My body trembles as I slowly close the closet door and guide her back into the apartment. If I hadn’t started a fire, it’d be pitch black in here too. But even with the orange glow, it’s still not enough light for me. “There’s a l-l-lantern in here somewhere. I, uh, I think it’s in the bathroom under the sink.” I’m starting to hyperventilate now, and Lindsay’s brow furrowed with concern tells me she hears it too.
“Are you okay?”
“Yup,” I reply, in a rush to get the word out. I don’t want her thinking I’m a coward. “Totally fine.” My body feels heavy, as if I shouldn’t keep moving, and I lower myself to a seated position on the floor with my back against one of the beds.
She grabs the lantern and a flashlight from the bathroom and turns them on, placing the lantern at my side. When she sits down across from me, her gaze is assessing. Cautious. “So, how else did your body change after you became a zombie? If you don’t mind me asking.”
It’s an attempt to distract me, and I’m grateful for it, because I automatically start going through the list in my head. “Um, in addition to the bulk, obviously the skin color. I was the whitest white boy before this.”
At that, she chuckles, and the sound has my muscles unclenching all down my body.
“My eyes were a darker blue than they are now.” I continue. “The scars…” I roll up my sleeve and point to the many jagged white marks along my forearm. “These are all from wounds after I was changed. I also don’t need to eat as much anymore.”
“Really?” she asks. “That surprises me. With your bigger frame, I would assume––”
“Fair,” I interject, “but keep in mind, I was on an exclusive brain diet. One brain would be enough to sustain me for about four days. I didn’t eat anything else in that first year. After Dr. Yates started introducing human foods, my stomach could only handle small bites. More than that, and I’d get violently ill.”
“How much do you eat now? Like, on an average day.”
“I can get by on one cup of black coffee, and one banana and mayo sandwich a day, or a slab of raw top sirloin. I drink water, but I don’t need as much of that either.”
“Wait.” She holds up a hand. “Did you say…banana and mayo?” Her face twists in disgust, and I can understand why.
It sounds like an odd pairing, but it was a staple in the South, especially if you were a family who struggled to afford food. For me, not only is it a comfort food, but I tend to eat three or four when I’m feeling particularly stressed. Like right now, for example. I’d trade a testicle for a banana and mayo sandwich to appear in my hand.
“Why would you do that to yourself?”
I chuckle. “It’s not as bad as it sounds. In fact, it tastes kind of like a banana cream pie.”
When I tell her it’s my comfort food, her expression eases. “Ah. I have one of those too. Peanut butter and fluff. I always keep both in the house for bad days.”
“See. You get it.”
There’s one physical change I haven’t told her about, and I think I’ll keep it to myself. She’s already figured out I’m afraid of the dark. I don’t need much else to scare her away, and the extra appendage that sits just above my dick would likely scare her away.
Lindsay shivers, and rubs her arms up and down. “It’s still really cold in here.”
“Let’s get you to bed, then.” If the night has to end here, at least she was able to talk me down from a panic attack.
She pulls the covers back on her bed, then pauses and turns to face me. “What if we pushed the beds together?”
Did she really just ask that?
“Together? As in…”
“As in two beds turns into one, yeah. For warmth.”
Oh. For warmth. I do run warm, so practically, it makes sense. I can still enjoy the benefits of her nearness, though. “Sure.”
We move the nightstand back against the wall and pull the twin beds closer to the fire and pressed together. Once we’re under our respective blankets, we face each other. The soft light of the lantern, paired with the orange glow of the fire, makes Lindsay look younger. Not that she looks old. But the shadows that dance along her cheeks make her look like she did when we first met. We were just kids. Part of me––hell, all of me––still can’t believe we’ve been reunited.
“Afraid of the dark, huh?” Her mouth quirks up on the side, and I wonder if she’s mocking me. “Have you always had that fear?”
“No,” I answer honestly. “That changed after I was turned, along with everything else.”
“Why the dark?”
I nestle deeper into the pillow, as if the tactile plushiness of it will keep me grounded here in the present. “I don’t have any clear memories of that first year, like I said, but sometimes I’ll get flashes. They’re so fast, I’m not sure if it’s a memory or a nightmare or what, but they feel real, as if a deeper part of me knows it too well. There’s darkness, but it’s not just that. There’s palpable, suffocating fear, and then a scream. A scream that isn’t mine. I don’t know whose it is, but it’s close enough to my ear that it hurts. I usually cover my ears, and then it ends, but not before reminding me of that time. The year I was something…else. Wrong. Evil.”
