"𝐜𝐨𝐰𝐛𝐨𝐲 𝐥𝐢𝐤𝐞 𝐦𝐞„

four, downfall

SHE SHOVED EVERYTHING SHE could fit into a small backpack, not caring to fold it neatly. Frustrated with herself and, her mom, she angrily zipped it shut, sitting down on the end of her bed. Her future alone was stuffed in this bag, along with her past.

She buried her head in her hands, coming to grips with what a big decision this was. What she was leaving behind, ultimately for a mother who had abandoned her. Who had left with no fight, and complete agreement, according to Rick.

The thoughts she had been fighting had slowly crept back into her subconscious, beating her at her own game. There was one thing she knew to be true: her mother was strong. And if she was out there, she was surviving. Over the past few days, she had been re-assessing her mom's habits and behaviours. If she was able to kill three people un-regrettably, and left the group with little to no protest, she hadn't been who Jane thought she was.

She was a survivor, disguised behind a weak, fragile woman.

That's exactly what Jane was going to be. She was going to survive, she was going to be like her mother. She was going to be like Carl.

She slung her bag over one shoulder, just in her T-shirt and jeans. With her knife sheath connected to her left thigh by a belted strap and her boots laced tight, she was ready to go. Moonlight illuminated the hallways perfectly, the floor absorbing the light as it created abstract shapes on the walls.

Her fingers traced the walls yet again, following the chipping lines of paint that was applied for some cheap, easy decoration years ago. The ground beneath her made no sound as she moved, almost as if she wasn't even there. Almost as if, it didn't make a difference wether she was or not.

When she approached the hallway filled with Glenn's captures, the sadness hit once again, like a tsunami on an already troubled island. She would have to leave all of this behind. Everyone that had protected her, all these years. Everything that kept her happy. This was what she was living for, so why was she ripping herself away from it?

Her eyes immediately sped over to the Polaroid of her and Carl. It hurt to even think about him, so she was pushing the thought of leaving him as far away as possible. She had avoided him all day, on purpose - and she was sure he knew it. She was going to grab the picture of the two of them, but stopped. Surely, if she were to leave now, Carl would need a reminder of what she looks like. No, she wouldn't take this one.

Instead, another photo caught her attention. A portrait of Carl, just Carl. The sunlight was hitting his face, lighting it up as much as possible. His eyes flushed baby blue in the incandescence, his hair pushed back behind his ears. His hat hung in his hands, as he leaned on his knees, baring his teeth in a wide charismatic smile. Yes, this was the one.

She folded it neatly into her pocket, unlike her other possessions which were rammed in her tiny backpack.

She moved on, looking into each cell, stopping at a particular one. Carl grimes slept soundly, snoring a little. A grin found its way across her lips as she watched his chest fall up and down through the ice cold bars. One of his arms was crossed over, hanging off one side of the bed.

And, quite suddenly, she wished dearly that he would wake up and convince her not to go. She wanted him to beg for her to stay, and tell her her life would be better here. With him.

She forced herself to look away, pushing only a few steps forward before sinking down against the wall and dumping her backpack on the ground. She didn't know what to do. Just one look at Carl had thrown her ideas in all sorts of different directions.