Remnants -- Remake (Carl Grimes Gay Fanfiction)

28: Intimate

In the hour that followed, after I'd pulled out the wood that impaled my leg through gritted teeth and groans of pain and been hauled out of the cupboard beneath the stairs, I explained to Carl all about my bite wound and the aftermath.

I told him all about my amputation, my arrival in Woodbury, my initial trust of the Governor, my prosthetic arm, the betrayal at Alexandria and finally my plan to kill him.

Carl simply... Sat. He let me tell him everything. He didn't object to anything or correct anything I said; for once he just listened - something we both could have done a lot more of in the past few months - as though he was trying to see the situation from my point of view.

And I think he now believed me, at least to some extent, although whenever I asked Carl would always shamefully avoid my question.

In fact, I think shame may have been the primary cause of all of this. I think, in his mind, that trusting me and believing my side of the story meant betraying those whose lives had been lost to the Governor and his men.

But if the relationship between Carl and I had taught us anything in these last few months, it was that blaming yourself never accomplished anything, and hopefully that reflected on him now.

At the moment, the two of us were sat at the table in the derelict living room, cautiously regarding a large spider that had taken shelter in the top corner of the room.

"I'm gonna kill the damn thing," I grimaced at the creature, "it's scarier than that walker beneath the stairs. Just... Look at the way it's watching us."

"You know where it's looking? How can you tell? Are you part-spider or something?"

"If I was part-spider I think I'd turn that gun on myself. But seriously, just look at it. It's deciding which one of us to kill first, I know it."

Carl chuckled, "I don't think so, Riley."

"Oh I do. I think I'm gonna have to kill it first."

"Really?" Carl eyed me skeptically, "and how the hell do you plan on doing that?"

"I don't know. We can't shoot it; that'd waste ammo. How about... pulling off it's long damned legs one by one?"

"You haven't got the guts to even get close to that thing, let alone pull of its legs."

"True," I admitted with a sigh of defeat.

"Besides... You can barely stand up as it is," Carl frowned at me, regarding my wounded leg. It had been messily bandaged, but it certainly hadn't been given the medical attention that it needed.

"I'm sorry we couldn't find any medicine or anything," he apologized for some reason.

"Don't be," I smiled sympathetically, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder, "it's not your fault, Carl."

"I know, but... We should at least wash it, disinfect it. Hell, there's cuts all the way up and down your leg. You could really do with a bath."

"Was that an insult?"

"N-No, I mean--"

"I know, Carl," I chuckled, "it was a joke. But you do too. I mean you're the one with a sprained ankle."

"It's just twisted, Riley."

"Carl... You're walking like a 70 year old. You've sprained your ankle, just admit it."

My boyfriend sighed in defeat. If there was one thing I admired about the similarities in our personalities, it was definitely our tenacity. It would always take a long time before either of us got our way in an argument.