Something To Fight For

Get Used To Him

We arrived at this prison about thirty minutes later. The whole ride back had been somewhat peaceful. The reason I say somewhat is because I could feel Carl staring at me. He stared at me the whole way back. It was slightly uncomfortable and I wondered for a brief second if he had any idea what had just happened to me. What did he see when he looked at me? A sixteen year old girl who looked beat by this world? A weak girl who would only bring the group down? It was at that moment that I knew I didn't care what he thought. I know who I am. I know that I am strong and independent and I know that I can take care of myself. I know how to shoot a gun; I'm a good shot. I'm good with a knife both in hand to hand combat and knife throwing. I used to think all the time that this was not something that a girl my age should know how to do. Well, maybe shoot a gun, yes, but know how to throw knives? Or know exactly where to cut so a person can bleed out fast? No. God, I must sound like a sick, sick person. But that's what a world like this does to people. Makes them scared and overprotective, mean and crazy.

As we walked into the prison, I could see everyone's eyes shoot to me. Some people shooting me daggers, some interested in a new person, others just too tired or exhausted to care. I sat down on top of one of the tables and clasped my hands together. It was then that Rick began speaking to everyone about me; how they found me. Some people looked at me as if I was crazy when Rick said I was sitting on the side of the highway. He even told them I didn't look back at them at first. When he got done talking, people started to leave while some stayed. However, everyone shot me a curious look. I could tell what they were all thinking. Why had she just been sitting there? Out in the open? Don't she know how dangerous that was? But I remembered what I told myself. I couldn't care about what these people thought. I knew myself. But something that scared me was the fact that if one of them had manned up to ask me why I did those things? I wouldn't know the answer. I honestly had no idea why I did it. I just... did.

Rick had walked over to Carl and they were talking on the far side of the room. I stayed where I was trying to act as if I didn't know that they were talking about me. Every time I looked over at them, Carl was staring at me intently. It made me really nervous but I knew that it shouldn't. A couple of minutes later Rick and Carl dispersed from their little group and made their way towards me.

"Alright Lucy. Carl is gonna show you around. I suggest you get to know him. You two will be bunking together," Rick said. I nodded and looked down at my hands as Rick walked away, leaving me and Carl together alone. He just stood there for a few minutes looking at me then looking away. I could tell he probably really didn't want to do this. This is all I was to him. Another job. Another chore. But why did I care? I thought he would motion for me to get up so he could get it over with but he sat down beside me on the table.

"You told them to stop the car didn't you?" I asked in a small voice. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw him nod and then look forward at this man who had a crossbow laying on the surface in front of him. I looked at him and then down at the floor.

"You don't have to show me around," I suggested. I would much rather figure this place out on my own than have to be shown around by someone who was gonna dread every second of it. He shrugged and caught my eye. It was the first time I had looked at him. And I mean, really looked at him. What I thought to be hate or annoyance, turned out to be something else. Maybe he wasn't the person I pegged him to be. Maybe he was just curious and wanted to figure me out.

"I want to," he said. I smiled slightly for just a split second before looking away. I think he saw it because a smile popped on his face, too. I could tell he was a bit nervous because he kept twiddling his thumbs. I chuckled and his face turned red. He stood up and motioned for me to follow him; his face still red. Smiling, I followed him. Maybe Carl wasn't so bad.