Sage ➸ Carl Grimes

5 ➸ ivory

{Angels on the Moon by Thriving Ivory}

S A G E

The warm sun filtered through the boarded up windows, and I felt the beam hit the right of my face. It tickled the skin in a delightful way. I had forgotten what the sun felt like; it had seemed like years since the clouds cleared from the sky, and I was there to be able to witness it.

It felt like noon, but I couldn't have been sure. For all I knew, it could have been five in the evening, but there was no way of me telling.

My hands were settled on the kitchen table, and I sat on the shaky, wood chair. The sun was bright and my body was briefly fed, but my hands felt empty.

Carl had my knife, and without it slid between my fingers, I didn't feel safe. I guarded myself with the knife I was passed down with, but I also harmed my very own skin with the blade of protection.

My head pounded, and I had to grab my temples to soothe it. Carl's pleading cries for 'Judith' taunted my memory. Last night, Carl's eyes were soft and vulnerable, and he had tears filling up at the edges and he was afraid.

I held him, I reminded myself. He reached for me and took me into his arms, and I aided him. He was vulnerable and needy and afraid of the visions in his dream; and he yearned for my embrace to soothe them.

Something hit him that night, and he pulled away from me. The frown hit the boy's face and his eyes fell into their crucial colour; like a midnight sky.

Carl's feet clunked down the staircase, and I jumped a little at the careless noise. I stared down to my hands and didn't bother turning around to greet his eyes. The night before had set a different barrier between us; and I wasn't entirely sure of what it was.

I heard his feet shuffle, and could only imagine what his tired self would act like. I heard him approach me slowly, but it wasn't hesitance that swallowed his ragged footsteps.

A body brushed past me smoothly, entering the kitchen. Carl had his shirt back over his body, but he wore baggy sweats he must have found in the upstairs bedroom. Carl's eyes were bright and wandered around the kitchen nosily. His hair was tangled and he sighed a little, knowing I was in the room with him but didn't bother to embrace the fact.

He rubbed his eyes and blinked, and I watched him silently.

"Morning," I said, my voice small.

Carl turned around once he stood next to the granite island countertop, turning to face me. His eyes were weighed down and he kept touching his face to wake up.

"Mmph. Yeah," Carl tried to say, but he shook his head and turned around.

The air was tense and warm and I almost wanted to choke on it. He kept his back facing me as he sat down on one of the high stools, pulling out his gun. Carl set it on the counter and began playing with the bullets, but I didn't know much because his broad back was hiding me from seeing it. I heard the clattering of the bullets from his gun, and I flinched every time.

I stared at the back of his head, and tried to admire the fullness of his dark, brown, shagging hair. I envisioned his tight, bare chest, closing my eyes and scolding myself to stop.

"You said...we were heading out today?" I spoke up, hesitant.

Carl didn't flinch; and he made no move to give me his attention. I heard him mess with the magazine to his handgun and I watched him raggedly do so, longing for his voice.

"You can stay back," Carl said, with zero interest or invested care in his dull words.

"But...I want to come with you," I told him, my mouth frowning. He waited a moment, and my urgency grew. "You said..."