𝐂𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐒.
chapter thirty-seven; Hurt
" He was only a bad person when he was angry, but he was always angry. "

  ZEPPELIN AND CARL ate stale cereal in silence. Rick was still sleeping, and Zeppelin didn't want to disturb him, so she didn't.

  Carl had found some books and had started reading one, while Zeppelin picked at the cereal slowly and unsurely.

  "He's still not awake," Zeppelin said quietly.

  Carl looked to her, pausing before putting away his book and nodding. She followed him downstairs, the two approaching Rick who had chosen to sleep on a sofa in front of the door.

  He was still passed out, still bloodied and bruised, still breathing raggedly.

  "Dad?" Carl said, kicking his father's foot. 

  He looked to Zeppelin, who gave him a small shrug. Carl knelt at his father's side, empty cereal bowl in hand.

  "Dad, wake up," He tried again, putting the bowl down to shake the man, "Wake up. Come on. Wake up. Wake up! Wake up!"

  "Hey, maybe he's just--" Zeppelin tried, placing a hand on Carl's shoulder.

  The boy shot away from her touch, just as the familiar sounds of walkers erupted from the other side of the door.

  Zeppelin stepped back as Carl stood.

  "I'll go around back--"

  "I can come with you, just let me get my bow," Zeppelin said quietly, already starting toward the stairs.

  "Just stay here," Carl declined, "You'll only hold me back, anyway."

  Zeppelin recoiled, her hands tightening around the stair banister as Carl scoffed, taking off toward the back door.

  The girl took a seat on the couch beside Rick's legs as she heard the door close and open. She looked at him, the walker sounds subsiding after a couple of moments.

  "Please wake up soon?" She whispered, "We can't do this alone."

  Zeppelin twisted her lips to the side, standing with a plan in mind. She worked quickly, heading upstairs and finding what she needed before returning to the man, still passed out on the couch.

  She'd helped her mom loads of times, and this was no different. It was simple. Disinfect, rinse, and bandage. Disinfect, rinse, and bandage.

  Zeppelin grimaced as she poured alcohol onto a washcloth-- it was the only disinfectant she'd found and hoped Rick would stay asleep to avoid the sting. She pressed the cloth to his face-- his mouth twitched but he remained otherwise still.

  So Zeppelin kept on. 

  She cleaned his face the best she could, using the alcohol and water sparingly, before pulling the small roll of gauze she'd found, covering the open wounds on his forehead and cheek. She frowned at the poor first aid, but gently dampened a washcloth, lifting the man's head to rest it on the back of his neck.

  "Here," She said softly, resting her water bottle in the crook of his arm, "You'll be thirsty when you wake up."

    The girl breathed out shakily, looking over him again.

  "You'll need food, too," Zeppelin realized, "I know you have some in that bag, but I totally managed to steal the last Twinkie. . . Let me get it."

  The girl waited, as if for a reply, before heading upstairs to her room. She knelt at her bag, opening it and rifling through-- she had too many unimportant things in there. But. she reminded herself they were important. Even if they weren't survival supplies, they still mattered.

  Zeppelin had managed to take some medical supplies from the prison, as well as grabbing a Led Zeppelin shirt her mother had bought her, and three of the books Dale gifted her. She had a flashlight from Hershel, a pair of wool socks from Maggie, and a compass Daryl had brought back for her.

  And at the bottom of it all sat a squished Twinkie.

  She smiled lightly finding it, starting back downstairs only to halt at the sound of a voice.

 Zeppelin peered down the stairs, watching Carl talk to his unconscious father-- berating the man for not saving those who had died or been separated, for ignoring the threat of the Governor. He yelled, in anger and sadness and grief, and Zeppelin only walked down when she heard his final words.

  "They counted on you, you were their leader!" Carl yelled before his voice turned quiet. "But now you're nothing. I'd be fine if you died."

  "You don't mean that," Zeppelin said suddenly, startling the boy, "Take it back."

  "No."

  "Take it back, Carl," She said, hurrying down the stairs, "You can't say stuff like that--"

  "Why not?!"

  "Because that's a terrible thing to say," Zeppelin argued, "You wouldn't be fine if he died, and you know it--"

  "I can protect myself--"

  "It's not about that," Zeppelin urged, "He's your dad, Carl. Everything bad that happened is not his fault-- it's not anybody's fault except for the Governor, we all did what we could when--"

  "You don't even know what you're talking about!"

  "Yes, I do, it was a horrible thing that happened, and a lot of people have died, but you can't blame--"

  "Just shut up," Carl yelled, "You were happy hiding, too-- drawing pictures like a little kid instead of helping your mom. Well, guess what, Zeppelin, your mom is probably dead, and even if she is alive, she's better off without you."

  Tears brimmed in her eyes but Carl was too swallowed by his own grief and anger to see it.

  "Just stay with him, you guys can go play farmer together," Carl spat, taking off toward the back door.

  "Carl, you can't go out alone--!"

  "Try and stop me."

  Zeppelin lowered herself to the ground, unable to stop the onslaught of tears as they fell. The girl pulled her knees to her chest, crying to no one as she did.

  Maybe Carl was just angry, and nothing he said was true or honest. 

  Or maybe he meant it. Maybe it was something he'd held onto that came out just now, maybe everything he said was true-- that Zeppelin only dragged her mother down and she should've helped more. Tried harder.

  Zeppelin didn't know, but after the initial sobs calmed, she scooted until her back rested against the sofa Rick slept on. 

  And she sat there until night came and Carl returned.

  He tossed a faded candy bar at her, the girl looking up with red-rimmed eyes.

  "It's your favorite, right? Caramel and peanuts."

  Zeppelin blinked, pushing herself to her feet.

  She said nothing as she walked right past him, leaving the candy bar on the ground beside her, and shutting the door to her room.

  Where she stayed all night.

🗡

  Someone knocked early that morning. Zeppelin didn't speak, but the door opened, and Carl stood quietly.

  "My dad's awake now," He said after a moment. "He wants to say thank you. For takin' care of his face."

  Zeppelin didn't move, even as Carl approached her and sat on the side of her bed.

  "I didn't. . . mean what I said," He spoke, "I was just. . ."

  "Angry," Zeppelin supplied quietly.

  Carl nodded.

  She had not moved, still, tucked tightly under that flowered quilt, staring at the wall instead of Carl.

  "My dad called me worthless every day for as long as I can remember," She whispered. "Said I wasn't smart enough, strong enough. Said I didn't talk right or clean right. Said I was too fat or too skinny. Too loud or too quiet. No matter what I did, I was wrong."

  Carl frowned deeply as she finally looked at him.

  "He hit my mom. He hurt her. I could hear it-- I could hear her begging him to stop, or begging him to beat her quieter," She continued softly, "And then my dad beat me. He was only a bad person when he was angry, but he was always angry."

  Zeppelin pushed herself up so she was sitting.

  "My. . . my mom used to tell me that it's okay to be hurt. Or angry. Or upset. . . but it's never okay to hurt people," She said, shrugging, "So. . . I dunno. Maybe you're right. Maybe you would be fine without your dad, and my mom would be better off without me. . . but you don't get to say it to hurt people just 'cause you're upset."

  Carl looked down, his frown still prevalent.

  "You can't take stuff like that back," Zeppelin said quietly, "I'm just glad he didn't hear you."

  Carl didn't know what to say or do. He didn't even know what to think at the moment.

  But Zeppelin stood up, walking downstairs without another word to him.

  "Hey," Rick smiled as she approached with Carl in tow, "Thank you. For this."

  "It's no problem," Zeppelin said quietly, "Really. I used to do it all the time."

  Rick's expression sobered, but he lifted a hand to ruffle the girl's hair fondly, scooting over on the couch and offering some of the food Carl had brought back.

  Carl stood, watching the interaction for a moment, and that's when it hit him. It had been staring him in the face, and he felt so stupid he hadn't seen it earlier.

  It was why Zeppelin hated Carl's words to his father, why Zeppelin had lingered back to help Rick, why Zeppelin let Dean fawn over her, why she followed Daryl around with a grin.

  These were the first men she had ever met who were kind to her.

  Carl wasn't sure what he would do if he had grown up with a cruel mother or father. He couldn't imagine not having that love, so it made perfect sense why Zeppelin accepted it from all those around her; perhaps a piece of affection from each of them could amount to what she should have had in the very first place.

  "You haven't played any jacks?" Rick questioned with a half-smile, "Really?"

  "No, not since I beat Glenn," Zeppelin admitted, her own smile forming.

  "Well, then, I know exactly--"

  The trio froze as a knock sounded on the door. Carl and Rick grabbed their guns quickly, the latter leaning up to peer through the peephole.

  He grinned, resting back on the sofa and turning to the kids.

  "It's for you two."

WORD COUNT : 1724