Page 18 of Dating After the End of the World
My mouth forms a muted O as I search her face for any signs of humor, waiting for ajust kidding. But she stares back at me with a stoic look, shrugging off her statement with a quick lift of her shoulders.
“Wait, what?”
“Yeah, he turned into one of those zombie things, so I ...” She falls silent and finishes her sentence by dragging her pointer finger across her neck.
“Jesus, Tessa! I’m so sorry.” I step closer to her, kneeling on the ground and placing my hand over the one she has resting on her knee.
“Don’t be.” She flicks our hands up together, rejecting any need for sympathy. “I found out he was cheating a few days before the outbreak, and I was going to confront him and dump him, but I put it off, and then he turned into a zombie, so I had to kill him,” Tessa says matter-of-factly, like she’s sharing a recipe or giving me directions. “I’m actually glad it worked out that way, though. Otherwise, he would have denied it, then gaslit me, then tried to convince me to stay with him, and I probably would have. Then he’d be faithful for a while, and once he got comfortable, he’d cheat again. That cycle would continue until I got fed up and realized my worth.Then I’d have to go to therapy to rebuild my confidence and deal with the trust issues he infected me with. So I think it’s better that our relationship ended the way it did, and by that, I mean me decapitating him,” Tessa says, picking at her fingernails.
“And you’re sure he was a zombie?” I get to my feet and squint, frowning as I tuck my chin in.
She nods. “Pretty sure.”
We both erupt in laughter at a situation that a mere two months ago would have been entirely psychotic, but now is seemingly normal.
The door flies open, bouncing against the wall with a thud and putting an end to our amusement. I grimace at the sight of Blake strolling intomybedroom. He’s dressed in a dirty pair of jeans and a white T-shirt that clings to his sculpted chest and abs. A gun is nestled in a shoulder holster below his left armpit like a detective would wear beneath a suit jacket. Another pistol is tucked in a hip holster. Blake eyes me, then Tessa, and then his bed.
“Thanks for that,” he says, gesturing to the mess I made of it.
“You’re welcome. Didn’t look up to regulation standards to me, so I figured it was best to start from scratch,” I say. Tessa and I share a look of contempt toward him.
His lip snarls, and he begins remaking his bed.
“There’s a ton to be done around here, so I don’t appreciate you creating extra work for me.”
“And I don’t appreciate you at all,” I say, throwing my hands on my hips.
“That sounds like ayouproblem.” He briefly looks at me with squinty eyes as he moves to the other end of the bed, folding and tucking his sheets.
I hold my chin high as I walk toward him, stopping right in front of his bed. “No, it’syourproblem,” I say, ruffling the tucked sheet and messing it up again.
“Should I leave you two alone?” Tessa teases.
Blake and I snap our heads in her direction and say, “No,” in unison.
He groans, turning to face me. I stand a little taller and stare up at him. Being this close to Blake, I start to notice things I didn’t before. The small mole above his right eyebrow. The smoothness of his lips. A thin scar emerging an inch or so from his tightly trimmed beard. And then there’s an intensity he holds in his eyes that I think just might be anger. Maybe I can get him to throw a punch at me. My dad would definitely kick him out for that. I shuffle even closer to him, my bust practically touching his body. His eyes flicker, and the muscles in his neck and pecs flex.Come on, Blake. Push me. Throw me on the ground. Touch me with those big hands. Do something. Give my dad a reason to toss you out on your ass.
He exhales noisily and shakes his head. “Doomsday, I don’t have time ...”
“It’s Dr. Pearson,” I say with an air of authority, or at least that’s what I’m trying to say it with. I cross my arms over my chest and press my lips firmly together.
Blake glances over at Tessa, as if she’s going to give him any sort of support, but she’s on Team Casey. Always has been, always will be.
“Casey,” he lands on, not respecting my request but making a large improvement over his juvenile nickname. If I’m being honest, I don’t even like being called Dr. Pearson unless I’m at the hospital; otherwise it just comes off as pompous.
“Like it or not,” Blake continues, “we’re going to be bunking together, so ...”
Bang. Bang. Bang.
Three gunshots ring from outside, making their way up through the window and into our clustered trio. It changes all our demeanors in an instant. Dropping my arms to my side, I freeze, and my eyes widen with worry. Tessa’s on her feet and standing next to me, reacting the same way. Blake turns and lunges himself across his bed to look out the window.
“God dammit!” he yells. He wastes no time, pushing past us and darting out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the house.
Tessa and I leap onto his bed and smush our faces up against the window to try to get a look at what’s going on. There’s a clearing hacked through the trees, giving us a small unobstructed view of the front fence line. A lone biter is tangled up in the barbed wire, snapping his jaw and swinging his arms wildly in the air. My cousin Greg stands a mere four feet from it, firing rounds at the creature. He’s either missing or only hitting limbs.
“What is he doing?” I shake my head.
“Looks like he’s trying not to kill it.” Tessa snickers.
