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Five Months.
No one had seen Abby in five months, going on six. Everyone was scrambling, desperately trying to find common ground without demands being their constant point of direction.
You knew everything was just seconds from falling apart.
You were right.
People were putting their names on guns, medical supplies. The food was going moldy. The hot water in the water heaters finally ran out.
Everybody was tired
By month two, everybody fled with whatever they could carry.
For those last two months you waited, watching the door like a meek little mouse assessing a trap with your dinner in the middle.
The room you and Abby shared felt bare without her clothes on the rack, her earthy smell that seemed to make you soften the second you got a whiff. Oxidized Weights in the corner, a sweaty shirt you never bothered to wash, not since she left.
You were so angry at her, you spent nights beating your fists into her pillow imagining it was her face. Only to cuddle it with sobs that left you hoarse in the morning.
The way she left was cowardly, in the dead of night. some stupid note, apologizing. She didn’t feel it was safe for anyone — for you to be around her anymore.
Someone was after her, and for the first time. She seemed scared. Each word scribbled hastily. Her name is signed in a way you can barely see through sleep stricken eyes.
She didn't even take her coat, and for some reason that only makes you bite your lip to still the scream starting to rise like bile in your throat.
You knew about Joel, about this girl who Abby said was like a lost puppy — she was bragging at the time, sipping a beer with this big cocky smile, knuckles still split and throbbing.
But her eyes had never looked more barren. Her lip chewed raw and you caught her digging jagged nails into the fleshy wounds on her knuckles far too many times.
That night she crawled into bed, the ring on her finger glinting a pale gold with rust around the middle, your hand curled around her neck, fingers carding through her hair.
You had your own ring to match, a fake diamond but really that was all you two were able to find.
You held her, waited until those rough pants became shallow mists of warmth against your cheek, drying the tears that prickled your eyes. Her arms flex around your soft belly and at some point she’s just a puppy in your arms, with her face dug into your chest, lips puckered sweetly.
Her face was lax, slightly pink. Hours are spent with the pad of your calloused them skimming her scarred cheek, you braid neat little strands of hair. Feather kisses along her temples.
It was all so perfect, serene for your circumstances.
The nights after that were just screaming. Becoming constantly sleepless unless you were awake to monitor her. She broke a punching bag.
She killed him and it fixed nothing.
Abby left the note pinned to your lamp, her ring dangling from her dog tags.
You and Abby had been two peas in a pod since grade school, braiding each other's hair. Sneaking lollipops on the playground. Always hand in hand.
Nobody put their hands on you when she was around, even without all the muscle on her bones she’d stare you down, ball her fists and puff her chest. Nothing scared her. Nothing.
When everything went down and the infected started ravaging the city, you went to Abby. Your bag was already packed, a kitchen knife and untied sneakers. You were a mess and she held you, didn’t say a damn thing as you weeped into her shoulder.
Your parents were gone before sundown, but Abby's house was still A-light, Mr. Anderson's car was still parked in the driveway.
You two hadn't been apart since that day, got together soon after everything happened — and after Mr. Anderson died, you two were married within the week.
Now she’s just gone, two months turned into three. Then four. Then five. You’re just supposed to accept that?
The entire stadium was empty, each class hung with bright colors, but no kids. You can see your breath in the halls and the power was cut a month ago.
They took Alice, even after you begged them not to. She was the last bit of abby you had, that dog loved you.
Every day you sit on your little cot, arms folded over your belly. You listen. for the sound of clicking or feet echoing in the hall. Abby calling out for you or Manny coming back to fetch you like he promised.
You keep expecting her to come back, and she hasn't.
.𖥔 ݁ ˖.
Climbing these stairs would’ve been light work months ago — hell it would’ve been easier if she wasn’t bleeding like a faucet, bile keeps rising up in her throat and god, shes fucking cold.
It feels like a fever dream, she can still taste blood under her tongue and there’s skin caught between her teeth. Her skin is melting off like oiled wax paper, there’s nothing but spots in her vision.
She wants to scream out but five steps into this stadium told her nobody was fucking home.
Fucking cowards.
The place is striped bone dry, she can’t even see her way through the trash caked up on the cafeteria floors, the broken glass crackling under her sluggish feet.
She's never been this fragile and yet she feels like a step to hard could shatter her.
The wind is merciless, even taking its anger out on the trees — there's flying branches in every direction, rain stinging the cuts on her skin. It's all coming from a gaping hole in the ceiling.
That big wooden door looks like heaven's gates. Abby can’t feel her legs, she doesn’t even run as much as she throws herself into it — hissing thinly as it splinters against her boney shoulder.
Abby pawed around for the handle until the door barely eased open with a final push.
It's all the same, down to the speckled floors caked in years of dirt. The dented cabinets, even the smell. gun powder, and sulfur. Her pine cologne. and you.
She expected it to be empty, five months and no contact, she ran things, kept them in order.
Anyone else who was capable of doing that was gone, or dead.
But the first thing she sees is small shoulders, cozied up in the coat she got for you a couple years back, on your twentieth. Your hair, just a bit longer. Abby's nostrils flare, her teeth dig into the chapped skin on her bottom lip.
She can smell you from a mile away. Hazel nuts, and strawberries.
Your bag is packed, light. You barely notice her, even as her feet drag against the floor leaving carne in their wake.
You aren't dressed properly for the snow, you're wearing her shoes. two sizes too big. You haven’t bothered with gloves and your pants are too thin.
it all but reminds her why she used to dress you so often.
She wants to scold you, but months of her absence.
leaving her ring like a useless knickknack.
She had no right to say anything.
Abby gets close, nearly falls down those fucking steps. You're an arms length away when the door finally falls shut. A loud hiss, and exhale as air is sealed from the inside out.
Your entire body whipped around, eyes wide like saucers as you come face to face with brittle limbs. You barely have to paw for the dagger on the table before you're charging.
You're silent, but your mind is screaming, Abby is darting in every direction with her hands held high in surrender, hunched shoulders.
Why didn't you lock the door?
What's happening?
Who is this?
Abby gasped as her back collided with the wall, air feels stuck in her lungs and she can't see past her tears. “ Enough!" she grits, hoarse like a blade lodged in her throat.
Light reflects off rusty metal, the knife in your hand trembles inches from Abby's heaving chest, your face softened but there's a pulse behind your eyes, heat flooding from the center of your skull to your growling belly.
A hand cooly wraps around your wrist, the knife clatters to the ground. “ no —” your lips clamp shut, your jaw clenching tight. “ oh-...my god…”
her lips move like she wants to speak but all that comes out is a raspy cough. You don't need words, her hands feel calloused, cold. But you know them.
You can't believe your eyes. You can't recognize her.
She might as well be grouped in with the infected, peeling skin and blisters down to her knuckles. Her beautiful honey brown hair cut down to the scalp and yet it's the first thing you touch.
It's wiry, making you gasp as your fingers comb through her tresses. Tinted dark like oil, and mud.
Tears prickle your eyes, heat flushing down your neck. “ a –.. Abby…” your bottom lip quivers, and your knees feel weak but she's first to collapse.
Her body came down on you like bricks, her expression melting as she pressed her face into your soft chest. “ oh fuck..” it's a breath of relief, that final exhale as you cross the finish line and your legs go weak.
She won.
“Abby –”
“i-i... I'm so sorry..”
“baby – ”
“I left you– I never ever should've left you-”
“Abigail.”
Your voice bounces off the walls, cutting her short. Like a wet palm against bruised skin. A crackle of lightning — She shuddered, breathing you in again before her eyes bat shut, finally letting time slip away.
Each word dissolved, her body grew limp in your arms.
So fragile.
you try to hold her up, trembling arms beneath hers like stilts. No muscle, no brawn and yet she was still too heavy.
You grit your teeth, keep your jaw cinched as sweat feathers your upper lip. “i-i can't hold you up abs–” you flare your nostrils, nails digging into scathed skin.
You could never hold her.
she was always taller. Broader. Even now her hand practically engulfs the back of your neck as she tries to steady herself.
She's damp, reeking of swamp. Bleeding down her side but you can't tell if it's old or new. Her skin is a peeling mess, she’s not the person you remember, she's so scrawny.
Your mind has a million questions flying through it.
You don’t wanna admit that you can’t look at her. Not all mutilated like that, walking like she was already dead.
You swallowed, your throat bobbing like a tiny tadpole in a pond. “ you gotta help me..” you croaked, earning a shallow grunt in response. “Baby c’mon — "
she sprung off you. Enough of her force making you stumble back. Breathing in deep through her nose as your hand clutched your chest, startled.
“Abby, let me help..”
Her hand shot up, all five digits trembling. “ no.” she rasped, staggering towards the bed, unmade with the smell of you emanating off the sheets. “let me- just let me…” is all she says as she collapses.
The bed chirred under her weight, Abby is face deep in the pillows before you have a say, drenching beige cotton in mildew and oxidized vermillion. You trail behind, eyes bloodshot as they run along the burnt slopes of her shoulders.
It feels like a crime to ask, your body involuntarily wracking with a shudder as you truly assess the damages.
Some nothing short of nearly fatal, you feel bile burning its way up your throat. It takes all your will to swallow it down and curl up beside her.
The bed used to be too small to hold you both, you’d have to tuck yourself into Abby's belly like a caterpillar in a tiny cocoon just to fit.
She’s like a needle in a haystack now, you can fit beside her with enough extra space to fit a third.
“what happened…” you finally managed, tearfully staring off out of a foggy window overlooking the stadium field.
Abby hummed tiredly, brows creasing together. She shook her head stubbornly and just turned away.
Of fucking course.
You scoff,and roll your eyes. “i haven’t seen you in months you don’t think i fucking deserve something.” You can see her tense, shoulders squaring up tight.
Then her fists curl. You hear her tongue click against her teeth, she shuffled around to pull the scruffy gray blanket up over her shoulder. “ I got lost.”
“Lost?!“
Rage
Pure fucking rage.
Imagine hot honey, melted and dripping off the stick. That sickly sweat scent that suffocates you like fluffy feathered pillows. Every crevice it seeps into, sticky, like caramel.
Now imagine an entire pot being poured over your head, no warning. Not a light drizzle.
The entire steaming pot in the middle of your head. Seeping into every dip — making your limbs stick to your body
It's claustrophobic. You might as well be dying. It's hot, you might as well be on fire.
Laughter traveled up your throat, bitter – fixed with a faux smile and trembling hands.
Your lips tic, a cool hand smearing the thin line off your face. “ You've been gone for five months, you call that lost?”
“yeah, I got fuckin’ lost.” she barked, making you flinch, skin paling. She never usually raises her voice, not at you. Not ever. “is that so hard to believe – ”
“you can track a fucking fly – got maps for days stacked in that chest of yours."
You point to a wooden chest in the corner, adorned in gold accents. “So yeah, it is.”
Your voice is shaken, thick with unease — it feels like there’s something lodged in your throat, keeping you from wailing at the top of your lungs,
You try not to cower, fold your shoulders and tuck your hands. That's not what you two do.
“Abby, I’m your wife.”
there’s nothing.
Not an exasperated grunt, not a rise in her shoulders or a hitch in her breath, Abby doesn’t say anything to you, just holds the old blanket below her chin.
I’m not. she fights the words prodding at her caged teeth. Keeps her nails buried in the thick calloused heels of her palms.
Most people couldn’t break her, she was admittedly a bit hard headed — painfully unwilling to listen if she didn’t think it was important.
She’d throw orders around, demands. Nobody said a damn thing.
After — everything. Seeing her dad like that.
You just can’t shatter a mirror that's already broken.
Clearly she was wrong.
She should’ve never left the stadium, there were signs and it wasn’t that fucking scrawny little bitch she should’ve been afraid of.
She was tied up on a pillar like jesus fucking christ himself.
The biggest thing to her was that she couldn’t fight them off.
How was she supposed to tell you she wanted to come home?
That the entire reason she’s been gone so long is because for once she couldn’t defend herself?
She got caught.
She prayed every night for your hands unbinding those ropes. For death. For a lot of things.
she didn’t even kill who she came for.
You’re so quiet, Abby thought you walked away.
The bed had risen with the lack of your weight, she could feel your disappointment crawling underneath her skin like a parasite.
For a while she only heard the faint drip of rain pelting the windows. She waited for the door to click and the lock to Latch.
She’s nearly asleep. Or dead.
She keeps getting that falling feeling if she forgets to breathe too fast. The heel of her palm keeps flush against her belly, the wound practically seeps something thick between her fingers, it's engorged – hot.
Months ago she would’ve jumped at any second to clean that wound. Dress it right. Keep moving.
Her dad always taught her you’re better off doing it right the first time rather than it falling off while you’re doing something important.
Abby isn’t doing anything important.
She’ll be lucky if the infection doesn’t kill her by sundown and thank fuck its nearly here.
Then Abby hears it, faint. Like you’re trying to hide it, soft little sniffles that make her entire body snap towards you, you don’t hide things from her, you don't hide at all.
she didn’t expect to see you hunched over in a small seat, shaking like a fallen leaf. Your face is streaked in tears that make Abby choke back a gasp, her entire body coming alert.
Her lips open, and close, words feel foreign, her tongue suddenly tied, her train of thought is off the rails – she’s never seen you like this, so corroded.
You were always the brighter one, while she only focused on sports, coins, you cared about school. Always saw the positive while she saw reality, always gave it to you straight too.
You two are different now, you both had parents then. Morals – resemblance of a family.
All those demands feel so highly rehearsed now, repetitive. Now there’s nothing she can say that’ll straighten you up.
“ Baby – ”
“i-.. I just don’t understand, you tell me everything. “
You blink rapidly but the tears stay, they don’t fall until Abby lets out something short of a chuckle, you huff, resting your head in your hand.
Is this funny to her?
You feel like a neglected child begging for that speckle of attention, and Abby is the drunk mother just looming over you. Expecting a whine or cry, just so she doesn’t have to bother with it.
Abby winced at your tone, raw and more desperate than she’s ever heard you. “ I just don’t wanna talk about it..” she said, hollowed. Pitched low. She avoids your eyes, like that’ll make it easier to hide it.
but you’ve always been stubborn. Unreasonably curious.
You scoffed, startling her and in a sick way it makes you smile. “ You don’t wanna talk about it?” you mock, watching Abby’s throat bob, face heating red. You breathe sharply, head jerking side to side in disbelief.
“You left me, and you. don’t. wanna. talk. about it.” you punctuate each word, like a hammer beating a nail.
“No. “
You huff, tears run down your cheeks, away from you and that grip you had trying to keep them in.
your breath coming in sharp puffs. “ you – “ abby’s jaw ticked, face hardening as you nearly knocked the chair over when you stood up.
“ fucking unbelievable – who are you! “
She watches you, cracking down the center, watching her and expecting a flick of something and when you get nothing, you shatter.
There’s this cute little shake in your knees as you try to mirror her stance, Abby keeps her shoulders wide and her jaw tight, you can barely manage to square your shoulders.
still. Your finger is inches away from her face, pointing at her like there’s bullets coming out of the tip.
and she has the urge to just bite it.
Abby hummed, low and gravely. Her throat was raw. It feels like rocks against sandpaper. She doesn’t flinch, barely even blinked as you spewed months of ache on her.
Suddenly she was a big hole for you to dump your shit into.
And she let you.
“Do you know how worried I was! “
“You didn’t even pack the right shit! ”
“Everyone was losing their shit without you!”
“I thought you were dead! “
“i went looking for you.”
“you did what.”
There was a rule she always had for you.
Never leave the stadium. Never look for her if she’s lost.
Stay in the fucking stadium unless she’s with you.
There's infected in every corner, Ready to devour you, limb by limb, you're clumsy, easily distracted.
All Abby feels is worry, masked in hot rage.
You could’ve died because of her.
there’s not a shattered bone in her body that could stop her from pouncing up as fast as she did.
Suddenly, she’s in your face, hot breath and big eyes that look at you expectedly, she’s just inches away, bearing down over you till you're bending your knees.
She pushes forward in big strides, forcing you to follow till your back hit the ridge of the table, all the while she's silent like a mime. You yelped, hands bracing back against the table.
Your brows pull together, eyes crinkling at the corners, your frown deepening as her breath comes in heavy bursts against your tuft of hair, you go to speak, but her hand snaps your jaw shut.
You remember those hands, how they went from small and nimble, soft. Barely grazed by more than a pen and paper.
To big paws, thick heavy fingers that held heat like a weighted blanket. Calloused – scabbed around her knuckles and orange little stars freckling her forearm.
Those same hands that butchered a man, thousands of infected.
That could puddle your expression with one good hit, they held you softly once, promised the world to you once.
Now she looks so disappointed, looking down at you with her own tears starting to prickle in the corners.
“are you fucking stupid.” startles you, her voice low, hoarse — calculated as she watches your face pinch.
“Abby– ”
“no. after fucking everything i taught you.” Abby shook her head, staring down at the speckled floor, then back down at your trembling lips, her teeth practically tearing a hole in her own. already raw and peeling, tasting like a rusty penny.
“I taught you better.”
Your entire body shivered, head to toe, lips pressing together as you let out a thin whimper, utterly too close to a cry.
You suddenly clasp your hands together in front of you, big eyes blinking fast.
“y-you were gone for months i – “
“do you think that fucking matters?”
The air felt stuffy now. For once Abby was too close. “I-i.. I don't know..” you murmured sheepishly, Abby stares, watches you – the silence feels like an old vintage tape.
The static, the clicking. Your hands are shaking in front of you, fingers twined and your back straight. You don’t speak. You don’t breathe much.
There's a flicker in Abby's expression, cold – to something frightened. Suddenly looking at you was too much.
You were cowering, you were bracing. She's got you boxed in.
Months of hanging on that pillar, being worked to the bone — losing lev barely a week after being rescued, if you can call a ‘mercy surrender’ any kind of rescue.
It has her sizing you like you’re the threat. Her fists are curled tighter than ever before, quaking with something she won’t say, even as you slowly bow your head to avoid her eyes.
Her steely expression curdles, her eyes examining every inch of you for the first time in months. The candles keeping the room illuminated start to dim, dripping wax onto the floors, light casts a hue off her skin.
Swallowing felt too hard, the room so silent. Her own lips quiver and in seconds, you feel her engulf you.
Big arms nearly lifting you off the ground despite depleted limbs roaring the second your toes touch linoleum.
Abby looked at you like you were a mirror, reflecting all her sins on a silver platter and all she can do is hold you with whatever strength she's got left, you watch her become more hysterical than you, sputtering out apologies, sweet praises and more apologies, until you two are just a heap on the floor.
She sobbed into your chest, you cradled her head, heat rising off her skin. shivers that can’t seem to stop. like watching a robot, held together by screws to small and rusty gears that’re finally bursting apart.
Abby didn’t even cry when her childhood dog passed away, didn’t cry when some fucking loser stole her bike, when her dad forced her on a faris wheel, or when your parents took you on vacation during summer break.
She didn’t even cry the day she wrote that note, and left her ring like scrap metal.
Then her dad died.
nothing ever really prepared her for that, and Abby always felt prepared.
When she saw him, she cried. into his cold, unbeating chest.
then against her better judgement, into yours – more controlled, less frenzied. You had asked her later that week, after repeated arguments, constantly volunteering herself on night guard, why she couldn't just let it out.
Especially to you.
Abby's cries echo the stadium now like they should've years ago, louder than a crowd full of people watching their favorite team score a touchdown.
For hours you two cocoon on each other, Abby keeps her face hidden in grizzly fabric and her palms.
You don't have to know what happened to know it was bad.
You can’t exactly remember when she stopped, when the sun turned into the moon or when the entire stadium went dim.
You two don’t move right away, you survey her silently, knowingly. You move at a slow, unsteady pace like you’re on silts, back and forth, back and forth.
You can smell her, you’re sure she can smell you. Sweat, tears, bad breath, you don’t know if it's from lack of brushing or food in your stomach, you see her trembling body curled in your lap, clutching onto the collar of your coat.
You take one elbow into your hand, watching Abby perk below you, teary eyes confused, curious.
You pepper kisses down her arm feeling Abby melt with a quiet sigh of relief, never leaving a scar untouched until you're pressing scabbed knuckles to your lips.
“Let's go run you a bath, yeah?” you try to smile, something close to it but it's tight, barely reaches your eyes. “I can smell you from a mile away.”
you rise up, grasping under her armpits to haul her up too – Abby grunted, shoulders bowing inwards, half her weight is back on you in mere seconds.
Her lashes flutter against your forehead , the two of you move in baby wobbles, you hold her hip, just below the pusing wound that began to dampen her shirt.
You can smell that too.
You grimace at the wound, pulsating and practically emanating its own heat. “ How long has it been like that?”
red, torn up and barely healed, scabbed over in different shades of green and yellow that make you wanna barf.
She gulped, letting her own eyes peak at the mess on her side. “ uh.. can't remember..” she said, tugging gray fabric down past her hip.
She can feel you staring at it, examining it even after it's hidden, she feels a lump growing in her throat, this sudden realization that she really is different.
She goes to pull at the small bristly strands below the rubberband in her braid, when she touches fabric instead, a bony collar — no hair.
Abby looked at you in the corner of her eye, unwilling to turn her body fully towards you or else you’d see the heat simmering underneath her skin, making her all pink beneath your gaze.
But it's not because you're fawning or admiring the woman you hadn’t seen in months, you're surveying, watching. Your gaze is heavy enough to weigh her down by the shoulders.
”please — Don’t.. look at it.”
at me.
It doesn't click that it's her talking, that she sounds like that now.
Like she's scared.
“I'm gonna have to clean it Abby...”
”I can clean it, I've done it a million times.” Abby protested, despite your glare branding the side of her skull.
Abby's arm slips off your shoulder, making you gasp as the older woman starts up a stride
“i-.. am Fine.” you watch, arms suddenly curling over your chest as Abby staggers down the hall, You following just a few inches behind.
you sighed, rubbing a hand over your forehead.
“Abby please, you're just gonna hurt yourself.” you grit, like you're reasoning with a small child, you hear her scoff but she doesn’t stop. Not till she’s leaning all her weight against the bathroom door, jiggling at the knob.
Finally, she whipped around. Uneven bursts of air coming from flared nostrils. She cradles her side, uttering through clenched teeth.
“Why is this door locked?”
“I'm here alone, it's easier to keep track of the whole place if everything is locked up.”
Abby blinked slowly as you shimmy past, unhooking the silver key from your belt loop.
“the front door wasn’t even fucking locked.” she murmured, shaking her head sluggishly.
The door didn’t open till it was pushed with your hand, winding ajar all heavy.
The bathroom is dark with melted candles on the ridge of the bath, stuck to the thick porcelain tub by burgundy wax.
With the flick of your wrist, a short hum from a match as its drug across gritty marble, flames dance in your eyes, each candle set alight till the room is just a dim yellow hue. All warm, cozy.
You work on auto – pilot, filling buckets full of warm water, smothering the bottom of the tub in soup.
steam rises off fluffy clouds of baby bath, and you don’t acknowledge Abby's body slumped up against the edge of the tub as you step over, and past her.
She doesn’t say much to you either, nothing past a short grunt as she holds the raw spot on her side, it feels like the skin has melted off. Just leaving bone, her fingers keep teasing fatty flesh that's started to rot, curdle. Anytime her fingers press too hard, dig too deep it's like white hot oil on her skin, a hard board whacking her in the chest, till she’s breathless.
You’d probably clean the thing a lot better than her right now, she’s a mess. Shaking like a leaf, her sweat is starting to turn into layers, thick globs of dead skin – months of it just running off her.
You’ve seen her in worse ways, she’s sure.
But she can’t handle seeing your eyes get all teary again, the way you tighten your lip and hold your breath like she can’t see you breaking.
It's too much on her.
“Last bucket.” you say, Abby peers up at you – face a bit flush, her lips crackle a bit just down the center till her tongue skimmed over it.
Her head hangs a bit heavy as she nods at you, still unmoving, you squint. “ Abby… Get up.” you say, a bit impatient.
She babbles a bit, nodding again. Palms bracing against dirty tile.
Abby acts like she’s gonna stand, even grunts like all her weight is being hauled off the ground, after a minute she just goes limp again, all her muscle feels as thin as a cord, you watch for a moment.
Your body feels stuck, arms shaking at your side. “i-its.. It's gonna get cold.”
nothing.
The lump in your throat gets big, till you can’t swallow without a tear prickling at your eye, you say nothing as you suddenly kneel on hard tile – pulling at fabric till she’s bare.
you see every scuff, bruise. Each hair and folic, pore and scar.
And like you expect, she’s quiet. Even when your fingers press at the sides of her gash, leaking cloudy blood. You swallow your gag, and curl your arms around her.
“okay..– okay– one.. Two.. one. Two. three. Go– “
Water splashes over the wall of the tub, you go knee deep in lukewarm bubbly water – soaking through your jeans, but Abby's fully submerged below the chest, startling out of her silence with a hiss.
your hands are keeping her upright, you breathe a bit fast, brows crinkling as abby blabbers quietly into your chest.
“S’not warm enough..” she slurred.
“Now you wanna be coherent?” you hissed.
Water bubbles, turning shades of brown, red – you watch abby’s body sink deeper and deeper till her bare chest is below the water, eyes barely ajar making you scoff.
Her skin is boiling beneath your fingers all the while she buzzes with chills. “I don't feel good.” she murmured, making you stop.
Usually she’d stay silent, let the pain settle.
It was easier to accept the uncontrollable than to die fighting, and tired. But as you look at her, really look at her.
It's bad.
She's pale. Nearly green in the face, sweat began to trickle down her collar while blood vessels sour in her eyes, her head bobbing like it weighs more than those weights she’d lift.
Your brows pull tight, and you force your breathing to slow as you watch her. You drop to your knees in the tub, clothes soaking heavy against you, unnoticed. You feel her cheeks, a bit hollow but nearly boiling, limbs buzzing.
Your eyes burn as you smile soft, careful, a little too sweet to be real.
“You probably just need to eat,” you murmur. “Drink some water.”
Her lids are heavy, lips parted to release slow, raspy puffs of air. “ maybe…” her tongue wets her chapped lips, big hands limp below cooling water till they manage to crawl up your calf, curling around the bend of your knees.
You blink, breath drawn in a bit tight and fresh tears drop like loose pearls, you nod out of habit, not because you’re aware. “yeah – yeah.. Maybe. “
Scruffy cloth scrubs at her arms, her legs, the crook of her neck and the balls of her spine – you clean the places nobody bothered to anymore; the dirt beneath her fingers, the shell of her scabbed ears.
Abby’s breath slacked, her hands riding high on your clothed thighs. “used to do this for you.” she rasped, warm air fanning your skin, earning a faint smile – she chuckled, weak, nostrils flaring. “You were lucky enough to have it warmer than this though.”
“Okay hey– listen I tried.”
“you always do.”
Abby’s already looking at you when your head rises, like a snap of a cord. Your brow twitched, lips curling up as Abby's smile collapsed, her grip around you suddenly crushing. “ye..you always.. Always tried.”
Even when she was too stubborn to take your help, you always offered. soft eyes and open arms, empty headed.
on the nights she’d come back too late, ready for bed and already half way below the sheets before you even got to ponder your day to her.
Even when she was yelling at you, stripping that safety blanket off in layers. You still tried.
Abby looked away, head bowing between you. Shame makes her dig her teeth into her trembling lip, nearly punishing, you hiss as her nails cut into your thighs. Her speech is fractured, brittle. A faint croak. “ Especially with me.” you shudder – Abby lets her hands crawl up your back, like a slithering snake. Rosy finger tips tingling, and wet trace your nape.
”I should've appreciated you more..” her hand curls around the base of your neck, heavy, warm. The other cradles your jaw as it goes slack, the pad of her thumb finds your bottom lip, skimming leisurely back and forth on plump, pink skin.
It feels like your body remembers her before you do. Your bones suddenly feel like jelly, bumps rise on your skin, your eyes go sluggish. “I…” Abby watches your face change, feels the hair on your neck rise below her fingers.
She draws you in, inhaling the air you expel so softly against her lips, like it’ll bring life back into her body.
Like she’s inhaling your soul.
The bristly strands of her hair tickle your forehead as they press flush. You hear her shuddering breath in, the smell of you curling around her trembling limbs. You never wanna stress her, make her strain.
You shake your head, forcing a trained smile, soft and meant for pleasing “abby, its okay – “
“No it's not.” she hated when you did that, brushed off her bullshit like it was a speck of dust or something easy to forgive. You shy back, eyes sore and a bit tight. Abby cradles your face, soft cheeks like little peaches in her hands. “It's not okay.. it's not.”
She forces the fact, it's there. Ignorable. You gulped, nodding lightly. “ Okay…” you say, small, weak. The singular word feels like sand on your tongue, a surrender.
The white flag.
You don’t tell her you forgive her, but your touch grows softer, your gaze a bit lighter. She tells you about this little boy she met, who was fierce, but shy. Amazing with a bow like she couldn’t believe.
He was her purpose for a while, because after two months she was dreadfully certain you were gone, that she was a memory in your life, or a gravestone you were desperate to spit at.
But it's not that. Barely that.
“Baby– I swear, he was the only reason we were eating out there.” ‘
Her speech is slurred, eyes heavy. She shivers every now and again, words coming shaky but she sounds proud. It reminds you about how she’d talk about her dad, with unbruised pride and honor just to be in their space.
And you laugh, nod along even if the weight of it all is still too heavy. you smile, and for the first time in months it's not to bring hope to a crowd. It's because your wife is back, grinning at you with stories, love. Something familiar you thought you’d forgotten.
Maybe she wasn’t as different as you thought.
She talks about her summer, though she was without you it was perfect. She was full. She was free, she’d flip stumps and run till her veins were popping and she could taste blood and sweat. Said her muscles grew to be big like the lumps on a camel's back, her grip was immaculate.
It was all good till it wasn’t.
You still don’t talk about that part. The bad part.
But by the time you two are out of the bath, giggling like the children you two truly were. It didn’t matter anymore, all she was thinking about was you, those cute little freckles that resembled stars, and the slight limp in your step, she doesn’t think about the pillars, lev.
She doesn’t think about Ellie. Not even once.
She doesn’t even fuss as you sit her upright on the same plastic chair you cried in, wrapped in a thin towel, she’s shivering making your smile start to simmer.
“We'll get you into bed alright?” you promised sincerely, abby nodded, putting on that big, tired grin. Fuck she was ready for bed.
Abby hung her head back, her nostrils flared as she exhaled sharp. “ you got any more blankets?”
“not anymore than these two why?”
Okay…
Abby shook her head , letting her gaze fleet away. its never been this fucking cold in here before..” she muttered, face twisting sourly.
You nodded, plucking an army green t-shirt tucked away in Abby's old dresser. “ We had a working generator then.” you remind her.
God how you missed the lights, the stadium smelt like death and yankee candles now.
Abby huffed, hugging her arms around herself. No big strong muscles to hide behind now but she shields herself from the cold well. “I bet I could fix it.” comes begrudgingly. “Did they take my tools?”
You sighed, t-shirt and cotton sweats hung over your arm. Cool beige panties. “They took everything abby.” you take slow, weak strides, your own belly growling to remind you, you still had a gut too. “and unless you have gas, or a completely new generator, we’re fucked.”
You end up in front of her, a mono expression, washed over by an overly sweet smile, though a bit sarcastic. You present the clothes to her like an army general's American flag. Abby stays silent, then stubbornly takes the clothes with an acute huff.
You nod once, smile a bit prouder. “good.” you say, hands on your hips. “I'll get you something to eat, we’ll clean that afterwards.” she doesn’t have to look at you to know what you’re talking about. She feels it.
The wound on her side still oozes white, the flesh around it resembling the green on her shirt. It's still bleeding, every time she manages to breathe in she feels a bit seep down her side, feels it start to burn and pound like there’s a heart inside that little fat pocket.
Oh, and it's huge, nearly the size of what her hands used to be. There’s a smell that lingers if you get too close.
Abby’s skin visibly starts to gain a hue, sweat beading on her lip. “ Okay..okay..” she says in a quiet whisper, more to herself than you.
And when you leave, she cries again. Quieter, more surrendered, her body shakes with sobs, eyes turning a soft pink, like cotton candy. It hurts to cry, there’s gotta be something broken but she’s supposed to be riding a high, she should be numb.
She prays you take a while. She prays you don’t hear her because that's just another look of yours she’ll have to bare. Sad. disappointed. Fucking confused.
She's confused too.
“Okay – so, I've got spam, beans and cold corn.” you come through the door, your smile so big with a plate leaking off the side. You don’t notice her puffy eyes, the trembling lips “ oh what am i kidding – it's all cold!” you drop the slop down.
Then your eyes furrow, chest a bit unsteady. “ Why're you not dressed yet?”
You hear the river of spit force its way down her throat when she swallows, her eyes are trained on the floor, shirt laid out in her lap how you left it. “I just didn’t do it yet.” Goosebumps patternize on her skin, abby doesn’t move, her gaze is a bit scattered. She just stares.
You try to keep it light, you do like you did before. You keep your smile tight, but you smile. You gently take the clothes from her hands, she lets you.
“I'll just help, it's okay.” Her jaw tightened, fists balling near your head as your crouch to shimmie the panties up her lithe thighs.
She's as tense as a board, ready to flee. The sweats go on smooth, but barely stay on her hips.
You look up at her. “Eat, we’re gonna sleep soon.” you encourage lightly, slipping holey socks onto her feet. Abby's toes flex awkwardly, but she snacks at her spam, her fingers tremble.
What's left is her top.
And that gnarly wound.
She’s already bare above her waistband, your fingers work carefully to unfold her shirt. You don’t wanna pry, but you can see her skin pulsating, leaking down her side. You scoot a bit closer, reaching below the table to grab the first aid.
Everything useful has been plucked out, but there's still gauze, and alcohol pads left. You had doubt you’d be able to stitch a wound that was nearly engorged.
You slightly rise up on your knees, Abby's head is hung a bit heavy, eyes shut. Her breathing is shallow. “I'm.. I’m gonna clean this.. Okay?” she doesn’t respond, but her mouth moves, spit caging between her lips.
You dab at her wound, 20 alcohol pads later and it's still dribbling. You dress it up as nice as you can. She doesn’t make a sound, only occasionally clearing her throat but even that sounds strained. You wiggle on her shirt, fingers combing messily through her hair.
You hated it, hated that it was darker than you’d remembered. Shorter, rougher like a man's beard. “ It'll grow back.” you promise, when you notice her eyes parted, a bit teary. “ It always grew really fast when we were kids.”
That was a lie. It took Abby two summers to grow her hair past her shoulders after her dad made her cut it for a month-long camping trip.
She doesn’t do more than garble, throat a bit hoarse and it feels like the second she stepped through those doors all over again. Like a stranger in the skin of your wife.
You haul her into bed, blow out the candles. Every door is locked by the time you crawl in beside abby, your own arms and legs scolding you for the day full of lifting, feeding and dressing a grown woman.
You’d do it a thousand times over again.
Abby’s got her back to you by that time, body rising and falling slow. When you press your hand to her skin it's cold. She doesn’t flinch, barely makes a sound. She pulls the blanket tighter below her chin, knees curling below her ribs.
You sighed, pulling what's left of the thin cotton blanket over your chest, and legs. You toss, and turn for a while, arms a bit too restless until they carefully curl around Abby's chest, tight like binding rope. You keep her hands flush to her chest, and your face in her nape.
“ I love you..” you say, like it's a secret. Something to be kept from her ears, your entire body starts to shudder, another river of tears starting to grow untamed. “ God- i love you so much…” your voice catches, nose all snotty and dribbling buried in her shoulder.
She’s fast asleep now, probably blissfully unaware of the way you shake against her. Holding her like she seconds away from poofing into thin air.
You wanna hear her say it back.
But she doesn’t. And somewhere in that realization, you’d fallen asleep. Nose a bit crusty and your eyes tight. Cuddled into her boney shoulder. Tomorrow is a new day, you tell yourself.
A new beginning.
When the sun rises, and the rain starts to petal the stadium like loose leafs. The cold suddenly forces you out of bed, life goes on as it had been for the last few months. The wisp of a broom, the rain hitting the window. It kept you there present then, you struggle now.
Then by evening, when the sun finally started to simmer out again. You start to think her coming back is a joke. A water left at the door, stale bread and cheese on a plastic plate.
All untouched.
You haven’t heard anything other than crows calling, the light thunder pressing through gray clouds, you expected her to call for you, tell you she’s starving or scold you for cleaning. The stadium is fucking empty so theres no point.
She wasn’t mad, was she? you two made up yesterday – she shouldn’t be ignoring you,
Your hand had hovered over the knob, like it was hot. You feel a tingling in your finger tips – a lump building a dam in your throat and it feels like there’s fire behind your eyes.
She was sick yesterday. Fever, cold sweats and she was restless in your arms.
Your eyes shutter, lips pulling tight in a thin line, that trembles even as you bite, trying to keep it still, the middle goes pale. “ Abby!" your fingers tremble, and fidget. no response. “ you don’t just get to stay in bed all day!...” your voice comes weak. nervous.
She had every right to be resting, she was strung up like a pig straight from the pen, cooked by the sun and torn by mother nature’s teeth. But Abby was abby, stubborn and unyielding.]
She wouldn’t let a broken leg make her limp.
You don’t wanna open the door, you make up every excuse in the book.
She’s naked. She’s busy. She's sleeping. Then it all reminds you that you’re her wife, that’s never mattered.
Pressure builds behind your eyes, a dull throb. The door opens too quickly – the smell hits you quicker. Sweet boiled eggs, sour pennies doused in vinegar and marshmallows.
You see her.
Her back is facing the door, the blanket tucked below her chin. She’s all curled up, exactly how you left her. You can’t take another step, it feels like a crime scene, you should call somebody. But somebody was you. Nowadays you tossed someone in a rug, rolled them up and tossed them.
You choke, throat tightening around a gasp. You don’t call for her again, you don’t press forward until the smell becomes too much. Every step feels like you're sinking lower, and lower to the ground. By the time you get to her you’re on your knees, a crumbling mess gripping onto the side of the bed.
You sniffled, hand hovered above her waist. Salvia clinging to your lips. “ baby…” you squeak.
Your hand comes down light like a feather on her body, then jerks back faster than a spooked cat.
Cold.
Her body doesn’t rise. It doesn’t fall.
She doesn’t shake.
Or cry.
Her body looks so peaceful.
For hours you sit there. For days maybe. Your belly growls, your skin tingles when it gets too cold and your ass went numb awhile ago. You bask in the smell of her, you watch flea’s land on her skin and feast on the flesh you kissed, and warmed with your own hands.
They gnaw at the wound on her side first. Then the little cuts and scratches, they burrow into bruises that aren’t even open but they’re no different than you, desperate to crawl inside her skin.
It feels like a race against time, will they eat all of her before you decide to pick your ass up and go.
Do you even wanna go?
You wanna scream again. You wanna be mad, this time she can’t give you an apology. Can’t make up for it.
Her body looks like a rotten, carved out chicken.
That's when you decide to go.
No shoe’s. No coat. No bag. No knife. You giggle while you roll a bullet in the ball of your hand like a fidget. “ looks like I'm packing pretty half assed now, right?” you throw over your shoulder, the room is dim, the outside a lot darker. Its early morning,
You load the gun, exactly the way she taught you.
You make sure whats left of her is tucked in, you make sure the door is locked cause fuck anyone if they think they’ll touch her. You make the place look dead, hollow.
You stand outside that big fucking stadium while rain creates a tide in the streets – it all feels fake, manny, owen, mel. Joel. the amount of shit that happened.
And Abby is just…gone.
Everything is gone.
You keep the gun in one hand, two pretty rings in the other – the key to the stadium around your neck.
It feels odd to be outside, where the sky is pale and not hidden by glass.
It feels odd knowing you’re out of the stadium without her.
It's not what she taught you.
It doesn’t matter.
You walk a few miles, you walk until you feel less ashamed, where her ghost won’t be able to find you.
In a field.
A muddy one, probably not pretty like in the movies.
You check the chamber twice. Not because you need to. Because she taught you to be thorough.
You breathe through rounded lips, the gun trembling in your hand. It rests against your temple delicately.
Almost like a butterfly.
Then boom.