by Kate L. Mary
I spent the day in a drunken haze, staring out the window at the lake as the sun set, downing glass after glass until I fell asleep. The alcohol helped keep the dreams away.
The first thing I did when I woke, after peeing, was to refill my glass. It was dark and I was alone in the living room. Trevor must have decided to take advantage of one of the many bedrooms, but for some reason I couldn’t stomach the thought of climbing into the bed of a stranger, so I went out onto the deck. The air chilled me all the way through, and goose bumps popped up on my skin. I sucked down more of the wine, hoping the alcohol would warm my blood.
The world was utterly silent except the sounds of nature, and even that seemed whispered. The rustling of the leaves hushed, the lapping of water against the rocks muted. It was as if the forest was afraid of alerting the walking dead to their presence.
I drank. On the deck, then back in the living room when I got too cold. Outside again the next day while the sun beat down on me, dozing in a chair and waking to skin that ached from sunburn. The days passed in a blur of booze.
Trevor existed at the edge of my fuzzy reality, his disapproval heavy even in my barely-conscious state, but we didn’t talk. I would wake to the clink of glass and find him gathering the empty bottles that had collected on the table, but he wouldn’t look at me. Only his changing shirts marked the passing days, but I couldn’t focus enough to count them. How long had we been in this house? How many bottles had I downed? How long before my liver gave out and I died?
I didn’t know, and I wasn’t even sure if I cared.
Chapter 7
“Wake up, Jade.”
Trevor nudged me, but I had a hard time clawing my way out of my alcohol soaked dream world. I rolled onto my back and forced one eye open, but when he came into view I had to shut it again and blow out a deep breath. My brain felt like it was floating in a sea of wine. I tried to grab hold of it and drag it to shore so I could make sense of what I was seeing, but it was too difficult.
“Jade,” he said again. “Wake up.”
I swallowed and forced my eyes open, but the image hadn’t changed. Trevor was covered in dirt, his face sweaty and flushed. His eyes, which had avoided meeting mine head on since we’d arrived at the house, were now focused and crackling with something that felt volatile. Like a fuse had been lit.
“Whath’s goin’ on?” Even in my own ears my words were slurred. I pushed myself up and blinked again. “Why’re you so dirty?”
He let out a deep sigh and I could tell that he was trying to reign in his temper. “Because I was out there trying to find supplies so we don’t starve to death and I had to fight off a group of zombies, which wasn’t easy on my own. I could have used some backup, but you were here. Passed out. Drunk. As usual.” He shoved his hand through his hair, which was slick with sweat. “No more. This isn’t happening anymore. Do you understand?”
“I’m sorry.” I reached out to him, but he jerked away. “I’m sorry. I can do better.”
Trevor took a step back. “You’re going to have to, because I dumped out all the wine. It’s gone. All of it.”
I blinked, hoping to make sense of his words, but it didn’t work. “What?”
“It’s. All. Gone.” He over pronounced every syllable. “And the rest of the booze too, so don’t think you’ll just switch to vodka or tequila, because there’s nothing left.”
The reality of the situation hit me and I stumbled to my feet, nearly falling over when the room swayed. “You had no right! What were you thinking?”
“Are you kidding me?” He yelled back. “Do you have any idea what I’ve been through? Since the moment we set foot in this house you’ve been checked out. It’s been weeks and all you’ve done is drink and sleep. You haven’t even changed your clothes or showered. You reek of booze and filth. I’ve been going out and gathering supplies by myself, making sure we had bottled water and food and weapons. I’ve been cutting wood so we don’t freeze to death. Making sure we’re set for the winter, which is going to be long and harsh. Every time one of the dead stumbles up to the house, I kill it. But I can’t do it anymore, Jade. I can’t be alone like this, not anymore, and I refuse to let you drink yourself to death when you are one of the lucky ones. One of the few people who survived the virus.”
Lucky? I didn’t feel lucky, but at that moment I was so angry that I couldn’t make myself talk. Not even to argue with him.
So I turned away and stumbled through the house, turning into the first bedroom I came to. When I slammed the door it seemed to shake the walls. My breaths were coming out in gasps and my brain was so soaked with alcohol that the room seemed to tilt and spin. I inhaled a few times, trying to calm my uneasy stomach, but it didn’t work. The booze I’d downed last night before passing out lurched up, and I stumbled forward, making it to the adjoining bathroom just in time.
As the heaving eased, I became aware of Trevor’s presence in the bathroom. I slumped to the floor, curling up as he moved around me. He poured water into the back of the toilet so he could flush it, and it hit me that while I’d been drinking myself into oblivion the electricity and water had shut off. He left, but came back a few moments later carrying a huge jug of water. It was the kind office buildings used to have in their lobbies. He ripped the lid off and poured the water into the bathtub, and when the bottle was empty, he brought another. Then another. I didn’t move, watching his progress from my position on the floor. When he’d finished with the jugs he started pouring steaming pots of water into the tub, testing the water each time until it reached what must have been an acceptable temperature, because that’s when he turned and nodded to me.
“Take a bath, but don’t get used to it. We can’t do this often.” His eyes moved over me, and the disgust in them made the hair on my scalp prickle. “You need it, though.”
He left me alone then and I pulled myself up so I could get undressed. My hands were shaking, as were my legs, and when I caught sight of myself in the mirror I froze. My face was gaunt, but my eyes puffy. There were dark circles under them that hadn’t been there before, and my hair was so greasy that it stuck to my scalp. Trevor was right to say that I needed a bath. I looked like a homeless person, and probably smelled just as bad.
The water was warm, not hot, but I knew I couldn’t really complain. I scrubbed my body until my skin felt raw, trying to ignore the murky tint of the water. My body looked like it belonged to a stranger, the way my ribs stuck out and how thin my wrists were. My breasts had shrunken and my hipbones threatened to break through the skin.
When I was clean I climbed out, but realized after a moment that I didn’t even know where the bag was that I’d brought with me from my apartment. Instead of searching for it I sifted through the closet until I found a thick bathrobe. It would have to do until I was able to think clearly enough to find something else to wear.
The scent of cooking meat filled the air when I stepped out of the bedroom. I followed it into the kitchen to find Trevor standing at the counter, a camping stove set up in front of him. I stepped forward so I could get a better look and found fish sizzling in the skillet.
“Sit down,” he said, not turning to face me. “You need to eat something.”
I obeyed. “Where’d you get it?”
“I went fishing.” He still didn’t look at me, and his shoulders were rigid.
I didn’t say anything else. Not when he put a plate in front of me, not when I was done picking the flaky meat off the bones or when he plopped a second plate in front of me. Dried fruit, nuts, and beef jerky covered this one. He was trying to get me to gain some of the weight back that I’d lost, and since I knew I needed to, I picked at the food until my stomach felt like it was going to burst.
Trevor didn’t sit down with me. Instead, he left the kitchen, coming back a few minutes later with a box that was filled to the brim with food. Canned goods, dried food like cereal and crackers, sports drinks, and bottled water. He did this again and again until there were ten
boxes spread out around the kitchen, and then he unloaded them, stacking the food in the already stuffed pantry while I watched from the table, in awe of how much he’d done while I let my body and mind go to waste.
“I’m sorry,” I said, knowing I should get the words out before the need for a drink clouded my common sense and I began cursing him again. “I should have been here to help.”
Trevor just nodded.
It didn’t take very long for the regret to disappear. I slept in a bed for the first time since arriving at the house, but it was uneasy and interrupted by dreams of zombies running after me. The next morning I woke desperate for a drink. Even though Trevor had already told me that he’d thrown it all out, I dragged myself into the kitchen to double check. The wall was horribly empty, and the cabinets that had previously held booze were bare as well. Trevor had been thorough.
The following week was a blur of sweat and tears and curses. I called Trevor a bastard, an asshole, and every other name I could think of. He took the abuse silently, in what I thought was an almost cold manner. As the symptoms lessened and I began to feel normal though, a new picture of the man I had run from New York City with emerged. One of a man who held my hair while I vomited and carried me to the bed when I was too shaky to walk. Tucking me in. Cleaning me up. Wiping my feverish forehead with a wet washcloth. Checking on me in the middle of the night. Trevor did all these things silently, but with a clear head for the first time in weeks, I realized that also meant he did it without judgment. He never admonished me for allowing things to get this bad, never reminded me that I had done this to myself. Never tried to make me feel worse than I already did.
After nearly a week of misery, I finally found enough strength to drag myself from bed and rejoin Trevor in the living room. There I curled up on the couch, covering my still shivering body with a blanket as he moved around in the kitchen, as silent as he’d been since the day we met. I watched him from my cozy position, feeling like I was seeing him for the first time. The determination with which he moved, even while performing the simple task of making me something to eat, baffled me. It didn’t match the impression I’d gotten of him when we’d first met. Didn’t seem to fit with the man who had lived in the studio apartment I visited, or the one who hadn’t rushed off to find his children at the first sign of disaster. He seemed different. Stronger. At peace.
When he came out of the kitchen, he set a plate in front of me. It was piled with beef jerky and nuts and dried fruit. There were a couple processed protein bars as well. Next to the plate he placed two bottles of Gatorade.
“Thanks,” I whispered, feeling suddenly sheepish in front of the man who had watched me nearly drink myself into an early grave.
He only nodded.
I snacked on the beef jerky while he went back to the kitchen. He seemed to always be working, and I found myself feeling worse than ever for how little I’d helped him. Through the wall of windows I could see the lake and the trees beyond. They were orange and red and yellow, and well on their way to shedding the leaves that now glistened in the sun. Winter would be coming very soon, and Trevor had spent every waking moment preparing things so we could make it. The pile of wood next to the large fireplace was only the tip of the iceberg.
I had to make this up to him. Needed to get strong and pitch in and let him know I wouldn’t take everything he’d done for me for granted.
My stomach had shrunk, not to mention the fact that it wasn’t used to actual food, and getting the beef jerky down was the most I could hope for at the moment. But I worked hard over the next few hours to eat the rest, snacking on the nuts and dried fruit whenever I felt like I could force more down. I drank the Gatorade too, and when both bottles were gone Trevor brought me more. He never said a word, but he seemed to always be watching me.
When the sun began to set, he came to join me in the living room, holding a cup of steaming liquid that I could only assume was coffee. When he lowered himself into the chair he let out a loud sigh as if it was the first time he’d sat down all day. It probably was.
“I want to thank you,” I began. My stomach felt heavy, but I knew it had nothing to do with the food I’d gorged myself on. This wasn’t a conversation I was looking forward to, but it was one I needed to have anyway. As much as I was dreading it. “I let you down. I let myself down.” I swallowed. “I had a drinking problem before. I didn’t want to admit it. Even during the meetings I’d started attending I would sit there thinking about how ridiculous the whole thing was. About how I was nothing like the other people in that room. But what did I do at the first sign of trouble? I drank.”
It wasn’t until the last sentence was out that I admitted to myself the truth behind those words. It also made me admit another, much deeper truth.
“I’m an alcoholic,” I mumbled, mainly because I felt like I needed to say the words out loud.
I held my breath when I’d finished, meeting Trevor’s gaze for the first time since I’d started talking. He was watching me, his dark eyes trained on my face like he was trying to take in every emotion. I couldn’t read his expression, though. Couldn’t figure out what he was thinking or even anticipate what he was about to say.
“You’re not the only one who screwed up.” He made a face like getting the next words out hurt him. “My mistakes will be a lot more difficult to get past.”
I wanted to say, more difficult than the past week has been? But I didn’t because I knew he was talking emotionally. That he meant it would take a long time for him to forgive himself for not going to check on his kids sooner. He was right, which was another thing I avoided saying. Just like he’d avoided saying that I’d brought the last week on myself, I avoided pointing out that he’d been the one to make the conscious decision to be an asshole.
“Why don’t we just agree not to let it happen again? I won’t drink anymore—” Not that there was any booze in the house. “—and you can—”
“Not be a dick?”
I laughed, but found myself covering my mouth with my hand when the sound popped out. When was the last time I’d laughed? I couldn’t remember. Before the virus for sure, but it was also entirely possible that it had been before that. Maybe even before Nathanial died.
For the first time it felt like a lot of time had gone by. Before now, every time I had thought about his death it had felt as if only days had passed. Like I was waking up the morning of his funeral all over again, the realization that he would never again walk through the front door nearly paralyzing me. Now though, it felt like a distant pain. A wound that had almost healed. It still ached if I poked at it, but if I left it alone, it felt almost normal.
A part of me hated it.
“I’m going to help,” I said, wanting to move on from the horrible memories of the past to something more hopeful. “Things will get easier for you now. Better. I’ll pitch in. I’ll do what I can to take on some of the burden.”
Trevor only nodded.
Chapter 8
I tried to live up to that promise, but it wasn’t easy because, as I soon found out, I lacked the physical strength to do much. The first week after my withdrawal I tried to help Trevor put plastic over the windows in preparation for winter, but after less than an hour I found my legs too weak to remain standing. Even sitting on the floor and handing him the sheets of plastic he’d gotten while I was too drunk to notice his efforts tired me out. Eventually, I was forced to retreat to the couch and watch him work.
The following week things were better though, and the next one even better. By the time the month was out I found it easier to help and was even ready for him to show me a few self-defense moves. I hadn’t seen a zombie since we’d left the city, but Trevor had. He’d already told me about a couple interactions he’d had with the creatures, which only served to make me feel worse about how useless I’d allowed myself to become. He could have died out there by himself and it would have been all my fault, a position I swore I’d never put either one of us in again.
Of course, it did occur to me that I’d been so wasted that if he had died, I probably wouldn’t have noticed his absence until after I’d run out of booze. A thought that made me feel like even more of a piece of shit than I had before.
By the time the first snow fell we had settled into a normal routine that meant working from sun up to sun down. All of it was aimed at getting us through the winter, which meant that as the flakes began to fall from the sky and flutter to the ground, we suddenly found ourselves in a position to rest.
Trevor and I stood side by side at the huge window overlooking the lake, watching for what felt like hours. The trees were almost completely bare of leaves, and it wasn’t long before they were coated in a white film. Snow collected at the base of the trunks and the edge of the lake, transforming the landscape I’d come to know so well into something totally foreign.
“It’s really coming down,” I said, watching the fat flakes drop from the sky.
Trevor nodded in response.
I’d almost gotten used to how quiet he was, how serious and determined. He had single-handedly made sure that we were prepared for the winter, and I knew I would never be able to repay him, and that I would be eternally thankful for it.
“Thank you for saving my life,” I whispered, not looking at him but instead watching the flakes drift slowly to the ground.
“You’ve thanked me already.”
“But not enough. I can never thank you enough.”
“You have.” He turned to face me and I pulled my gaze from the snowy landscape so I could do the same. “We agreed to start over and I meant it. We can’t change the past and I don’t plan on lording it over you.”
We can’t change the past. His words took me back to that church basement; to the time I’d spent there looking down on everyone else. On people who had just been trying to get help. Trying to focus on the things they could change instead of the things they couldn’t. For the first time I truly understood the truth in those words. There were things in this world that I couldn’t change, but there were also a hell of a lot of things I could change. One of them being how I acted from here on out, like helping Trevor and making sure I really lived, which meant being present and not trying to drown out reality with booze. The world out there was terrifying now, but that didn’t change the fact that I had to make a conscious decision to either fight and live, or give up and die. It was the same decision I’d faced after Nathaniel had died, only then I’d failed miserably. I wouldn’t do that again. I wouldn’t focus on the things I couldn’t change. Not anymore.