Rise

Confide

With weak steps, feet just barely planting themselves onto the ground, the lanky ginger stumbles in a rush towards the nearest waste bin. His shaking limbs attempt to lift the lid of the dumpster to no avail. He falls to his knees beside it, hands planted on the ground as he feels a mix of stomach acid, and possibly the remainder of the fries he had eaten the day before, rising up his esophagus. As the sour taste touches his mouth, he reflexively seals his lips for just a moment before letting the bile pour out.

The dark-haired girl rushes to his side, wincing at the sight, her nose wrinkling at the putrid smell. Hesitantly, she kneels beside him and begins rubbing his back. She isn't quite sure how it would help, but she recalls her parents doing so to her anytime she had the stomach flu. It had helped somehow.

Parents. Her face droops at the thought of them. She had tried to avoid any thoughts of her family and friends being in peril. Banishing the thoughts from her mind would be the only way she'd be able to survive...Whatever this is. She cannot let the thoughts cloud her mind. With a shake of her head, she urges her nauseous friend.

"Hurry it up, doof. We can't stay. The smell of your vomit might attract some attention." Upon seeing that he had finished releasing the contents of his stomach, she grips onto the back of his collar and pulls him up off the ground. She can hear the gurgling sounds already, aside from the sounds emanating from Dez's stomach. They're somewhat distant, however if the creatures move as fast as the one they had just witnessed earlier, distance would not be much of a comfort. The duo cannot afford to be detected.

"I-I can't...Tr-Trish, I. I ki-, Trish..." He stumbles over his words, shaking both body and voice. He leans down towards her and grips onto her shoulders for balance. "Tri-I k-kill. I. I killed some-w-one," he tries to assert over the tears he's been choking back.

Slap.

It had happened before she could even plan it. But what else could she do? He was losing his calm.

He raises a hand up to his reddened cheek and stares silently at her, his bright eyes wide with a cocktail of pain, shock, and slight terror. The girl really knows how shut people up.

Trish exhales stiffly, immediate regret flooding her own eyes. She retracts her hand, putting it behind her back as if it would conceal the fact that it was her who had inflicted him.

"I'm sorry, Dez. But you can't be having a breakdown. Not now." She brings her hand back around to her front and holds it out to him - her weapon now her peace offering. He takes it without hesitance, nodding in silent agreement. She tightens her lips, taken aback by him forgiving her so promptly - trusting her wholeheartedly even after she had struck him. It eats away at a part of her.

"It's okay," he reassures. "You're right; I need to keep it together. You don't have to babysit me anymore, I promise." He smiles down at her innocently. Ephemeral the smile is, however, as the guttural groans grow louder still.

"They're close. Let's get outta here," Trish whispers harshly, gripping onto his hand and pulling him along with her as she moves in the opposite direction of the growing clamor.

"Wait." Dez tugs at her hand abruptly, stopping them both. "You got any gum?"

"What?" Trish's demands quietly, her perplexed expression calling forth an explanation.

"Gum. Y'know, cause my breath smells like puke," he elaborates. She rolls her eyes up, mouthing the words 'help me' to no one in particular, before reaching into her pocket to procure what he asked for. For the best, probably, she decides, not wanting to have to deal with his bile-breath, either.