total eclipse of the heart - carl grimes

II

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ii.

always on my mind
"little things i should have said and done"

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The road stretches out in front of us, endless and empty. The air's thick with the kind of silence that clings to everything—trees, the dirt under our boots, even the sky feels muffled, like the world's holding its breath. It's been hours since either of us said anything, but that's how it usually goes. Neither of us is in the mood for talking, and even if we were, there's nothing to say.

My stomach growls, but I ignore it. It's a familiar ache—one I've learned to live with. Hunger's just another part of surviving, like the pain in my missing eye, like the weight of the gun on my hip. Always there. Always nagging.

Mary, on the other hand, is starting to fall apart. I can see it in the way her steps are getting slower, her breaths heavier. She's not used to this—the walking, the endless road, the silence. This world isn't built for people like her, the kind who've spent most of their lives behind walls, safe from the worst of it.

I should say something. Hell, I should probably tell her to take a break, but I don't. We don't get to just rest whenever we feel like it. Not out here. Instead, I keep walking, keep my eye on the road ahead and pretend like I don't notice the way her feet drag a little more with each step.

Eventually, she breaks the silence.

"How much further to Hilltop?"

For a moment, I think about ignoring her. She's been quiet for so long, it'd be easy to pretend I didn't hear her, let the silence swallow us both again. But something about the way she asks—the weariness in her voice, the hint of desperation—makes me answer.

"A day or two." I say, keeping my voice flat, like it doesn't matter, like she should've known this already. I've walked this road before, but it feels longer this time. Maybe it's because of her. Maybe because everything feels different now.

She doesn't respond right away, but I catch the way her face tightens, the slight slump in her shoulders. She's tired. Probably worse than tired. I know she's never had to walk like this before. Not really. This is probably her first time out of Alexandria since I snuck her over the walls that one night, back when we were still... whatever we were... Friends, I guess. Maybe something more.

If I were smart back then, I wouldn't have taken her. But she begged, and I—stupidly—gave in. Thought it'd be fun, thought I could show her something beyond the walls, give her a glimpse of the world I knew. That was before everything went to hell. Back when things were simpler.

I glance at her again. She doesn't remember it the way I do—I can tell. Back then, walking around like this was an adventure for her. She was excited, nervous, but she trusted me. Now, I see none of that. Now, she looks like she's just barely holding it together, trying to stay upright on legs that don't want to move anymore. Now, we have this insurmountable distance between us neither of us seem interested in breaching.

I don't say anything, but the memory is running through my mind rampant. I try to let it go. Not think about it. Think about anything else. But there it is.

I pick up the pace a little, not because I want to leave her behind, but because it's easier if I don't have to look at her. Easier if I don't have to see how far she's fallen. I hear her footsteps behind me, slower, more uneven now, but still there.

I should care more. I should slow down, make sure she's okay. I sigh, half to myself, half to the empty road. If she keeps this up, she's going to collapse before we even make it halfway. And then what? I can't carry her. I can barely keep myself moving.