Alone

Chapter: 15 // don't forget about me •

"You shouldn't have come," Carl takes me by the shoulders, and I am surprised at first by how cold his hands are. His expression is a mixture of worry and anger; the blue hue in his eye seems more subtle as the sunlight casts a pale light across his face, illuminating the best quality on his face. I eyeball him from hat to boot, but I can't find what's different.

"I had to. This I had to know." I smile weakly, reach out to stroke his cheek-- he moves abruptly, his hands fall to his sides, and my hand is frozen in midair, hungering for his skin.

"Know what?" He asks, confused and slightly irritated.

"You ever felt like you were dreaming?" I speak softly, in a manner that nearly had him spellbound; he cocks his head to the side, staring at me as if he too is trying to spot the difference about me.

"Yeah," he answers impatiently, then, "P, go home."

"I'm not dreaming this," I whisper, meant more for my ears than his. I don't believe I was ever as fully awake as I am here, right now, with Carl in front of me than I was the subsequent days after the blackout. I believe a lot of me needed this moment, to look him in the face, to hear his voice, to feel him, therefore reassuring myself that I'm not dreaming; that he is everything but a figment of my imagination.

"Did you come alone?" He asks, disregarding my statement. I nod, but I don't say much else. I'm taking in this moment that I might not ever have with him after the war. I'm ingesting his words as they effortlessly roll off his tongue in the gruff manner that I have become inured to, hanging onto every word and sound he makes, ergo, I don't forget them. I've done enough forgetting; I need to start remembering. The soreness in my leg begins to repeat itself, I wince and reach down to touch the wound concealed under my pant leg- Carl seizes my wrist quickly, his grip is strong but comfortable. I look at his hand, then I start up to his face again. He has a pitying look on his face, as if he can read by my face all the pain I endured getting here up to this minute.

"Come on, my house. You look exhausted." I want to tell him that it's only death warming over, but the pain is greater than even a laugh could help. I sit on the counter top, kicking my feet back and forth staring at the same floor tile in a daze, until I am forced to blink due to Carl blocking my view.

"You need to go back. But since you're in pain, I will let you stay for a while." He proposes, his arms overlapped authoritatively. I get an inkling that there is a catch, therefore I allow him to continue.

"You leave before sunset. The Hilltop needs you--"

"The Hilltop needs Maggie and Enid. No one will notice I'm gone." I interject, matter-of-fact.

"This is the last thing you should want to do in our situation, is to run off again. And why?"

"Because when it's over, and we do win, I'm scared that it won't be worth what's left, you know?"

"I know." He replies somberly, staring at the floor beneath his boots as I were just a moment ago.

"And I had to see everything and everyone with my own eyes, I had to make sure that it would be."

"It will be." His responses are shorter, quieter, triggering an episode of curio on my behalf.

"Your confidence is reassuring."

"Not confidence." He mumbles.

"Will you be happy with the way things are after?" My words roll off my tongue faster than I intend, causing my cheeks to flush in embarrassment. He looks up from the floor, a tinge of innocence in his blue eye.

"Yes." He says softly, and I frown, confused.

"I'm not talking about that."

"I said yes." He repeats, his voice lowers an octave, indicating his seriousness. I hop down from the counter and walk into the living room, leaving him in the kitchen. It's perplexing how he can be happy with the way things are with us, that there isn't one thing he regrets doing or not doing, saying or not saying. I think about the things I didn't do and didn't say all the time. I hear his footsteps following mine until they come to halt, I realize he is behind me.