12. Chapter twelve
Chapter twelve
Kieran
T hree days. That’s how long it took for me to lose my shit, before I drove Tass insane with my many questions about where Max went, how long he’d be gone, and all that blah. Then she shoved me out of the hotel and took me to the beach for a snack.
For fucking ice cream.
I’ve never had ice cream in my entire life. Heard of it and read about it, sure. But to actually have a scoop in a cracked, dented bowl while wandering the boulevard after sunset is… surreal. Bizarre.
Cold that stabs the back of your throat. Sweet that melts before you can think. But it tastes so damn good that for a minute, the waiting, the wanting, stops.
“Calmed down a bit?” she asks, nudging me as she guides us back toward the resort. “A fresh scoop of strawberry ice cream always soothes the nerves.”
“It must’ve cost a fortune,” I say, spoon half in my mouth, moaning when it hits my tastebuds. Shit, she has a fucking point…
She grins that uncanny grin of hers. “Thank your man for it. He stashes his money under a loose board he thinks nobody knows about. If he thinks keeping it there is clever, he doesn’t know me.”
I snort a laugh, but… “He’s not my man.” Not that I can deny how her words land. I don’t know what we are, what we’re doing. It just… feels right. Feels like something I didn’t know I needed.
“Keep lying to yourself, buddy,” Tass says. “I’ve never seen him like this. The only time he’s this obsessive, is when he’s scavenged a new tool that can cut Walkers up in the most horrible ways. Believe me when I say this is a first for him. He likes you. A lot.”
“If he did, he would’ve told me where he went. Took me with him,” I grumble, even though I love the things she says.
“Trust me. You don’t want to be there.” She, honest to the gods, shudders. “The things he does over there…”
“So you do know where he is.”
“I do. And when he’s ready, when he’s sure you accept all parts of him…
he’ll tell you, show you.” She shrugs, eyes sliding to that dark line where the city lights stop and the wall towers.
“Until then, just believe he’ll come back.
He’s got more than one demon to slay. He will come back when he’s done. ”
As I scoop the last of the ice cream out, she turns, and I follow her back to the resort.
She said he’s “off-grid,” whatever the fuck that means.
But I can’t help it. I want him to be back.
I just miss him, which is fucking stupid.
I mean, shit, I miss that arrogant smirk that says he knows everything, the Ashleaf smoke that clings to his sleeves, the way he, as strong as he is, goes soft under my touch.
Most of all, I miss the way he watches over me, how he takes up every inch of my space, how he eases himself into my life like he’d always belonged.
And it’s not only him who eased himself into my life; Tass did the same.
I like her, I really do. She’s easy to talk to, fun to hang around, and very good at keeping me distracted, like she’s doing now.
We fall into the easy rhythm of walking back, the city lights ticking past on our right, dark wall on our left. Tass tucks the empty bowls in her pack and shoulders it like it’s nothing.
“It was good, huh?” she says. “I swear, ice cream beats even the high of the red rain.”
“How does it feel, being Touched?” The words slip out before I can stop them. “I mean—you don’t have to answer that.”
“Nah. It’s fine.” Tass continues walking, boots hitting the cobbles. “In general, as far as I know, most people are somewhat normal, just more intense after they get infected. But if you ask Max, he’d call me a raging bitch, virus or not.” She smirks. “He’s probably right.”
I smile and tuck my hands in my pockets. “So… You do feel normal? Most of the time?”
She nods. “Yeah, I think so? I don’t exactly know what normal is, since I’ve never been normal. But I feel pretty sane, except on red rain days.”
I look up. The sky’s clear now, dark, stars like the ones in his eyes flickering down on us, but the memory of red clouds sticks in my throat. “And what’s that like? How does it change you?”
Tass goes quiet for a beat, like she’s weighing the truth against something more dangerous.
“It’s just… everything is more ,” she says eventually.
“The sky looks brighter. Every sound feels like it’s inside your skull.
Your skin itches, but not from the rain.
It’s from wanting. Craving. Like something’s pushing at your bones from the inside, trying to get out.
” She keeps walking, voice low. “And the hunger? It goes unhinged. You want to take. Rip the world open and drink it. Let it all consume you until you forget your name, your memories, your grief. Until you stop existing and just feel. All that matters is the next taste. The next high. The next scream. The next fuck.”
My voice comes out small. “That sounds like a really good drug.”
Tass lets out a short, bitter laugh. “Oh, fuck yes. It’s the best drug you’ll ever take. And the one most likely to eat you alive.”
A silence falls over us as I chew on that, right until her radio crackles the second we step into the harsh lights of the resort.
“—Tass, you copy?”
I snap my gaze to her hip.
Max. His deep voice sounds ragged through the static, but it’s him.
“Tass here.” She lifts the radio and gives me a broad grin. “About time, you fuckface. Someone’s dying to see you.”
I smack her on the strong part of her upper arm, cheeks burning as she cackles.
“Yeah. Same,” he replies, and I swear I fucking swoon . “I’m almost there. Moving up the north road now. Give me ten.”
“Copy that. Listen, we just got back at his place, so I’m out. I do have a life, you know?” Tass’s tone is light, teasing.
“Since when?”
A roll of her eyes. “Shut your stupid mouth. Just pay me in sweets. I’m dying for some chocolate.”
“I’ll see what I can do. Thank you, Tass. See you tomorrow. Over ”
Tomorrow . That means he’s spending the night… At least I hope so.
My face couldn’t flush harder if I tried.
“Over,” Tass answers, before shutting the device off.
I can’t stop grinning as she snaps the radio back in place and turns to me. “He’s on his way back… he’ll be here soon,” she says, nodding toward the resort, toward my building. “Go on ahead. I’ll wait until you’re inside before I take my leave. I really do have things to do.”
Too fucking happy to complain about the endless babysitting, I throw myself at her. She gives a surprised chuckle, then squeezes me back, quick and fierce, warmth pressed into me like she means it. It leaves me buzzing, lit up in a way I don’t know how to hold.
I imagine it feels a little like a Touched during the rain.
“Thanks for the ice cream,” I blurt when we pull apart. “And, you know… for keeping me from destroying everything in my room.”
“And for keeping you sane while you mope, curse, and smash glasses so hard on the bar, they break,” she adds with a smirk. “Basically, for not letting you go completely feral. Enjoy your evening, Kieran.”
Ecstatic, almost giddy, I bolt upstairs after I say goodbye. It’s my day off, and he couldn’t have picked a better night to come back. The smile tugging at the corners of my mouth doesn’t leave as I hurry down the corridor, skidding into my room.
The sliding door to the balcony is already open, the curtain whipping in the night breeze.
He’s here.
The grin is fully out now—slightly unhinged, probably—as I leave the lights off, pass the little bathroom and aim for the balcony, expecting to find him there, lounging, staring at the moon, smoke curling from his fingers like a promise.
My feet hit the threshold, and I reach for the rail when I don’t see him.
Something jerks me backward so hard I lose my breath.
One moment I’m moving forward, the next I’m face-first on my bed, the comforter cutting across my cheek as I try to fucking breathe . A man materializes next to me, a grin like a broken hinge.
Not Max. Not even close.
Goatee guy.
Panic claws at my throat, but instinct throws my fingers to my hip for the dagger.
Max’s dagger. My hand clamps the leather, feels the cold metal—and then his boot slams into my wrist. The pain that slices through my forearm makes me cry out.
The dagger skitters, the metal taps the wooden floor and slides into the shadow.
No. No. Not like this. Not fucking like this.
He’s on me before I can blink. Rotten breath stinks against my ear as he shoves my face into the mattress. He pins my arms, immobilizes me.
For that first heartbeat, all I know is the mattress and his weight, and I freeze because there’s no thinking when the body goes pure fight-or-die.
In the next breath, the sheer force of what’s happening slams into me like a wall, crushing, undeniable. My lungs seize, my vision sparks.
Then the third second comes, I’m moving, adamant about not making it fucking easy for him. I fucking won’t.
I kick, throwing everything into it, hips, knees, shoulders.
I twist, desperate, and shake one arm off me.
I bite down on the heel of his hand until I taste blood.
He howls, more surprise than pain, but he only holds me tighter as he shoves my arms together, pushing down on my wrists.
“Yeah? Kick harder, boy,” he snarls, voice crude. “I like it that way. Just ask your momma.”
I almost freeze again when that presses against my ass. His erection.
No, no, no, not again. He’s trying again . I got him off me before, I can do it again. I thrash, wild, lose my fucking mind as the panic washes over me when he shoves my shorts and underwear off in one go.
The air hitting my skin is a fucking punch, stealing what breath I had left.
He moans, he fucking moans, before hissing something foul under his breath, low and hungry.
It’s like static, the way my brain goes numb, the way I kinda… faze out.
He’s strong, he’s too. Fucking. Strong.
I need Max. I need my dagger. I need to get him off me.
I did it before.
The memory slams into me. I did it before.
Determination floods me, and when his dark chuckle hovers near the back of my neck, I slam my head back with so much force I hear his nose crack.
He howls—actually fucking howls—and is stupid enough to let my wrist go.
Before he comprehends what’s happening, before he can react, I aim for the dagger that I hope, pray, beg, is at his hip, just like the last time.
When my fingers wrap around the hilt, I nearly fucking cry.
I pounce.
I don’t give him another second to respond, to scramble, to pull some new filthy move. Not here. Not now.
I stab him, drive the blade in with all the strength I have, then yank it back out to do it again.
I stab his neck, his chest, his gut. Over and over until his cries cut off and his limbs go heavy. Until he slumps across my bed like dead weight.
Until I feel my own breaths break apart in my chest. Until my arms won’t stop shaking, even though he’s not fighting back anymore.
Dead. I fucking killed him.
When it’s over, the room breathes around me—it’s too loud, too quiet—and my hands won’t let go of the hilt. My whole body is buzzing, frantic, like it hasn’t caught up with the fact that it’s done.
Panic floods me, messy and sharp, tripping over itself. I don’t know what to do, where to put my hands, where to look.
There’s blood on me, around me, everywhere, and I can’t tell where it stops and I start.
I’m shaking. I’m shaking so fucking hard I don’t know if the sound I hear is my teeth clattering or the walls breathing with me.
The room tilts, stretches, shrinks . My hands are claws around the dagger and I can’t make them unclench. I can’t, I can’t, I can’t.
I don’t feel my fingers. I don’t feel anything .
Just buzzing. Just static.
Until…
“Started the fun without me, huh?”