Infected

The speed at which Jimmy rushed into the room gave me a start.
“Everything okay?” I asked, apprehensively, as he looked me over.
“Brian told me you had a run in with that fucking dickhead,” he explained through gritted teeth, turning my face in his hand and examining me. I shrugged him off and continued running my fingers through the tangles of my freshly washed hair. Hallie had been insistent that she help primp and preen me, and eventually I had relented and let her. I swatted him away as he attempted to examine me again.
“Nothing happened, Jimmy. Just words,” I replied, trying to calm him down. “It’s nothing I didn’t deserve anyway.”
“What do you mean? You’ve done nothing,” he dismissed my claim as he sat beside me, but began a frustrated tapping with his foot.
“I wouldn’t say nothing,” I argued, softly. I dug my heel into the carpet as I chewed my lip.
Jimmy looked over at me, “Oh, come on. We’ve all done stupid shit, Marina.”
“Well, I’ve had some time to think,” I shrugged, “and I don’t want to be this person anymore.”
“What do you mean?” he asked again, tilting his head as I sighed.
I wrung my hands as I tried to find the words I wanted, “Do you ever get angry, Jim?”
“Of course,” he replied, looking even more confused. “Everyone does.”
“I don’t. I don’t get angry, I am angry. I’m stuck in a perpetual state of bitterness, and I’ve been this way for two entire years,” I explained, dropping my gaze. “It’s made me hurt people. It’s made me hurt myself.”
He winced as I gestured to my thighs. We both knew the ugliness that hid below the material that covered them. I pulled my lips to one side, Jimmy’s tenseness infecting me.
“You do it because you’re angry? About what?” he asked, quietly.
“I hate myself, Jimmy,” I answered, coolly, like I wasn’t baring my soul. “You haven’t picked that up yet?”
He didn’t smile at my poor joke. I didn’t either.
“I’ve taken so many lives, including those of people I loved. Those ones haunt me the most. I can’t get rid of them, of the images in my mind, and I can’t forgive myself for it,” I admitted, feeling my heart beginning to pound with the familiar feeling of guilt-ridden anxiety.
“Marina,” he began, sympathetically.
“I know them, you know,” I interrupted. “I know every single one of their names. I took their ID cards.”
His face was lined with sadness, maybe even pity, as he asked, “Why?”
I shrugged again, “To remember them. To punish myself.”
“We’ve all had to do it,” he argued, softly. “It’s just a way of life now. It doesn’t make you any less than anyone else.”
“But my sister, Jim? My three year old niece?” I deflected. “They weren’t just some random biters on the street.”
“I know they weren’t,” he nodded, slipping an arm around my shoulders.
“I hid my anger from Hallie for so long,” I sighed, “that when we met you guys, it’s like something flipped. I don’t know why, but everything just came to the surface and I don’t know… I guess that some selfish part of me thought that adults could take it, but when it spilled over, I ended up hurting you guys too.”
Jimmy sat quietly, which was unnerving. He usually had so much to say, but right now his lips were firmly sealed.
“I’ve said a lot that I shouldn’t have, and I’m sorry, Jimmy,” I said, finally looking up into his devastatingly blue eyes. He reached a hand over, resting his palm against my cheek. I let myself lean into his touch, savouring every moment that his fingertips were against my skin. He swept a thumb across my skin before letting his fingertips trail down to my chest. He stopped short of the blistering, instead sliding them around the edge of it as he took it in. I tried not to flinch away as he traced patterns around it.
“This makes me angry,” he stated, his voice quiet but laced with hatred. He brought his eyes back up to mine. “And don’t you dare say you deserved it.”
“It’s so…” I trailed off as he shot me a warning glance.
“It’s not,” he disagreed, firmly, already knowing what I’d been about to say. “Marina, all that time you were gone, all those weeks, I just…”
He stopped as he lost his nerve. It seemed that we’d both run out of words, but there was a shared feeling rising up between us. A mirrored sense of longing, tinged with the fatigue that comes with deep sadness. We were both grieving the memory of my once alabaster skin, but for very different reasons. Jimmy’s sorrow came with the extra burden of guilt. A misplaced notion of failure.
“Me too,” I replied, knowingly. He tucked a strand of my damp hair behind my ear.
“There’s so much I want to say right now,” he whispered, his fingertips lingering on my jawline.
I placed my hand over his and found myself getting lost in the ocean of his eyes, “So, say it.”
“I don’t know how,” he admitted, frustration creeping into his tone.
“I do.”
I leaned in, closing the gap between us and pressing my lips against his with little hesitation. I felt him tense for a second as I caught him off guard, but a second was all it was before he relaxed into it. For all the painkillers I’d tried, nothing touched the agony like this did. I felt myself melt into him as he tentatively slipped his arms around me, all my pain forgotten. His touch made my heart soar until it was drifting around in the swirls of starlight in the galaxies above. As I pulled away from him, bringing myself back down to earth and letting the needling sting wash back over my skin, he sighed gently.
“Yeah,” he smiled, “That kinda said it.”


His curled lip sent a shiver down my spine.
“What do we do with wolves?” he whispered, leaning into me. I didn’t answer, I couldn’t. I was frozen to the spot, watching his arm draw back slowly.
The sneer spread across his lips as he hissed, “Burn them.”
His arm flew forwards, and the pain shot through my body, racing impatiently to every corner until I was overwhelmed. As the crackles crept into my ears and the smell and heat of searing flesh filled my lungs, darkness descended across the room. I blinked, feeling the sweat prick my skin as the hall dissolved into a blur of Brian’s house, but Adam didn’t fade. I squeezed my eyes shut a few times, trying to banish the nightmarish apparition, but he didn’t disappear. Instead, his featured became more clear and defined, until eventually, I realised it wasn’t Adam standing over me, but Johnny. He was gripping something tightly in his hand. It caught the moonlight that was pouring in through the window, glimmering menacingly. My stomach turned as I made out the knife in the darkness. As my eyes adjusted, I could see the expression on his face. It was twisted with… grief?
“Johnny?” I whispered into the darkness as he watched me, his stare constant. “What are you doing?”
“Get up,” he ordered, ignoring my question. I stayed down, my confusion rendering me useless. “I said, get up,” he reiterated.
I sat up slowly, unable to find any words in the face of the intimidating blade. He motioned for me to stand, and I followed his gesture, getting to my feet. I shivered a little in the cool darkness as I tried to keep my balance. He pointed at the doorway, and not knowing what else to do, I let him push me towards it. He walked me through the house, letting the point of his knife in my back guide me, until we reached the French doors that lead out to the pool. He yanked it open, letting the cool night breeze brush past us carelessly. He nodded for me to step out into the night. I gingerly touched my toe down onto the rough stone. The slabs were illuminated by the ghostly moonlight, and cool under my bare feet. I was breathing heavily at this point, the short walk having drained me already. Once we were both outside, he closed the door behind us and gestured for me to sit down on one of the loungers. I practically collapsed onto it as he lit a cigarette and offered it to me. I raised an eyebrow as I took it from his fingers. I probably shouldn’t be smoking, but under the circumstances…
“This going to be my last one?” I asked, bringing it to my lips as I stared him down. He lit his own as he held my gaze. Occupying the lounger opposite me, he blew a cloud up into the night sky. He let the cigarette hang lazily from his lips as he turned the knife over in his hands, ignoring my questions.

“I had two kids before all this,” he suddenly volunteered, as I inhaled a lungful of smoke. “Two beautiful girls.”
“I’m sorry,” I replied, slowly, flicking a clump of ash away.
“No you’re not,” he retorted, shortly. “You don’t give a fuck.”
I didn’t answer. I didn’t have anything to say to him. Taking my silence as his cue to continue, he took another drag on his cigarette and leaned forwards.
“One of them was just four,” he continued. “The other was six. Amelia and Grace were their names.”
“Are you going to kill me?” I asked, cutting his reminiscence short.
“I haven’t decided,” he answered in a terse manner, exhaling the fog from his lungs sharply. His words hung between us, dripping from the knife in his hands and swirling in the clouds of smoke we were producing. I let the silence wash over us until he opened his mouth again.
“My kids were taken from me,” he growled, his eyes narrowing with hatred. “And then there's you... You fucking took that little girl’s life.”
“With all due respect, Johnny, what the fuck do those to two things have to do with each other?” I asked. I was about to put the cigarette back to my lips when he pointed the blade at me.
“They have everything to do with each other,” he snarled, “but of course you don’t understand that, you selfish bitch.”
I flinched back from the point of the knife, eyeing him, “You really going to do this?”
“Fuck you. Do I look to you like I have a problem with killing?” he spat, jabbing it at me.
“No,” I answered, slowly. “No, you don’t. What exactly are you trying to do, Johnny?”
“What the fuck do you mean?” he asked, “Isn’t it obvious? I’m going to kill you, because you deserve it for murdering that girl.”
“And then what?” I challenged, looking him in the eye as he held firm with the knife. “It won’t change how you feel.”
“What?” he choked out, furrowing his brow. “And how would you know how I feel?”
I stared him down, looking deeply into his dark eyes, “Your girls are never coming back.”
“What the fuck did you say?” he questioned, his face twisting.
“Something that you should have realised a long time ago,” I countered, pushing myself to my feet.
He jumped up as well, pushing the knife closer to me, “We’re not done here.”
“What’s killing me going to achieve?” I asked, rounding on him. “You think it will make you feel better?”
“It will make me feel better,” he insisted, his lip curling up with determination.
“No, it won’t. You’ll do this, and then you’ll go back to the same, sad life you’ve lived for however long, trying to avenge your daughters,” I answered, throwing the end of my cigarette down. He stepped forward, pushing the knife into the scabbed scales on my chest. I yelped as I stumbled backwards, clutching at my chest which only served to worsen the pain. My heel caught on the lounger, and I tumbled over it, ending up in a contorted heap on the floor, whimpering as Johnny stood over me.
“Get up,” he commanded, but I couldn’t. The pulsating burning emanating throughout my body from my wound was completely overwhelming me. I could barely hear his voice over the internal screeching of my nerves.
“Just kill me here,” I whispered, screwing my face up against the fire that was burning under my skin. He scoffed and couched down beside me. With a rough grip on my arm, he pulled upright until I was kneeling in front of him. Threading his fingers into my hair and held a hunk of it tightly within his fist. The blade came up, confidently, coming to rest with its point digging in between my neck and jaw. My lips began to tremble softly, betraying my fear in the moment. I was going to die just like Viola, blood spurting from my neck in a gruesome fountain.
“Aren’t you going to close your eyes?” he sneered, pressing the knife into my flesh.
Unblinking, I answered him firmly with one word, “No.”
“Your choice.” He shrugged nonchalantly, but I caught a glimpse of apprehension in his eyes as he swayed slightly on his heels. Focusing only on his face, I waited. I waited for the pain, the gushing blood, for something, anything to happen, but nothing did. His dark eyes bored into mine with a steady conviction, but his hand tremored softly, hesitant to carry out the deed. Something held him back. At first he refused to acknowledge it, but eventually he let out a strangled cry and lifted the knife above me. I lost my nerve and closed my eyes with short gasp, but instead of the explosion of pain I should have felt, I heard the blade clatter against the slabs. His hand slipped out of my hair as quickly as it had entangled itself, and I opened my eyes again to see Johnny storming away into the house. I let out a long breath that I didn’t even realise I’d been holding, my eyes crawling over the floor to the where the blade lay, painted by the ethereal glow of the moon. I was still on the floor, the rough stone beneath me grazing my knees as I tried to drag myself onto one of the loungers. I managed to pull myself up, curling up with a little sob as my blistered skin throbbed in protest.

Through the darkness, I could see Johnny’s distinct silhouette pacing irately about the kitchen. It had been… I don’t know how long, but he hadn’t come back to retrieve his knife, or finish the job. He was just pacing, back and forth and back and forth. I was trying to breathe slowly, holding my knees to my chest as tightly as I could, as if it might somehow dampen the pain that was engulfing me. His rhythmic steps eventually slowed for a second, then got louder. He’s coming back. My heart thudded in anticipation as he sank clumsily into his original lounger again. I dared to look up at him. His red-rimmed eyes were trained on me, his lashes thick with the damp of wiped tears. He sniffed and took a swig from a bottle of Jack Daniels before offering it to me. I sat up slowly, clenching my jaw as I worked through the pain. I took the bottle from his extended hand and tipped it back, letting the fiery liquid slip across my tongue. Another activity I probably shouldn’t be partaking in, but whatever, I’m still not sure if I’m going to live so I might as well. He lit and passed over another cigarette, which I gladly accepted. Isn’t it funny how quickly we can fall back into old habits? It was only a few weeks ago that I’d broken my nicotine abstinence. A shiver ran down my spine as I remembered what it had led to… Jimmy’s electric touch on my bare skin that night…
It was meant to have been an experimental smoke, a one off, and yet I’d kept it up. And now here I was, sharing cigarettes with someone who was trying to decide whether or not to kill me. I traded the bottle for the cigarette and took down a lungful of smoke, watching Johnny as he sank another mouthful of whiskey. I wondered how much of that bottle he’d already drank before staggering back out to me. He was wobbling slightly as he sat, giving away that he’d had a head start.
“My kids were fucking beautiful,” he slurred suddenly, startling me a little. He took another swig and passed the bottle back to me.
“Amelia and Grace. Pretty names,” I remarked, swallowing my own mouthful with a grimace. I wasn’t really a whiskey fan, but I wasn’t about to burn this bridge before it had been built. “Did they look like you?”
“They had my eyes,” he divulged, “but otherwise they were the spit of their bitch of a mother.”
He paused to take a long drag on his smoke, his brows knitting with anger. I watched him closely with morbid curiosity. This was not the fearless, trigger happy loudmouth that I’d previously perceived him to be; before me was a broken man. He’d hidden it well so far, but the smallest crack in a foundation can bring the structure down, and he was crumbling before me.
“She rarely let me see them,” he revealed, looking up at me. “They were my whole world, and one day, she just packed up and left with them. Said she was sick of our life together. Whatever, I couldn’t care less about her, but my girls… I would have given anything to have them back. Gracie was only a couple of years old, Amelia was four. Used to make me macaroni pictures and Father’s Day cards and shit at day care.”
“Shit, Johnny,” I sighed, swallowing down more whiskey.
“Yeah, barely saw them for a whole year,” he continued, his cigarette dangling from his mouth as he reached over for the bottle. “Then this happened. I tried to get to them as soon as I knew things were bad, but she fucking took them upstate to San Francisco when she went. By the time I got there…”
He paused, downing more whiskey. Through the alcohol induced haze, I reached out for the bottle, sensing I would need more too…
“What happened to them?” I asked, quietly, as I sipped the dryness down. It wasn’t tasting so bad, and my pain was easing some - guess it was beginning to work its magic. He shook his head, his face creasing with the ache of loss.
“What do you think? They were torn to fucking bits by the time I got there,” he uttered, his breathing growing heavy.
My stomach turned at his revelation, “Jesus. Fuck, I’m sorry.”
The silence swamped us, the quicksand of his memory trapping us in place. We took turns swigging from the bottle, each trying to drown out our own imaginations. At some point, there was nothing left to drink, and Johnny stumbled off to find something else, eventually returning with what must have been half of the beers in their fridge. He tossed me one and cracked his own, flopping back into the lounger.
“So,” he started, his voice dragging. “What happened to yours?”
“My what?” I asked, noting my own slurring. Jimmy and Brian sure were going to be mad at me if I made it to the morning.
He slurped from his can, manners forgotten, “Your sister’s kid?”
“Oh,” I faltered, taken aback by his direct questioning. It was laced with curiosity though, rather than hatred, and the Jack had made me loose lipped, so I obliged him. “Esther.”
“Esther?” he repeated, clumsily handing another cigarette to me. I took it from him, figuring that any setback on my healing was already done at this point.
“She was three,” I disclosed, attempting to slide my uncooperative fingers under the ring pull of the can. Clearly I didn’t need any more to drink, but that didn’t stop me when I eventually managed to open it. “Happened when we were on the road. Everything had already gone to shit,” I slurred, shrugging as I took a deep draught of my beer. “We left the kids in the car while we were looking for gas. Thought they’d be alright. Then, I fucking cut my arm open.”
I paused, holding my arm out for him to inspect my jagged scar.
“Fuck,” he grunted, his eyes following the line that ran up the inside of my forearm.
“Yeah,” I nodded. “Vi, my sister, was a nurse. Stitched it up for me. We were so swept up in stopping my bleeding that the kids kind of… got pushed to the side. Only realised we’d left them exposed when we heard them screaming. Some biter was throwing itself at the car. Vi took it down pretty quickly, and we figured it was a lesson learnt,” I paused, looking over at him, miserably. “They never told us that Esther got clawed by that fucking biter. We didn’t know until she was really sick.”
Johnny tilted his head back, looking up at the stars above for a moment. When he met my eyes again, there was mirrored sadness in them. A recognition.
“And you had to…?” he trailed off, but we both knew what he was asking. I nodded, unable to say the words again. It was a story that I wasn’t ready to repeat so soon. Instead, I focused on my cigarette, Johnny doing the same as he laid himself back in the lounger and returned his gaze to the night sky.
“Every time I kill, I imagine it’s the person, or thing, that took my girls from me,” he suddenly volunteered, his eyes firmly set on the stars. “Sometimes it feels amazing, like I’m satisfying some fucking deep rage that’s residing in my bones. Sometimes it gives me nothing, and leaves me longing to hurt something else. But nothing ever stops it from coming back. The emptiness…”
I leaned forwards, placing my hands flat on the floor. I crawled over to him, not caring as I knocked my can over on the way. I pulled myself up next to him, trying not to collapse the lounger with my awkward movements. Settling next to him, I slipped an arm around his shoulders. A gesture of unity, comfort; an olive branch. He accepted it, and shuffled over a little to share his space.
“I know how you feel,” I said, softly, joining him in his stargazing. “Believe me, I know.”

A quiet fell over us as we finished our cigarettes, together, under the sympathetic cover of galaxies above us.

Notes

Some JC backstory for you there :(