total eclipse of the heart - carl grimes

V

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v.

the gambler
"i've made a livin' outta readin' people's faces"

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"I'm tired." And her eyes flutter closed again, panic jolts through me.

"You can't sleep. You hit your head," I reply, my voice sharp, but I can't help it.

I haul her to her feet, feeling her lean against me as I guide her to the kitchen. I settle her into a chair, and she immediately sinks with a sigh, tries to lay down on the table.

"Sit up." I demand, gripping her shoulder.

"Why?" She asks, barely managing to keep her eyes open. "Let me sleep."

"You cannot sleep." I say firmly, my tone brisk, forcing myself to maintain control. "You fall asleep, you might not wake up again."

"Why?" She asks again, blinking sluggishly.

"Because if you fall asleep with a head injury, you might die. You get that?" I'm repeating myself again but still, she's not seeming to get it. My words come out sharp, like I'm scolding a child, but I can't help it. I need her to stay with me. "Do you understand? You might die."

She shrugs, as if the weight of my world doesn't hang on her every breath. "That'll probably make your life easier." And goes to rest her head on the table again.

The casual way she says it makes something inside me snap. I grab her chin, forcing her to look at me. "Get it together, Mary. You don't get to check out. Not now."

She stares at me for a moment, her eyes glazed over, then nods, slowly straightening up. I release her, stepping back, watching her closely, every muscle in my body tense.

After a few moments, Mary comes to a little more, her eyes finally starting to focus. She blinks a few times. "God damn fucking deer."

The words catch me off guard. I've heard her curse before, but there's something about the raw frustration in her voice that surprises me. There's something darkly funny about the way she said it. I almost laugh, but instead, I just nod. "God damn fucking deer." I agree.

She looks at me, still slumped in the chair, her breath shallow but steady. "You know you weren't supposed to swerve, right? You're supposed to slow down, hit it head on. Everyone knows that."

I narrow my eye at her. "How the hell would I know that? I've never driven before."

Mary gives a tired, almost exasperated sigh, her lips quirking up just a little, a ghost of a smile. "I don't get how someone so stupid can be so cocky all the time."

I'm not sure if she's joking or serious, but the corner of her mouth betrays her, and I almost smirk. Almost. The tension between us feels different—like a flicker of the old Mary, the old Carl.

Her gaze shifts, and she realizes she's wearing my jacket. She doesn't say anything, just looks at me, then back at the jacket. Her expression is curious, like she's trying to figure something out. I feel my chest tighten, hoping she doesn't read too much into it. It was instinct, nothing more.

"Weird seeing you in just a shirt like this. Look at those pale arms." She comments, perhaps the head wound has loosened her tongue. "You always got a flannel on at the very least." She looks through the archway at my now blood stained flannel sprawled across the vomity foyer. "Sorry."

I shrug. Folding my pale arms across my chest.

Then, out of nowhere, she asks, "You wanna know what you said in your sleep?"