Alice was not worried of the unknown. She was worried of what she already knew. She was worried of the promises that the new people were making to her-the ones bringing the people of a fallen Woodbury into their own settlement. The girl felt sorry t...
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A L I C E
ALICE DUNLAP COULDN'T SEEM to remember why, exactly, she was so excited for Carl to wake up. And Carl couldn't seem to remember much of anything. The only thing on his mind, pertaining to the girl, was how much he hated her. It was as if time didn't only stop, but moved backwards. Carl Grimes had reverted back to his old, adolescent ways, this time harnessing the anger of a child while bearing the strength of a man. His mother was freshly deceased, he was asking to see people Alice had never heard of, he had just murdered someone in cold blood.
Carl Grimes didn't just regress, he had gone sour.
Sometimes it was almost like the boy was caught up to speed with his own feelings on Alice, but the rest of the time his attitude resembled an era in which he used to avoid her like the plague.
The two now lived in the infirmary in order to recover from their injuries. Alice started physical therapy long before Carl did. It took a while to get the boy out of bed and active following his new impairment and traumatic brain injury.
Only a few days ago did he begin his journey of recovering both his hand-eye coordination and depth perception. Beyond the bandage draped across his face, there was so much more to be rehabilitated. Alice feared that the boy would be stuck in this relentless time capsule forever—that he would always hate her and she'd never get back the Carl that she loved.
Loved. She loved him.
The boy woke up just a few days after she said those words. For some reason, Alice thought that her proclamation would change things. As if words the boy was almost not alive enough to hear would have smoothed everything over.
In the days bridging her waking to his, the girl did everything in her feeble power to help. She was subjected to several blood transfusions on the grounds that she ate all of the oatcakes that Denise gave her. If Alice and Carl had not shared the same blood type, the girl would have been just as nauseous and lightheaded if she kept her blood to herself.
Alice was grateful for Carl to even be alive—for him to constantly watch her every move with such a dismembering gaze, and for him to speak every word to her with venom dripping from his tongue. The girl knew this type of behavior all too well.
This whole situation almost reminded her of Elliot, who she missed dearly. Of course, there would always be parts that she didn't miss, and this was one of them.
