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C A R L

The sound of thousands of drops of water recoiling off of the shower tile echoes from the other side of the closed bathroom door.

Standing guard while the girl takes the first shower, my hands rummage through the box of things that Jessie brought me. The woman kindly gave me some of her eldest son's old stuff. She said that he's been dying to meet us.

My hands find a thin strap, the unfamiliar piece of fabric not ringing a bell of anything I've ever worn.

As I pull on the strap, the fabric gets stuck on something else in the box. Using a bit more force, I'm finally able to pull it out of the box, revealing a thin bra. I study the foreign fabric in my hands, not knowing what to do. My focus consumes me as I clearly didn't hear the water from the shower come to a stop.

"I think I grabbed the wrong stuff." The girl says, peaking her head out of the bathroom door.

I quickly shove the bra back into the box, acting as if I was looking for something else, when really I was just burying it underneath the other clothes.

"Yeah, I think you might have." I manage to choke out.

The girl fully opens the bathroom door and there she stands.

Her long hair drips with water droplets as it cascades down her back, moved completely away from her front side. A clean, white towel is wrapped around her small frame, hiding what's trying to creep from underneath. Her collarbones are scattered with beaded drops of the drying water. The skin of her neck clings inward tightly as she has not yet had the nutrition needed to fill out the sunken-in areas.

I avert my eyes from the freshly-showered girl and turn back toward the box of clothes that lies on the untouched bed.

The sheets being freshly made as neither of us have actually used them nor slept through the night. Instead, we both stayed awake in the living room to take guard, which eventually led to us catching up about what happened during our time apart.

"Here you go," I breathe out. My flustered hands grab the box and walk it over to where she's standing. As I approach her, the steam from the bathroom and the floral scent of soap hits my nostrils in the most pleasing way.

Megan reaches her arms out for the box, taking it in her grasp. Her towel moves down a bit as she grips onto it, exposing another inch or so of the shadowy curves that were once behind it.

"I won't take too much longer." She clears her throat before turning around and walking back into the bathroom. The girl then places the box down on the countertop and flips her hair to the side before readjusting the towel, lifting it a slight bit.

From behind the layer of her damp hair, the pink, jagged gashes on her back peak out above the top of her towel. Ignoring her words, I continue to stare at the open skin of her back, before she unexpectedly meets my gaze within the foggy edges of the mirror.

"They're going to treat them today," She starts, not turning around to face me, and also, now avoiding the reflection of my eyes in the mirror. "The cuts." She mumbles, clearly not sounding fond of trusting others to take care of something so serious. "After that, I'm helping readjust Eric's ankle. Pete said it was dislocated. What do they have you doing today?"

"I'm going talk to Aaron about his plan, and then Jessie wanted me to go visit her son." I say. My statement not being nearly as significant as Megan's. She gets to undergo proper treatment for her wounds as well as help someone who's injured, and I have a meeting followed by a glorified play-date. "I think I'll head over there while you're getting fixed up. Then, we can meet back here when we're both done."

"Sounds good to me." The girl says, meeting my eyes in the mirror. "You know—after I get dressed." A grin creeps on her face before she uses the back of her foot to gently kick the bathroom door closed.

☆

"Deanna really told you that you guys don't have to go to school?" Ron asks me in awe.

The boy and I lean against his freshly-dusted, granite countertops. After a meeting with Aaron and Eric, and a very awkward introduction to the two other teens of Alexandria, the coddled, sheltered boy was pushy for my stay.

"Yeah."

"Man, I wish that I didn't have to go to school. Sometimes I really take a second to th—" I pretend to listen to the rest of what he's saying as I try to get used to smelling of such cleanliness. The clean air from my body wafts into my nostrils as the boy continues to speak.

The sticky feeling against my skin was something I'd gotten used to. Now, my skin remains supple after being cleansed with warm, clean water and soap. My hair, once greasy and tangled, now slightly fluffed and swooping outward from right above my shoulders. The clean, dry hairs gently tickle the back of my neck as opposed to sticking to it.

I feel a breeze—from the working ceiling fan—swipe across the top of my head as I navigate my day completely hatless. After showering, Megan said I shouldn't ruin my freshly clean hair with the sweat-saturated leather. She had a point.

Interrupting both my thoughts and Ron's rambling, the front door slams shut from the other side of the house. The boy straightens his posture at the anticipation of whoever is coming into the kitchen with their heavy footsteps.

In walks a tall man, his plaid sweater-vest pulled tightly over his blue, button-up shirt. Long, wrinkle-free khakis cascade down his large legs, those of which he uses to stomp his way into the kitchen.

"Ron," The man starts, a serious look plays on his face as he sees the boy across from me. Then his eyes land on me. His harsh look doesn't last long before a friendly facade takes over, raising the corners of the man's lips. "Oh—I didn't know we still had company." The man says, walking over to me and holding his hand out. "How's it going buddy? I'm Pete." Buddy.

"Carl." I say, raising my hand to meet the soft, pampered skin of the man's large hand. The skin feeling nothing like that of my father's palm. Our hands move in sync as the man does the shaking for the both of us.

"Oh, you're Carl?" Pete remarks, a sudden look of realization hitting his face. "Eric and Aaron brought you in yesterday, right?"

"Mhm." I nod my head.

"I just patched up your friend in the infirmary. She took it like a champ." He starts, leaning back against the countertop, across from his son and next to me. "Even started her medical training right after. She's a quick learner. Lovely girl."

"I haven't gotten the chance to meet her yet." Ron starts, inserting himself in the man's one-sided conversation. "I'm sure Enid would be thrilled to know there's another girl around." Ron sarcastically remarks. His black hole of an energy-sucking girlfriend would probably put teenage girl last on her list of things she'd enjoy.

"Maybe you should give Enid a break and start hanging out with the new girl," Pete starts. "She'd probably be a much better influence on you than that littl—"

"Dad." Ron clears his throat at his fateher's borderline pushy statement.

Almost chuckling at the scene before me, the problems that these sheltered people are faced with, entertain me on more than one level. The first is the simplicity of the problem, and the comedic overstepping of a protective parent. The second is the pointless, superficial bullshit that only these people would have to worry about.

"All I'm saying is that she's a nice girl." Pete lets out a laugh, retreating from his statement about his son's own girlfriend. "Right, Carl?" The man nudges my arm with his elbow.

"I guess you could say th—" I start, fully ready to entertain the man. My voice soon gets cut off by the sound of the front door slamming, once again.

The thuds of petite footsteps echo against the wooden floor of the living room, until the pitch of the noise changes as Jessie steps into the tile of the kitchen. She shuffles along too quickly to take notice of the awkward outsider standing in her kitchen.

"Where's my kit?" The woman asks Pete over her shoulder. She then kneels down and begins rummaging through cabinets in her bathroom at the beginning of the hall. "I offered the new girl a haircut. How lovely is she?" The woman stops amidst her words and rummaging, and looks at the three of us in the kitchen. When she sees me, she quickly stands to her feet.

"Where are my manners?" The blonde woman huffs out. Her small footsteps glide around the corner of the kitchen island. "You look like you're in need of a trim. Did you want one after I'm done with Megan's?"

"Oh—no, I'm good. Thank you, though." I mutter, declining her offer.

"Okay." The woman says, her expression barely falling short of a playful pout. "I guess I'll see you at the party, then." She smiles at me before jogging up the stairs, sending echoes throughout the house.

Right. Deanna is throwing a so-called celebration for us tomorrow night.

She said that after Megan and I have the chance to get settled in, that the community wants to host a traditional mixer. Something that would expand our social circle in the new place. The woman calls it an act of gratitude for our hand in the leadership of this place. I call it putting on a show.

"Yeah, see you then."

☆

After finally managing to escape the Anderson household, I decided to steer clear of our house, as long as Jessie was still in there cutting Megan's over-grown hair.

My boots shuffle through the overgrown grass that surrounds the interior of the metal walls. The practical way of killing time has me walking my fourth or fifth consecutive lap of the community.

There's nowhere else to go that will guarantee I won't run into any others. There's no escape in this overbearing, tight-knit community. So, my only choice is to kick rocks—literally—and wait until Jessie is done with Megan's hair.

It hasn't been hard to miss that the girl is excelling here, in this new place—with these new faces. Now that I think about it, her people-skills never really had a chance to shine back at the prison. Her history was practically written on the walls when we found her, debilitating any chance of her having a social life.

Meeting all of these new people who don't know her story, gives her the chance to have a fresh start, something I should be trying to take advantage of as well.

But instead, I'm choking. Everything I resented at the prison is making its presence known here, and I'm letting it. I'm just another useless kid with nothing to do. The guilt I feel from having even a few days behind these walls is immeasurable.

It feels even worse knowing that if my group isn't already dead, that they don't have the same opportunity that I do. Even though they're actually deserving of it. One thing is keeping me from up and leaving to go find the group myself, and that's the girl.

I don't know what to feel or think about how Megan is doing right now. She has an assignment already. She helped people in the infirmary today. She let Pete suture her back. Not to mention how good she is with these people in general. Everyone who meets her craves just a few more moments in her presence. To be fair, who wouldn't?

And as for me, I've piqued the interest of Ron. Maybe Mikey. I haven't helped, I haven't contributed. I got a warm shower, a hot meal, clean clothes, an entire house and a welcome party. And I've done nothing to deserve any of it.

My footsteps slow their pace, relieving the rustling grass. Further down the wall, I see Enid. She places pegs in the holes of the metal support and uses them hoist herself up so she sits on the top.

The paranoid girl looks over her shoulder to see if anyone is watching her, knowing what she's doing is frowned upon. I quickly jog behind one of the houses, out of her view. I'm already not fitting in here, I don't want her to think that I'm stalking her or something.

But if I hadn't been posted at the edge of these walls, no one would know about the girl's dangerous hobby. There could be several other safety breaches that these people are missing. Not that I blame Enid. In all honesty, if I was in here for eight months, I'd probably drive myself crazy and find a way to do the same.

I continue my path in between the two houses, and make my way to the street. The familiar porch swing creaks as a gust of wind gently blows it back and forth and I realize that this is the house we were in yesterday, where Deanna interviewed us.

My feet shuffle a bit faster across the yard and they don't plan on stopping until I make it onto the street. That is, until I hear the screen of Deanna's front door screech open.

"Carl," The woman starts, her raspy, aged voice projecting across the lawn. "Just the person I wanted to see." I turn around to face her, the distance between us is a bit too far to have a conversation. "Why don't you come on inside?" She steps out of the way of the door, holding it open.

I make my way across the lawn and up the few porch steps, giving the woman a nod of gratitude as she holds the door open for me. The clicking of her heels echoes from behind me and the screen door snaps back into place.

"I take it you've been wondering about your assignment." The woman says, a blatant mystery behind how she's come to know what I'm feeling. Whether or not it's an assumption or an observation, she is right.

I nod.

"It's taken me a long time to understand that a natural-born leader thrives on opportunity. And without it, they might do just the opposite." She subtly waves her wise finger around. "So, I think that you—Carl need to be given that opportunity."

Her words make sense. They do. But in what context, I don't know. Especially, having to do with me in anyway, I am completely lost. The poise in which she hosts the one-sided conversation, guides me along as if I'm on a tour or watching a film, being lead to a suspenseful conclusion.

"Follow me." Deanna slickly demands. She then begins walking around her kitchen table and then leans both of her palms on its shiny surface.

I approach her from the other side and trace my eyes to the top of the table. Laid across its wooden surface is a large map, several annotations in red ink mark the local grid, some farther away from Alexandria than others.

"Well, Carl," The woman says, tearing her eyes from the map and flicking them up to meet mine. I stand taller, slightly looking down at her. "I don't have your assignment as of yet, but I do have something else in mind for you. A project." My hopes of finally getting a role in the community are soon replaced with disappointment.

Why would the woman bring up my assignment just to tell me she still doesn't know it yet?

"Like what?" I breathe out.

"Something more," She sighs, the word dancing around on the tip of her tongue. "Temporary."

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A/N

I love these chapters so much omg

Carl's a loner and Megan's making connections bc she's not grungy :)

☆ vote if you want the group back xoxo☆