, I hadn't really seen Carol in a while. And the last thing I want is to impose, but she's always been kind, always looked out for me in her own quiet way. I've always appreciated that.

She shakes her head, the movement slow, like she's too tired to even be annoyed with me. "Don't apologize." She replies, turning away before I can see the look in her eyes. There's something sad about the way she says it. Something heavy.

She heads toward the kitchen, starts cracking eggs into a bowl. I can hear the steady rhythm of the whisk. She used to make me scrambled eggs every morning when she lived in Alexandria with us.

I shuffle to the table, dragging my feet, and sink into a chair. I prop my chin in my hand, staring at nothing in particular. My thoughts keep circling back to last night. Lydia running off after I—God, I probably scared her. I care about her so much more than I realized, and I'm sure I showed it too soon. Too much. Enough to make her leave. I can't shake the feeling that I've messed everything up. Again.

Carol sets a plate of scrambled eggs in front of me but the smell doesn't do much for my appetite. I pick up the fork and start pushing the food around, barely taking a bite. Carol sits down across from me, watching me with that same sad, distant look. I feel her eyes on me, feel the somber echoes of whatever she's holding back.

She's quiet for a moment, her fingers trembling slightly as they grip the edge of the table. Then, suddenly, her face crumples. Tears well up in her eyes, and before I can say anything, she's crying.

"Carol?" I ask, my voice cautious. I've never seen her like this, never seen her break down so completely. Well, except for with what happened to Sophia. "What's wrong?"

She tries to wipe the tears away, but it's no use. They just keep coming.

"I—" She takes a shaky breath. "I don't know how to tell you this."

A cold dread settles in the pit of my stomach. Something's wrong. Something bad. "I'm not a little kid anymore. Whatever it is, I can handle it."

"Alpha." And in her eyes, I see a deeper kind of grief—one I can't yet understand, but that I know will tear something in me apart. "She... She attacked the fair last night. A group of people... Massacred... Decapitated. Put their heads stakes used to mark her territory."

I set the fork down, my hand shaking, and for a second, I can't breathe. I stare at her.

"Who?" I choke out, my throat tight. I feel my fists clench, my pulse pounding in my ears. "Who did she kill?"