This morning, I got a new batch of traumatized rookies to take care of, as more nasty shit with haters went down where they were sent to patrol the other night. By the time I dragged my spray-tanned ass home, I was more dead than undead. I felt drained like a bag of lemons used to make lemonade.
Sad thing was, what I did was nothing as sweet and refreshing; I just delayed the inevitable. Any day now, someone's going to drop a nuke on our heads, and now that I'm part of the problem, I can't even hope to be evacuated with the remaining humans.
Safe to say my "life" sucks balls now.
And the last straw was Clark, my human boyfriend. He was done getting dodged by me, barged in my apartment about an hour ago and demanded an explanation. So I had to suck it up, rally the few remaining brain cells that were still willing to cooperate with me, and finally tell him the truth.
I'd love to say he handled it well, commiserated with me and said "we'll get through this together, honey". No, he was out the door before I could even finish explaining how it wasn't my choice and how there's nothing I can do about it. I don't think I'm in love with him, but damn, that made me feel like the last cadaver in a morgue that no one would pick up.
The look of disgust on his face really stuck with me. I feel dirty and unworthy, betrayed, and I can't stop wailing. The shower I took to wash away the shame and pain didn't help much, so now I'm sauntering across my apartment in just my robe, trying to prepare a snack before bed and sobbing as if my beloved husband of ten years has just left me out of the blue.
I must've been loud enough to drown out the strange sounds that should've alerted me to the presence of someone else in the room. I'm completely oblivious to everything but my misery until I turn and scream.
Chase Graves is standing in my kitchen, in what I thought was my locked apartment, with his gun drawn and aimed, as if he's looking for an intruder in his own home. Well, fuck me.
I used to hate his guts at the beginning of all this, wanting him dead for what I thought he was responsible for, and now it all came rushing back on the new wave of suspicion. Have I done something that would warrant shooting me over? Have I made the gravest—ha ha—mistake of my life by siding with this man, trusting him, his motives and judgment?
My hand goes for the knife rack and closes around the handle of one of the big ones, as if it could help me against a shooter in any way. My brain refuses to come up with words to say, so I just stare at him, eyes wide, and try to breathe, waiting for his next move.
He lowers the weapon, looking a bit confused and more than a little ashamed.
"I'm sorry," he utters, clearing his throat and putting the pistol away. He lifts his hands up in a calming gesture, casting a glance at the knife. "You can put that down, Miss [Surname]. I didn't mean to scare you. Your door was wide open and I heard crying, so I got the impression that you were in trouble."
And he came in to save me? Aww. Clark must've bolted out of here in such a rush he didn't even bother with the door. I should've made sure it was locked, but I was too distressed. I suppose I'm lucky it was Chase who came in to check on me.
"That's... that's nice of you," I breathe out, setting the knife back in its rack, yet remaining behind the counter. "But... what were you doing here in the first place?"
"I came by to ask you something. You may have heard about how I rearranged some of my staff this morning."
"The news reached me, yes," I nod, folding my arms across my chest.
It worries me, for his sake; I feel like the advisors he replaced might get thirsty for some revenge. He can't afford many more people going against him.
"I have an offer for you. But I think it can wait for now. Are you alright?"
"I'm fi—" I begin, but then I scold myself. Who am I trying to lie to? He heard me. "I had to tell my human boyfriend that I got infected," I say flatly. "I don't think I'll be seeing him again."
Chase's shoulders slump. He looks genuinely disappointed.
"I'm sorry," he says again. "Couldn't have been easy for you."
"It's not even about him," I shake my head. "We dated for two months, he wasn't that important. It was just the last straw, you know. Consequences of something I couldn't control, but what now holds my whole life hostage."
I shouldn't have said the last sentence. It triggers a chain reaction I'm unable to stop.
Tears fight their way out of my eyes again. I try holding them back, but I can feel my face crumpling as a new wave of self-pity washes over me. I squeeze my own shoulders with my hands and hope it weakens after a few juicy sobs, but in the next second I'm on my ass on the floor rocking back and forth in a fit of hysteria.
I don't want Chase to see me like this and I expect him to quietly back out of the apartment anyway. He surprises me again when he comes round the kitchen island and drops to the floor beside me.
I turn away in an attempt to hide my bloated wet face, but he reaches for me and gently leads me into his embrace. I lay my head on one of his impressive pecs and he slowly strokes my hair as I cry into his shirt.
It shouldn't be this pleasant, but it is. His scent, warmth and gentleness soothe me despite the pain and terror rampaging in my chest. My brain is too exhausted to fight it. I like being in his arms. So I keep softly whimpering even after the worst passes, wanting to enjoy more of it, unwilling to leave this soft and safe place.
When he starts shifting, I jolt upright, trying to remember why he was comforting me in the first place. Clark slipped out of my mind like he never existed—and perhaps he hasn't, not for zombie [Name] anyway.
"I'd like to be of more support," Chase says softly, "but perhaps we can move elsewhere? The floor is not exactly comfortable. My butt's starting to hurt and I imagine yours must too."
I crack a smile hearing him talk about my ass. He snickers back and helps me up.
"I should go clean up a bit," I sniff, quickly wiping my face with a paper towel. "Sorry for the meltdown. It's not every day my boss catches me at my own place crumbling after a breakup. I'd bet tomorrow at work you wouldn't be able to tell how I spent this evening."
"I know you'd be the picture of composure," he smirks. "I'm really sorry, Miss [Surname], I truly didn't mean to intrude on such a personal moment. I hope I made up for that somewhat. You don't have to worry, it won't leave this room," he promises solemnly. "I know how important it is to keep up appearances. Our jobs demand it."
"Yeah," I breathe out. I feel a pang of disappointment. I guess I was hoping there was more behind his willingness to comfort me in my weak moment. Seems like I was wrong. "Thank you, sir. Good night. You can find your way out, right?"
I manage to smile before quickly turning away. I don't want to watch him go. My fragile peace of mind couldn't handle more heartache.
The next horror awaits when I hit the bathroom and look in the mirror. "Jesus," I curse under my breath and dive in for a good rinse. No wonder he wasn't interested. Not that zombies have that many options in this city as they used to have as humans, free to travel anywhere, but I wouldn't want me right now either.
I kind of wish I wasn't too scared of all the potential unpleasant consequences to have one-night-stands with complete strangers. I could just go to a bar and get laid, like so many other people in this city do. My stupid wanna-be high morals only prevent me from having fun. I could use a proper rebound just about now—not only from Clark and my old life, but from Chase as well. Might also help me forget about my bleak future for a few hours. Tough titties.
Letting out a heavy sigh, I finish drying my face off and exit the bathroom, only to stand face to face with Chase again. Well, face to chest, to be more precise. Fuck, he's tall. I crane my neck back to catch a strange expression quickly leaving his face.