Carl Grimes Imagines

Imagine 51

Based on "Ghost of You," By 5 Seconds of Summer.

Carl's P.O.V.

The sun beams in the bedroom through the translucent curtains. I rub my eyes, rolling over to say good morning to (Y/N)-

(Y/N) is gone, Carl. You know that.

I look at the empty bed beside me, feeling a familiar ache in my chest. I glance up at her dresser. The mug with her lipstick stain still remains there, the stain beginning to fade with time. I screw my eyes shut, trying to find the strength to get up. 

"Get up, sleepyhead," she'd say, a small smile on her face. It'd be red because she just woke up herself. Her hair would be pulled back in a messy bun, extra messy from the way she tosses in her sleep. I'd smile back, feeling butterflies in my stomach as she kisses my cheek. We'd walk to the kitchen together, and I'd sit and chat with her while she made us both a bowl of stale cereal. We'd walk out on the porch together, feeling the warm sun on our skin while the cool breeze made sure we didn't get uncomfortable. We'd chat about our future, the way our wedding would go and what our kids' names would be. 

I stand up from bed, a harsh dose of reality snapping me back to our- my empty house. I walk to the kitchen, listening to the floorboards creek with each step I take. 

"Carl, we're going to wake your sister," (Y/N) says as we waltz around the room.

"It'd take a tornado to wake her up," I smile down at her, enjoying the warmth emitting from her body. "Besides, if we needed to take her back to dad's house, we could."

"Yeah, I guess you're right," she says as we circle around the couch. She begins to hum a tune, leaning her head against my chest. 

Our feet move swiftly and in sync, the floorboards squeaking as we waltz over them. 

It's just not the same without (Y/N) here. My feet don't dance like they did with her.

I sit down on the rocking chair outside, watching the children of Alexandria run around. 

I haven't found the strength to get out - or clean up, for that matter - since (Y/N) has been gone. All I've managed to do is sulk while singing the song she was humming on one of our last days together, and that was over three months ago. I guess I just have hope that she'll come back one day. I have hope that she'll come running home. Running back to me.

Today will be different, though. Today will be the day I quit torturing myself with the ghost of her. 

I stand up, ready to pack everything up. I hurry, because if I don't do it now I won't do it. 

The bedroom is the only room that truly reminds me of her, so I start there. I sit an old box on the floor, and I smile at the polaroid pictures of us as I put them in a box. I put the mug in there next, lipstick stain and everything. I start to bawl when I pick up her old Zeppelin shirt.

There's a knock at the front door, and I use everything in me to stand up. (Y/N) ran away, and I haven't known what to do with myself since. She keeps me in check. She keeps me going. I swing open the door, expecting it to be Dad.

"(Y/N)," I breathe out, looking the soaking wet figure up and down. She runs to me, pulling me in for a hug. "Where have you been?" 

"I had to get away for a bit, Carl. I couldn't understand why I was hurting so bad inside, and I knew if I couldn't understand, no one else could either," She says, her arms still clinging to my neck. "I was going to just stay away, but I love you too much."

That was the first time she ever told me she loved me. I bury my face in the shirt, breathing in her scent. This shirt is the last item that needs to be put in the box, but I can't bring myself to do it. 

I dry my tears with my sleve, then look the shirt over. I stand up, knees wobbling, and set the shirt in the box. Tears roll down my face as I tape up the box, but I know this is something that needs to be done. I sit the box in my closet, closing the door. I lye back down on the bed, subconsciously rolling over to face her side.

"I love you," I whisper, saying the words to her ghost for the last time.