Sage ➸ Carl Grimes

28 ➸ gasoline

GASOLINE by HALSEY

CARL

Behind my eyelids, I dreamt of her. I dreamt of a girl with eyes of grey and hearts of lies. I dreamt of a girl who was afraid of those around her and afraid of herself. I dreamt of a girl who had taken the final hit from her guardian. I dreamt of a girl who cut her arms in an attempt to escape and to remember and to forget. I dreamt of a girl who ran away, blinded as to what she was walking into. I dreamt of a girl who spent months alone and starving, not long before running into a defeated boy. I dreamt of a girl who told the boy lies, in an attempt to avoid attachment. I dreamt of a girl who fell in love with a boy, and how the boy loved her, throughout her sickenings and her sins. I dreamt of a girl that loved a boy; because she was still able to. 

She didn't have wings of purity or foulness of malevolence. She had the boy; and he was losing his mind falling in love with her.

I slept unsettlingly, and was interrupted by a splash of a light substance that was trickling onto my face. It didn't take long before my mind had rearranged itself, and my eyes shot open, nearly blinded by liquid.

I sat up in an instant, my face dripping with something that had startled me awake. I glanced left and right, my chest rising in a slight panic and uncertainty. Emerson greeted me with those familiar, grey eyes that mocked me too much of the girl's.

The side of his mouth was lifted with ease, his smirk being the first thing in sight. Wearing on a black shirt and a thick, black coat, with dark jeans and unmatched shoes. In his hands was a red container, and he tossed it at the ground beneath his feet. I studied my surroundings; the dying fire was now nothing but a clump of black ash in the center of the alleyway. Noah was laying fast asleep on his back, his head elevated by an abandoned tire lying alongside the litter of the aftermath. Daryl was sitting with his knees up, his crossbow in his lap as he fumbled with the bolts. I figured Daryl wouldn't sleep under the presence of someone as frightening as Emerson, and I began to wonder how I possibly managed to.

"Your Highness," Emerson scoffed. He flashed me another smirk before letting it tuck under and falter. He plopped his bottom on the dirt of the alleyway, his back pushing against a dumpster coated in graffiti. He pulled out his backpack and began fishing through casually, not in search of anything.

The foul smell emitting from my face caused me to scrunch my nose. I used the back of my palm to pick it up, and it was clear and glistening on my skin.

"What the fuck is this?" I grumbled.

Emerson chuckled a little. "Just a smidge of gasoline. Didn't want to waste water, but I needed something to pour on you so you'd wake the hell up."

"Shoving me wasn't a good enough option for you?"

"Damn, kiddo, you woke up on the wrong side of the bed."

"What fucking bed?—"

"Easy, easy," Emerson chuckled. He fished out his backpack a lighter, much to my surprise. Daryl was glaring at him from the opposite side of the alleyway, and the grip on his crossbow tightened. "You were drained. Probably and understandably overwhelmed. I went and walked around for a while, and when I came back, you were out like a light."

"How long was I out?" I asked. My voice was husky from shouts and strained from sadness. I was leaning against a brick wall, and I banged my head against the dumpster beside me, causing me to grumble in response. Once I sat up, my back curled and ached, and I winced at the stiffness of my spine.