Until I Die(18+)

In Which They Hug

Dad's arms wrap around me so tight, it almost feels as if I were getting strangled again. "D-ad," I choke out, my arms crushed between our bodies. I'm sure my torso is beginning to lose blood supply, if that wasn't even possible. 

"Easy, David," Eric instructs as he watches our reunion, hands on hips.

We were inside of the kidnapper's house. It was...Nice. Ok, that was a lie. It was dull, dirty and run-down. The carpet littered with mud-stains and cigarette burns. The same stripy paper covered all of the walls I'd seen so far. The kitchen, where we stood currently, had a small circular table with 4 chairs. An ashtray sat in the middle with a plate covered in grease and crumbs. The cupboards were beige with wood-effect decoration, two of them hanging off of the hinges. A stove so dirty I can't imagine how anyone would dare eat food from it.

"Are you okay?" Dad asks, hands on my shoulders as he pulls away from me. His eyes examine my body for injuries. I look down at myself, wondering what he could see and immediately I cringe – I look awful. So awful, I feel a pinch of embarrassment that Eric has seen me like this.

(Then again, I can't imagine there's anyone winning beauty pageants during the living dead apocalypse..)

My jeans were dirty and ripped with dried blood coating the frayed edges. My long-sleeved shirt mostly hidden because of my oversized, unzipped dark blue hoody. The portion of material visible was once white but now held a greyish hue with brown blood stains. I didn't know if it was from the infected I had killed, from my Mum, or from me.

Oh god...how was I going to tell him about Mum? As horrible as she was, he loved her more than anything. Even I, the one who got the brunt of her bad moods and nasty comments, missed her and ached with her loss despite the inner turmoil I felt. Love, hate; both knitted so closely together but one simple fact remained - she'd been a constant part of my life since the day I was born and her death was like losing a body part. Not an arm or a leg, no - more like an appendix constantly on the verge of rupture. 

Even if I was able to speak properly, I doubt I'd have found anything to say. Helplessly, I look to Eric who leant back against the counters as if he could somehow give me the answers I seek.

Eric looks straight back at me before his eyes cut to my Dad. "She's a little worse for wear but she's strong, David, she'll be fine."

My insides do a funny flip. Did he really mean that? He thinks I'm strong? Clearly, he doesn't know me very well yet. I wonder how long he will keep that opinion of me. I mean, Jesus Christ, hadn't he heard me screaming for help multiple times? How embarrassing.

There was only a few memories which made me want to curl up in a ball and die. When I asked James out in school and he flat-out laughed at and proceeded to tell the whole class; When I stuffed my bra as a teen who developed late and a slither of tissue managed to slip between the buttons on my shirt...ugh. When I came on my period at work without warning and leaked through my- yeah, I don't even want to finish remembering that one.

But for some reason, begging Eric to save me took the cake. Maybe because it was the most recent. Or because it was the end of the world and the others things seemed so much less important now. Or because of how much I liked him, and just how much his opinion of me mattered. Like, a lot.

Dad gives me a watery smile, squeezing my shoulders. "God, my baby girl. I thought I lost you. I didn't know what to do," he starts getting choked up and I blink away my own tears. I hated seeing Dad cry. "You're my little girl, Jo, and I wasn't there when you-"

I interrupt him by flinging myself into his arms once more. I didn't want him blaming himself. He was a typical father, believing it was his job to protect me from the bad things in the world. But everyone knows it isn't that easy.