dromomania |carl grimes|

23

mentions of rape and abuse

BREAK

Rowan moments later was unconscious on the couch, the empty bottle of tequila on the floor after it fell from his hand.

"I wanna go to bed," I beg the boy next to me.

Carl nods quickly. He helps me off the couch, the floor was uneven so I stumbled, almost over the coffee table. 

My legs are either made of jello or have been swapped with the legs of a baby giraffe that was just born in Africa. The architect for this house clearly was not planning for a drunken teen to be let loose in this terrain. My eyes are heavy, craving sleep but I know I can't sleep on the floor or on the couch because Rowan's dumb ass decided he wanted to sleep on our couch when he has a perfectly fine bed just two houses to the right down.

Carl helps me upstairs, acting as a crutch to get up the stairs, I almost lose him on some occasions. He gets me to bed, Carl takes his hat off and sets it on the bedside table. 

It takes me back to the times I was taken advantage of, it wasn't Carl crawling into bed with me, I wasn't almost 20. I was young with that creep from the high school camp putting his hands on me when Elowen was on watch. His hands burnt like fire, not the comforting warmth of Vodka but like bleach poured on open skin, he smelt worse than the dead that we were supposed to be safe from. I was alone and by God, I felt completely alone when that old man touches me. That man was worse than the dead that Elowen was keeping me safe from. He violated my calves, my thighs, my chest, and everything in between, he violated my 13-year-old body because he felt he had the power. He has the power to ruin my life, he may not be a name like Negan or like the dead man who killed Elowen but God, I can't go a day without seeing him. 

He didn't hurt me in the same way that my father did. The various types of abuse I would undergo from my father drunk and sober was so long, so long it'd make Negan look like a Youth Pastor. He would burn me with his blunts or with the metal prod used to shove those pieces of unruly firewood back into their spot. He broke a bottle of Coors Light over my head when I was 3, I know that from the police reports I found. I have a scar that is hidden by my bangs just to the tip of my right eyebrow, I knew what it was from but no one else needed to. I told Elowen it was a window from the apocalypse era but I know she had a clue. He would bruise me like I was a soccer ball that was donated to a children's center, it was no one's property so why would they treat it with any respect? One time I spoke back, he tried to kill me, he poured bleach down my throat. I was six years old, I threw up for days, and my throat is still so fragile. I didn't call 911, I called Rick. Rick and his partner showed up and took me to the hospital because I didn't trust anyone else. 

"Stop! Stop!" I cry out. That's when I felt it, I felt the thing that I had kept hidden for so long. I was so weak for so long, I fought against this my whole life. A tear slid down my cheek, I know he saw it, I had sobered up quickly after the scare. A salty clear drop fell from my eye to my cheek to my hand as I tried to cover it. I gasp in frustration at the betrayal. The betrayal that I worked so hard to bury the habit of, was damn near impossible but crying fixes nothing inside or outside of the apocalypse. 

"Alora, it's okay. It's just me," He tells me with a gentle smile. 

I hug the boy tightly, I can feel my body betraying me. More tears, more emotions that I kept hidden for so long. Carl's shirt grows damp with my salty tears, I know he feels them, he can see me breaking. There's no point in crying, it won't fix anything, won't bring Elowen back to life, won't magically make my issues go away. 

"You can cry, no one will know. Lora, it is just me."

Carl holds me, rubbing circles on my back. He is comfort and as much as I'm against it, he is my home and he may never know. I don't want to tell him because then I'm speaking it into reality and if I tell the world what my home is, the universe will take it away. The universe strives to take away the things that make me feel safe. It took Elowen away, it wouldn't stop at Carl or Sainte or Rowan or even Alexandria. A threat like Negan is too much to risk when I talk about my future, I cannot sabotage myself. 

"I care about you so much, you can talk to me, Alora."

I nod, "I know, I care about you too."

He kisses my forehead and wipes any existing tears away. My face was tinted red and I could feel my throat burning, the throat that had toxic chemicals and alcohol that should have killed me, I don't know what things would be like for others if I were dead. I didn't cause the end of the world so I can't expect any different outcome there. Carl would have never seen me again but I doubt he would remember me after that long without his father's input. 

"You've had a long day, if you want we can talk about this tomorrow. We don't have to, if you ever want to I will listen to anything you have to say."

I don't remember much else from that night, I do remember waking up in Carl's arms again. His freckled arms reminded me of when I would explore outside alone when I was young, four or so, in the Georgian forested areas. I would get so muddy and have to clean off in the neighbor's pool, they were never home, I reckon they used the house as a summer house, almost like a snowbird escape. 

His dark brown hair was so soft, it is hard to believe that he lived outside these walls for what sounded like a long while. He spoke highly of his group and he loves them but I know he sees the faults, he's not stupid. Carl has never been stupid, he was uninformed but who expects a child to grasp the concept of a runaway kid sleeping on their couch because her dad beats her? 

When you're drunk you sleep well, that is one thing I have learned from my years around alcohol. I don't have dreams when I'm drunk so that means I don't have nightmares either. One thing I can thank my horrible father for is my quick recovery, I rarely ever am hungover no matter how much I drink. Sometimes I want to feel the pain of the headache because I know the alcohol doesn't pain me anymore, I need to feel.