Zombie Soap 2: Conspiracy

Thirty-Seven

Taylor: Part I

"How are you feeling this morning?"

"Terrible," Taylor croaked, resting his good hand in his lap as he stared at the dull tiles in Benson's office.

The other man sat at his desk, crossing an ankle over his knee as he watched, stroking his bearded chin. Like most days, he was well put-together, wearing clean clothes that somehow still held crisp creases. It was the freaking Soapie invasion — people had died, they came into the facility with all sorts of tattered rags, filth, and battle scars. But Benson? He was a poster boy soldier of a blockbuster film. Or streaming made-for-TV special.

"How long have you known Jayson?" he asked mildly.

Hot tears spilled from Taylor's eyes as he closed them, picturing all the best moments of his friendship with the former behind the lids. The game nights, telly, beer, and dinner. Even that creepy ass ferret. And the Soap Wars. Especially the Soap Wars where the two pranked each other.

In a tight voice, he uttered, "Ten years."

Or was it eleven now? Time no longer seemed a concrete object now the world had ended.

"Not including your recent encounter, how would you describe your overall friendship together?"

Taylor lifted his head with a glare, blinking through blurry vision. His entire body trembled, begging to leap from his chair and punch the other man in the face. It's what Jayson would have done. "None of your damn business."

Whether Benson was genuine or scheming didn't matter. Even Monica telling him to play nice had no effect. None of this would have happened if Jayson had been treated better. By Benson, Dad, and everyone else. Diego wasn't a fan, but that wasn't his fault. Two alpha males would always engage in a battle to see who could pee the farthest.

Benson hummed and wrote something down on a legal pad. Then he met Taylor's seething gaze with a mild stare. "It's okay to be angry. You've been through a lot of trauma in a very short period of time. Emotional scars don't heal overnight."

Angry? Taylor was beyond that. His insides burned and twisted, gutting him from the inside out. He was tired of losing the people who mattered. Sick of people trying to control his life and day to day activities. Exhausted from taking things one day at a time.

"I really don't feel like talking," he finally mumbled. "Can I go?"

"We've only been here five minutes," Benson replied, rolling his pen between his hands. "It's not good to bottle things in."

Taylor rolled his eyes and snorted. "Oh for heaven's sake, get stuffed already. I've made it pretty clear since day one I don't want to be bothered. Are you going to make me disappear too?"

He shouldn't antagonize Benson, but he finally understood why Jayson had hated him. He couldn't speak for Monica's reasons, but her loathing radiated with the power of a nuclear meltdown.

"No." Benson's voice dropped, revealing an odd sadness Taylor hadn't previously noticed. "Did you know I lost a son? You remind me of him. He was quieter, but kind. Saw the world in a different light, much like you do."

Taylor's head snapped up, and he studied Benson carefully. If this was a trick to get him to talk, it was in very poor taste but the turmoil reflecting within the man's irises spoke of a painful loss. One Taylor was becoming more acquainted with lately.