“You’re staying?” Silver asks, coming up close to me and linking our fingers together.
I lift her hand to my lips and press a gentle kiss to the inside of her wrist.
“I am.”
It’d be nice to be a part of this. To feel part of a family again for a while, even if it isn’t my own.
18
Roscoe
Getting stabbed in the gut has turned out to be a real crimp in my style. A stone in my boot. A fucker of a doozy of a damper on my party.
Basically, it sucks sweaty balls.
It takes days and days for me to do more than just roll over in bed or sloooowly slooowly make my way to the bathroom. Then, once I’m off the pain meds and not so damn loopy, I’m able to move around gingerly.
I am not someone that’s accustomed to doinganythinggingerly, or carefully. I’m a leaper. A bounder. A tackle-and-hug-er.
And it’s not just me that’s being careful, either. Silver’s been acting like I’m made of spun sugar and could snap at any minute. I scared the shit out of her. I get that. But that doesn’t mean that I’m not still game for a snuggle. And after days without her in my bed, I decided enough was enough and abandoned that cage in the medical bay. Its walls were mocking me anyway, driving me nuts.
They’re all so bland. So bleh.
I don’t know how Seb hasn’t gone insane since he sleeps down there more than he stays in the apartment upstairs.
Silver argued at first when I showed up in Zeph’s bed, a couple of nights after I first got stabbed. I ignored her protests, pulling her soft body against mine.
“All right,” she said, that first night as I snuggled against her, ignoring the tugging of the tight skin on my gut whenever I shifted. “But don’t even think about getting naked. Not until you’re more healed.”
My cock popped his head up to argue thathewasn’t injured. I was over the effects of the blood loss, thanks to Fabian’s interference. And blood flowed perfectly well to all the important parts of my body.
She didn’t realize—still doesn’t—that she’s my tether. My shining star if I’m lost in the nighttime desert, my moon when I’m the tide.
... apparently, she’s the muse for all the poetic shit that’s forming and multiplying in my head.
I’m not usually one to hold back, but I keep those thoughts in my head. Maybe I’ll let them slip out every so often. But if I was to open the floodgates and let out the deluge of feeling I have for Silver, I think it’d scare the shit out of her.
And that’s the last thing I want.
So I keep my mouth shut and I cuddle her close.
That first week, we both woke up in the night with nightmares. Silver whimpered and jerked in my arms, still lost in the battle with those monsters. And I kept seeing the jutting bone plunging into my gut. The blood pooling on the white snow. Except, in my dreams, I fade into the snow and I never get back up again. Never get to feel the comforting warmth of Silver’s body tucked against mine. It seems that as much as we’ve come out the other end of the zombie fight, alive and kicking, it’s left some gnarly mental scars on us all.
Days go by and I still don’t seem to hit my groove. I’m mostly healed up by this point, but I find I get tired super easily and I’m weak as a damn kitten.
