dromomania |carl grimes|

8

TRUTH

Carl

Why the hell is Alora so adamant about being alone? She doesn't eat with other people, she doesn't like meeting people and she shuts everyone out.

I serve up some grilled cheese for my little sister. She doesn't complain much about my lack of culinary capabilities.

"Who's the pretty girl that was here?" Judith asks.

My sister is innocent, she doesn't know much about the world out there. She's young, I think my dad said around five. There's a decent age gap between us about 15 years, she doesn't know of the world before.

"Her name is Alora, Judi. She's gonna be staying with us for a little while," I explain to her in terms that she would understand.

Judith nods, approving that answer. "Why doesn't she eat with us or talk much?" She continues.

I explain to my sister that Alora is shy and doesn't like strangers.

"Where'd she come from?"Judith inquires. I chuckle at all her questions.

"Judith, ask her yourself."

She makes a face, like when you see a really mauled walker. "She seems mean though, she kept getting mad at you." Her logic wasn't far from off, I don't know why those questions set Alora off as they did.

"No, my questions were mean."

Alora isn't mean from what I remember. I always had a little schoolboy crush, nothing more than puppy love for that girl. She probably thought I hated her, my mom did, she would always complain about her being there eating our food. Now that I think about it, Alora doesn't eat much food, I never remember eating with her at dinner.

I make an extra grilled cheese and throw it on a paper plate.

"So she's nice?" Judith asks, her face stuffed with the sandwich.

"Yeah, you'd like her. We were friends when we were close to your age."

I take the extra grilled cheese and knock on Alora's door. It was an old study room, converted to a guest room for when people from the kingdom or HillTop would visit and need to visit with my father.

"Alora," I call out. I  noticed she doesn't answer the door unless there's a voice. She knows to go by sound not by pounding at the door. I'm not sure if that's something that she had before the apocalypse or as a result of it.

"Yeah?"

"Can I come in?"

I hear a hum of approval from her. I open the door and she's sat on the floor going through her belongings. She must have noticed we took all her weapons, we just couldn't risk it. She didn't shoot me earlier but who knows if she has a PTSD attack. Alora tends to steer away from loud noises from what I noticed, any banging of pans or stomping to get the dirt off boots.

"I brought you a grilled cheese, I made extra."

She nods to the desk to set down the plate. I set it down and join her sitting on the floor, she quirked an eyebrow at me.

"What are you doing?" She asks.

"Just wanted to check on you, Judith was asking all kinds of questions about you. She was scared to ask you herself."

Alora smiles, her cheeks filling out and glowing with dust of blush. I'm not sure if she likes children, Judith is hardly a child anymore. She's six and knows how to shoot better than half the people in this camp.

"You don't have to monitor me at every second, Carl. I'm not gonna run away, as much as I want to.

I don't know if she's telling the truth, I don't remember her tell for lying. I remember so much more though, that one time she broke her arm and I was the first one to sign her cast before her family, or when she would come over exhausted from school and just sleep.

There wasn't much to Alora that wasn't her. She has stunning green eyes that have gotten bolder over the years, a splash of freckles much to my own, and she had long dark hair when I saw her over a decade ago but now it's about collarbone length with curtain bangs that got tucked behind her ears.

"Always on the run, Alora. Just stay for me," She had to feel the same way, the same longing for friendship and missing each other over the years.

With that, I left the room, and she didn't say anything else to me.

My dad was back in the living room, recently changed out of scavenging clothes as I call them.

"Hey Carl, how was it with her, is she getting used to Alexandria?" He asks, my father means well but he can come off a bit forceful.

"She was good, she's just resting now though. Can I ask you something about her?" I need to know why she was at my house, if it wasn't the coworker theory like I was told by my mom, I wanted to know.

"What's up?"

"Why did she come over when I was younger, like I would wake up and she'd be sleeping on the couch, why?" I finally ask.

I never assumed anything wrong, her parents were busy and they needed a part-time babysitter.

"Carl listen, Alora's father was abusive. When she was five her mom left her with her dad so from that point, we had to help out and she would stay with us until your mom decided not to host her."

So that's why she didn't go with her family, she didn't have it. She never had anyone to run to and didn't want to put that pressure on my mom who Alora already knew probably hated her.

All those bruises, those sleepless nights, those nightmares. She still has nightmares to this day, no wonder she doesn't like loud noises, her dad probably yelled a lung off.

"Her dad hit her?" I clarify. There's no other way to put that, abusive father. I was fortunate I had a good if not a great father, my mother was around up to her death and I even had Shane to fill in the blanks when my father was absent.

"Yes, she was young when I got the first call, maybe around three. I watched her grow up through police reports."

Life through police reports, was it really that bad? I remember the bruises but some had to have been from reckless playground activity like my bruised and scraped-up knees were.

The broken arm flickered in my mind, she had no other signatures and she came over with a small backpack. She had gone straight from the hospital to my home, her dad didn't care, in fact, he probably broke it.