ESME
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Esme was a pretty girl.

Or, at least she was at some point in her life.

That wasn't typically what people said about her anymore.

It was a brisk autumn morning, bringing a chill to the room. As the morning sun filtered through the blinds, Esme opened her eyes. She drew in a long breath through her nose, rolling over and stretching her back in a wide arch.

It was their first morning within the Alexandria community, and her bones ached from the night spent on the thin material of her sleeping bag, but she felt refreshed. She had showered for the first time in months last night, had a full meal, and slept a full night, with Carl sound asleep beside her.

He was entangled in his bedding, the hard floor beneath him seemingly not disturbing his deep slumber as soft snores flooded past his parted lips. It seemed he felt just as renewed as she did.

Due to the uncertainty of safety that Alexandria still held, the group had collectively decided it would be best to spend the night all in one house. It proved rather uncomfortable since the house didn't provide enough beds, and everyone now slept on couches and sleeping bags in the living room.

Esme didn't mind the discomfort, though; she was just grateful to be sheltered.

She sat up, letting out a content sigh before she turned to Carl. She brushed a bit of his hair away from his face, his eyes fluttering open. He grumbled in protest at the disturbance.

"We have to get up," she explained quietly to the waking boy, pushing his bangs back from his forehead. She giggled at his disoriented expression.

It only took him a moment to process his surroundings before his eyes lit up. He sat, grabbed the comically large sheriff's hat that rested on a chair behind them, and placed it atop his head. His long, unbrushed, brown hair sat messily under it, stray hairs wisping around his face.

Esme pushed the thick blanket off her legs as she sat up to rub her eyes. The smell of boiling coffee infiltrated her scent. It was odd, surrounded by something so normal. The light chatter in the room still possessed a tense weight from the change, but it was gradually lifting. She could see it.

Some people had already risen and left the house, while others were just waking, and some—like Tara—had yet to notice the appearing sun. Esme brought her knees to her chest, curling her tired body up to stand. Carl followed suit.

She slouched into the kitchen, her feet dragging against the hardwood in her thin socks. The cold ground sent shivers up her waking body.

Rick and Michonne were putting together breakfast, though they didn't have a very good idea of what it would be as they fumbled around with various ingredients. It was apparent they, too, were just as mentally stumped by the normalcy of Alexandria.

Judith sat on the counter, slapping flour in her hands and giggling each time the white dust would explode from her palms. Esme figured, as long as she was enjoying herself.

As the teenagers entered the kitchen, Daryl took notice, standing against the wall, conversing with Glenn and Maggie.

"Don't be runnin' around today," he spoke with a mouthful of cereal, pointing his dripping spoon in her direction. "Stay inside. We still gotta scope everything out."

Though his words were disappointing to hear, Esme gave a confirming smile as she panned through the cupboards. "Okay."

"I'm serious. Stay inside."

She nodded exaggeratedly at his repetition. "I know."

"That goes for you too, Carl," Michonne added, a playful hint to her tone as she flashed him a smile. He huffed, nodding along.

"Naturally," he mumbled, sitting down on a chair by the kitchen island. Esme handed him an apple, which he lazily crunched into. She grabbed her own and sat opposite him.

"What do you wanna do today?" Carl rasped, hardly awake. The disappointment had knocked him right back out.

Esme shrugged, gnawing at the tough green skin of her apple. They had originally planned to check things out, but now that was shot. "Dunno. Not much we really can do."

Esme looked to the front door as their people flooded in and out—all driven with some kind of motive. She pondered what things they could be doing, how they were needed, and why she didn't get that privilege.

As time passed, it was just Carl and Esme left in the home. They distracted themselves by watching dust motes float in the shaft of light through the big picture window in the living room.

They waited patiently until finally, Rick came through the door. The two teens perked, a glint of hope in their eyes as he walked over with Judith in his arms.

"I'm gonna go shower," he gruffed, pawning the toddler off into Carl's care. "You two watch her, I'll be a minute." Without another word, he jogged up the stairs and departed with the slamming of the bathroom door.

Esme's boredom returned full force. For a moment, she'd believed Rick had returned to ensure they hadn't been forgotten, to give them a task, a purpose, but alas, no. All he needed was a daycare while he got to go on living his new brilliant life.

Judith babbled from where she sat on Carl's lap. He let out a tired sigh, most likely having the same disappointment. "If he's gonna take forever, then let's just go walk around. I don't wanna be inside all day."

Looking out the window, Esme could see all the people on the streets. The community was full, vibrant, and bursting with life. It was something she hadn't considered in her previous plan for the day. Due to the attack of her mother all those years ago, Esme was left in bad shape; a body covered in scars, a mangled face, missing fingers, and chipped teeth. If she were to go out, she'd be revealed to these people, their virgin eyes laid upon her mangled face. It wasn't an appealing thought.

"C'mon," Carl urged, not giving her time to wallow. "It's not about the people. It's about us, right? We want to see this place."

Esme's shoulders slumped. Of course, he was right. He was always right. And, plus, she didn't want to weigh Carl down any more than she already did. He deserved to explore, even if the mere thought was sickening to her. She wasn't granted the same luxury as most. If she wanted to meet new people, she had to conceal her appearance.

So, to appease Carl, that's what she did.

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The two had spent their morning strolling the sidewalks, basking in the feeling of normality and inspecting the neighborhood. Esme felt it was a selfish act to let their walls down so easily, but it was long-awaited. If even just for a day she could pretend everything was as it was, it'd be enough.

She'd wrapped her fogged eye in bandages, just as she'd been taught to do by Hershel back in the prison all those years ago. She placed a bandage over one of the gorier gashes on her right cheek. It didn't completely hide her looks, but it masked enough to appear as just unfortunate surface injuries. She layered herself in a beige sweater and jeans, a simple way to hide the body scars. As for her hands, she just kept them tucked away, out of sight.

The teenagers found themselves at the bottom of an elderly couple's porch steps. The couple had taken a keen interest in Judith, as not many people here had seen a baby in a long time.

One thing Esme had noticed about each of the residents they happened to speak with, was that they all seemed to disregard the world beyond the sanctuary walls. In a way, they behaved as if they were completely unaware.

"How'd you get those awful scars, sweetheart?" The rickety words of the elderly woman quizzed from where she rocked on her chair. "I'll bet you've got a beautiful face under all that..."

Esme bloomed a soft smile. The words stung, yes, but she'd trained herself not to take offense. For just a moment, she thought about telling the old woman exactly where the scars came from. "Oh, my mom did it," she imagined herself saying so casually.

But in the end, she just said, "You know—monsters, people. Things can get out of hand." She always tried to be as vague as possible. Whenever she bothered to tell the truth, people always reacted with the same disgusted sympathy.

The woman shared an unsure glance with her husband. "My, my—is it that bad out there?"

Carl took notice of the uncomfortable topic switch as he presented the baby in his arms more forcefully to the older couple. They returned their attention to Judith, cooing and babbling at the stone-faced toddler. They poked and prodded her, commenting on her 'chubby cheeks' and 'tiny hands.'

Esme was lucky they were so easily distracted; she'd had that question asked by almost everyone they met.

She understood, of course, that her appearance was hard to look past.

As she sat with her painted smile, Esme caught sight of the approaching Rick just beyond the railing. She nudged Carl gently to alert him to his father's oncoming presence. He followed her gesture, excusing himself from the couple as Esme followed suit, the two of them walking over to meet Rick on the sidewalk. He had an unfamiliar expression to him.

"Hey, you two," Rick started, his tone uneasy as he squinted against the sun. His posture was stiff, hands fidgeting at his belt. "So, one of the residents here in Alexandria, Jessie, has a kid around your age. She thinks you guys would have fun, and invited you both over to meet him." He gestured awkwardly behind him as if trying to convince himself of the idea.

As promised, a blonde, kind-faced woman stood, a smile on her pink lips as she waved at their found gazes. Carl and Esme shared a look of unease.

Rick shifted on his footing, looking down at them. "Like, right now."

Carl's eyes widened. "Seriously?" he groaned.

The idea had Esme's stomach doing uneasy somersaults. A thousand questions buzzed through her mind like agitated wasps. What would they talk about? Could they even hold a conversation?

Teenagers, as everyone seemed to acknowledge, wielded a sharp judgmental edge. Their cold eyes were capable of dissecting every insecurity, making encounters with a boy her age a mixed bag of pros and cons. Mostly cons, Esme decided.

She stole a glance at Carl. He stood rigidly, swaying Judith ever-so-slightly in his arms. His lips twitched, the nervousness clear in the way he bit at the inside of his cheek. They were both thinking the same thing: this is a bad idea.

Rick, catching their uncertainty, pressed on. "I know you guys don't want to, but I already told her you'd go. She's waiting to walk us there now."

Carl's frustration was written all over his face, his brow crossing as he fumbled for an excuse. "But—"

"—No buts," Rick cut in firmly, his tone final. Each protest Carl attempted was countered, leaving him deflated, his shoulders slumping as he sighed in defeat.

Esme, on the other hand, stayed silent. Her heart pounded, her mouth suddenly dry. The thought of sitting in a room with this strange boy and nothing but their awkwardness to fill the space made her chest tighten painfully. She imagined the boy's eyes drifting over her face, neck, and shoulders—his reaction when he noticed the coarse wrap that covered her scars. Her hands instinctively itched to pull at the fabric, to hide deeper.

A fine sheen of sweat broke out on her forehead, each breath heavier than the last as panic curled in her chest. She gripped the hem of her sweater, knuckles white, desperately trying to find the good in the bad. But every instinct screamed for her to turn around, to hide, to vanish. There was no good to be found.

Rick, oblivious or perhaps ignoring their distress, took Judith from Carl's grasp. "C'mon. This is non-negotiable."

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Walking into the house, Esme's fear clung to her like a second skin. Every breath she took felt heavier, weighed down by the anxious spiral she had let herself fall into. What had started as nervous anticipation had mutated into a full-blown nightmare in her mind—a situation she desperately wanted to escape, but couldn't.

"Ron's upstairs with a couple of friends, I'll tell him you're here," Jessie said, her voice warm, her smile wide and innocent as she called up the carpeted steps.

Friends. Esme's heart sank. Meeting one unfamiliar teenager was terrifying enough—multiple sent a fresh surge of dread crashing over her. Her fingers found the raw skin around her available nails, picking nervously as her imagination ran wild. She could already see it: the shock on their faces, the stifled gasps, the way their eyes would drift to the scars, her missing fingers, her chipped teeth.

It made her stomach churn.

Jessie hadn't broached the topic of the girl's appearance verbally, yet her eyes engaged in a silent exploration of Esme's face. There was a subtlety in her gaze, masked behind a polite smile as if she assumed Esme wouldn't catch the discreet scrutiny.

The sudden sound of footsteps descending the stairs echoed through the hall, each thud a sharp jab at Esme's fraying nerves. She braced herself, fingers digging into her palm.

Rounding the corner, the boy appeared—the one she'd been dreading. He looked so much like his mother: same kind face, same golden-blonde hair that bounced with every step. And to her surprise, the smile he wore as his gray eyes met hers was nothing but genuine. No flinch, no jaw-dropped reaction of horror, just warmth. His hand shot out toward her, breaking the tension she hadn't even realized she'd been holding in her shoulders.

"Hey, I'm Ron."

Esme blinked, wide-eyed. She had spent so much time building this moment up into something terrifying, and here he was, Ron, easygoing and completely unbothered by her appearance. It embarrassed her, the way she had let fear twist this interaction into a looming disaster in her mind. His kindness wrapped around her like a soft blanket, pulling her in, and reassuring her in ways she hadn't expected.

However, frozen under his gaze, Esme found herself unable to shake off the feeling of unease. It had been so long since she was meant to interact with anyone her age other than Carl, and Ron's attention brought an awkwardness she didn't know how to navigate.

Her mind raced, searching for something to say, but the more she tried to think of words, the emptier her throat became. When she finally opened her mouth, nothing came out, the silence stretching uncomfortably between them.

Carl stepped forward, always her safety net. He grasped Ron's hand firmly. "Hi, I'm Carl. That's Esme," he added, with a slight nod toward her as he released Ron's hand.

Ron flashed an easy smile, nodding briefly at Esme before slipping his hand back into his pocket. "Nice to meet you guys. Wanna head upstairs? I'll introduce you to my friends—don't worry, they're cool."

A soft sigh escaped Carl's nose. Esme could sense his nervousness mirroring her own, if not surpassing it, but like always, he masked it better than she did. He offered a light, forced smile.

"Sure."

Ron guided them up the stairs, the old wood creaking beneath their feet as they reached the narrow hallway. His voice broke the silence as he looked back over his shoulder. "So, Rick is your guys' dad, right?"

Carl let out a short snicker, shaking his head. "No, just my dad, not Esme's."

Ron chuckled along, his kind smile lingering. He glanced at Esme, curiosity brightening his eyes. "Are your parents here with you, Esme?"

Esme felt her stomach tighten. She debated whether to tell him the truth—about how her parents weren't here, wouldn't ever be here. But the idea of unloading that onto an innocent stranger felt inappropriate. So, instead, she did the only thing she could think of: she lied.

"Daryl is my dad," she blurted, the lie thick on her tongue. Carl shot her a quick, confused glance, but she avoided his gaze, figuring she'd explain later.

"Woah." Ron's eyes widened with genuine surprise. "Where are you from?"

For a split second, Esme forgot herself, the distinctive sound of her accent slipping her mind. They weren't used to people like her around Georgia.

"Oh, uh, Germany," she muttered, hoping the short answer would suffice.

"That's wild," Ron ogled, shaking his head as if still processing it. He turned to the door, pushing it open with a faint creak, revealing his bedroom.

Inside, three other teenagers were scattered throughout the room, completely immersed in their own activities. The moment Ron stepped through the threshold, any small trace of confidence Esme had mustered up flat-lined, dead and gone. She lingered in the doorway with Carl as her eyes swept over the unfamiliar faces.

"Guys, this is Carl and Esme," Ron introduced, pointing to both the guests. "Carl, Esme, this is Mikey—"

A boy sitting in an office chair swiveled around. His gaze landed on Esme first, and though he tried to hide it, the surprise that flickered across his face at the sight of her bandaged features was unmistakable. The way his eyes widened, the slight tightening of his jaw—it all happened in an instant, but Esme noticed. She always noticed.

"Hey," Mikey said with a nod, quickly regaining his composure.

Ron continued, "—Ana—"

A girl sitting on the desk in front of Mikey beamed at them. Her red, curly hair spilled down her back, and when she grinned, it revealed a missing front tooth, giving her a mischievous, almost childlike appearance.

"Hiya!" her strong accent colored the short greeting. There was no hesitation in her voice, and something about her energy felt almost compelling, though Esme still found it hard to meet her gaze for long.

Ron leaned against his bedframe, gesturing to where a brown-haired girl sat, barely looking up from her comic book. "And that's Enid."

"Hi." The greeting was brief, her tone flat. She barely glanced their way, her focus entirely absorbed in the pages of her comic. Esme lingered on Enid for a moment, noticing the subtle distance she kept from the rest of the group.

The room felt stifling, every breath harder to take in. Esme wrapped her arms around herself, instinctively shrinking behind Carl, shielding her face behind the loose strands of hair that had fallen forward, her heart pounding in her throat.

"You know, Enid's from outside too," Ron mused. "She just came in a couple of months ago."

Esme had to fight off her disappointment. Ron spoke of Enid's outside origins as if they were exotic—a point of connection with the newcomers. If being from outside was what they disclosed as an interesting fact, it underscored how limited these people's experiences were beyond the confines of their walls.

"We could play some video games if you guys are up for it," Mikey suggested, glancing between Carl and Esme, clearly expecting a response. "Or, we've got a pool table at my place."

The offer only deepened Esme's discomfort. The normalcy of it all felt disorienting. How could they sit here, ask what she wanted to do as if the world beyond these walls didn't exist? It reminded her of simpler days, back when her biggest concerns were what movie to watch at a sleepover. Those days felt like a lifetime ago.

But now wasn't the time to ponder. These people expected her to be normal, to engage with them like nothing had changed. But Esme had nothing to offer—no small talk, no carefree demeanor. She was a walking scar, a product of a world they couldn't understand.

Carl's face mirrored her alarm. His nervous glance sought hers as if silently pleading for her to handle this. But she had no idea what to say either. Her eyes flicked up to Ron, and she found him already watching her closely. He seemed to notice her panic almost instantly, even beneath the bandages, and his expression softened.

"Maybe we'll just hang out for a bit, get to know them, you know?" Ron said, breaking the tense silence. He turned back to his friends, offering them an easy out. "You guys can play games; if they wanna join, they can."

Esme let out a breath, relieved. He hadn't pressed, hadn't made a big deal out of their hesitation. She appreciated that—his gentle understanding.

Mikey nodded, settling on the bed's edge and turning on the TV. The sudden burst of bright light from the screen made Esme gasp. Carl chuckled, equally caught off guard. Electricity, here in Alexandria, was something they had yet to grow used to. To Esme, the flickering images on the screen felt like a relic from another life, a life they no longer had the luxury of living.

Ana joined Mikey, grabbing a controller. Esme and Carl watched, struck with awe at the sight they hadn't witnessed since the world changed. Ron gently brushed Esme's shoulder to capture her attention.

"Do you guys wanna sit?" he asked, gesturing toward the bed. Esme glanced at Carl, then at Enid, who sat in the middle of the bed with her comic book.

Ron noticed their hesitation. "Enid won't mind," he said, though his voice faltered slightly.

Enid looked up from her book, her gaze cold and calculating. Without a word and without breaking eye contact, she shifted to the far corner of the bed, her movements slow and deliberate. The three of them exchanged uneasy glances. Ron cleared his throat awkwardly with a false smile to excuse the girl's behavior.

Carl gave a resigned shrug and took a seat at the edge of the bed. Esme followed suit as she perched on the brightly colored robot-patterned blanket. She could hear the distant sounds of gunfire and monsters from the game, but her mind was elsewhere.

It was surreal. These kids, sheltered behind Alexandria's walls, played survival like it was a game. They yelled things like "revive me!" and "grab the gun!" as if death could be avoided with the press of a button. Meanwhile, out there, in the world beyond their safe little bubble, monsters weren't just digital—they were real, relentless, and inescapable.

Unexpectedly, Carl spoke up. "Could I play?" His voice carried a veneer of fake confidence, but Esme could discern the underlying anger. She recognized it because she felt it too.

"Sure," Mikey said, sliding over to make room for Carl between them. Carl crawled forward, grabbing the controller. Esme watched him closely.

They started the game slowly, guiding Carl through which buttons to press, and showing him the basics. His frustration with the game was evident, unapparent to everyone except Esme, who understood it all too well. It wasn't about the game at all—it was the futility of this attempt to fit into a world they no longer belonged to.

He wasn't good at it. He kept dying, mis-pressing, his confusion manifesting in his jerky motions. Each failure led Ana to reassure him with her thick Scottish accent, "It's okay, try again." But with each mistake, Carl's grip tightened on the controller.

Eventually, Carl sighed, slumping his shoulders. "Whatever. I'm better at it in real life." He turned to Esme, handing her the controller. "Do you wanna try?"

Esme's gaze flicked to the controller, feeling her palms start to sweat beneath the safety of her pockets. She wanted to play, she did. But, her hands bore the brunt of her past, leaving her lacking three fingers, and the others severely unsightly.

She figured it was worth the risk. Shakily, she reached for the device.

"Oh shit," Mikey mumbled under his breath upon the reveal, barely masking his reaction.

Ana's elbow jabbed him sharply. "Mikey," she hissed between her teeth.

Enid, previously engrossed in her book, looked up at the commotion. As her gaze landed on Esme's disfigured fingers, her lips parted in slight shock.

Esme's fingers hovered just above the controller before she quickly withdrew them, stuffing them back into her pockets. "It's fine, I'll just watch," she said, the words tumbling out faster than she intended, trying to brush it off.

It became awkward, fast. The tension of the aftermath pressed down on them all. Carl's face was washed out with guilt. Esme knew why. He, of all people, should've remembered. He had been there, seen her at her lowest, and still, in moments like these, it slipped his mind.

Once the awkwardness became too heavy to bear, Ron graciously stepped forward from where he stood beside the bed, patting his hands against his thighs.

"Carl, Esme," he started, bringing the attention to him. "Do you guys read comic books?"

Carl's eyes lit up, his lips involuntarily breaking out into a smile. "Yeah."

Esme watched as his excitement unfurled, taking an extra second to view him before she looked up at Ron and nodded in agreement.

Ron beamed as he ducked in front of his nightstand, rummaging through a drawer before triumphantly placing a stack of comic books on the bed, his grin wide with pride. "You guys can take these if you want. I've already read them."

Enid suddenly shut her book. "I haven't read them yet."

Ron glanced past Esme's shoulder at Enid. "It's okay, I still have more for you to read," he assured her.

With a dramatic roll of her eyes, Enid slumped back down, returning to her pages as if to make a point of her disinterest.

"Are you sure you wanna give these to us?" Carl asked, trying to hide his obvious excitement.

"Yeah, say it's a welcoming gift from us," Ron said, pushing the books toward the two with a raised brow. Without hesitation, Carl accepted them, his face alight with the joy of a child on Christmas morning.

"I'll run downstairs and grab a bag for you so you don't have to carry those around all day," Ron suggested, then paused to consider. "Unless you'd rather head home? I don't want to overwhelm you guys."

Esme watched Carl, enchanted by his delight as he clutched the colorful bundle of books. Even if she, herself, would've preferred to be home, she couldn't bring herself to cut Carl's glee short. If anyone deserved to belong, it was him.

With a glance up at Ron, she shook her head. "A bag would be great, thanks."

She noticed the excitement flickering across Ron's face, despite his attempt to hide it. "Perfect! I'll get some snacks while I'm down there; you both stay here."

Esme tuned into her surroundings—the hastening footsteps as Ron descended the stairs, the noise of the video game, the faint sound of Enid flipping through flimsy pages, and Carl shuffling through his stack of new books.

She crossed her legs a little tighter, closed her eyes, and submerged herself in this new-found environment. It would take a lot of getting used to, from both parties, but she began to warm up to the idea of trying.

She was ready to take a chance.

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9/27/24
4.6k w