Love Bites ~ Craig of the Dead au ~ Tricia x Karen fan fiction [COMPLETE]

18

Karen is dead. Karen is dead. Karen is dea-

The door unlocks as the same thought runs through my head at a million miles per hour. Light floods the room and the masked woman steps inside. She sees the vomit, Henrietta curled up on the floor, and me rocking back and forth in the corner, and giggles.

"My my. The situation is getting to you," she giggles again, "ah. If only you could see your faces."

"Shut the fuck up you murdering bitch." I snarl.

She gasps dramatically, clutching her chest.

"Language!" She scolds.

I spit as close as I can to her feet.

"You're coming with me," she growls, suddenly switching from sickeningly sweet to violent in a matter of seconds as she grabs me by the shirt and drags me across the floor until I'm able to stand up, "I can tell that we're going to have a lot of fun."

She throws me to the floor and I land with a thud. As I scramble to my feet, she slams the door to the closet and locks Henrietta inside then turns to me.

"If you don't cooperate, we'll shoot you." She snarls.

"Fucking do it now. I'm nothing without Karen."

"If you're nothing without her, should you be with her?" The masked woman asks, probably trying to sound all smart but really she's just pissing me off, "and I'm sorry, but the information you possess is too valuable."

"I don't know anything. Just let me go, come on."

The woman doesn't respond. It's pissing me off how she ignores us. Just give us answers, woman!

She carefully unlocks the door to the room next door and gestures for me to go in before her. Since I don't want to chance darting past her to make my escape, I shuffle into the room, defeated.

"Good girl." The woman mutters.

There's a single desk chair in the middle of the room. Firkle and Phillip are nowhere to be found and I'm shocked that they didn't leave karen in here to torture me emotionally or something.
As I walk further into the room and the door is blocking less and less of my view, there's also a table positioned in front of the chair, covered in different weapons. Upon further inspection, they're our weapons, alongside another handgun and a bloody pillow.

Cautiously, I perch on the edge of the chair and rest my elbows on my knees. The masked woman stands in front of the table, right in my view.

"What do you want from me?" I ask.

Without a word, the woman reaches behind her head and pulls at a couple of strings loosely attaching the two halves of her mask. The zombie head slides off her face and she catches it before she hits the floor.

I have to say that if she didn't have really old zombie blood plastered on her face, she'd be quite pretty.
With light brown hair, hazel eyes and teen vogue-worthy facial features, my captor has captured my gay ass and holy shit. Is this what Stockholm syndrome feels like...? No. It isn't. Jesus, Trish, get a hold of yourself.

"What's your name?" I suddenly ask. It's an attempt to make her seem more human but it just makes me look more interested in her. Damnit, "it feels rude to torture me without giving me your name. It's the apocalypse but manners are still a thing, right?"

She ignores my awkward laugh at the end of my awkward sentence and smiles as she places the zombie mask on an empty section of the table.

"My name's Lola. There's no need to introduce yourself, I already know all about you, Tricia," she picks up a knife from the table and runs a long skinny finger along the blade, "now, tell me what you know about the lab."

"What lab?"

She strokes the knife blade again. A bead of blood breaks through her skin.

"You know, your girlfriend is quite the looker," Lola states, her eyes flickering up to meet mine, "I wonder how much she'd go for."

"Excuse me?"

"There's some sick people out there, Tricia. They'd give a lot of supplies for someone as small and sweet as her." She says casually.

"Keep your fucking hands off her, you sick fuck!"

Despite the disgusting implication, at least I know that Karen is alive and there's also a good chance that the others are alive. Although, if she is alive, I could put her in danger by angering my captors. I can't get mad and say something I might regret. I have to keep a clear head, no matter what else she decides to taunt me with.

Lola approaches me slowly, holding the knife close to her chest. A line of blood stains her finger.

Forcefully, she pushes me back into the chair, then holds a hand to my chest to prevent me from sitting back up. I struggle, but she's too strong.

With her other hand, she traces the sharp knife along my jawline, then finally rests it upon my chin.

"If you don't tell me what you know about the lab, I'll gouge out your eyes," she hisses, "and I'll do it slowly. You'll be in pain the whole time."

I gulp.

"Now, tell me what you know about the lab." She repeats, returning back to her sickeningly sweet girl act.

I wrack my brain. Lab... could she be talking about the one Phillip was looking for?
It would make sense, seeing as that lab allegedly has the answers to everyone's problem, but I don't know anything about it aside from the fact that the location was printed on a picture book.

It would be stupid to tell her what I know since it could potentially ruin our plans to find the lab and meet up with Phillip's group, but at the same time if I don't tell her anything she's going to gouge my eyes out and, as much as I'd like to keep my mouth shut, I'd prefer to keep my eyes in my head.

"The lab's really far away," I lie, trying to keep myself as calm as possible with a knife at my chin, "Miami, I believe."

"Miami?" She repeats, a slight sigh to her voice, "we can't go that far!"

Lola kicks the leg of my chair and yells "shit!", then turns back to the table of weapons. She drops the knife as she slams her fists with a loud bang on the table.

Whimpering.

Leaning as far over as I can without leaving the chair, my fingers reach out to grasp the knife handle. They stroke the hard plastic. It's too far away for me to reach.

Sniffling.

After quickly glancing up at Lola to check she's not looking, I slowly lower myself onto the floor, careful not to move the chair. I squat, legs burning, and grab the knife.
Carefully, I pick it up without the metal scraping across the floor.

Groaning.

Cautiously, I hold the knife in front of me and gently touch Lola's arm. She flinches.
Despite the fact that she's kidnapped and possibly killed my friends, threatened to sell my girlfriend to dirty perverts and threatened to gouge my eyes out, I somehow feel... bad for her. Damnit cute girls making me have feelings!

"Are you alright?" I ask, uneasy.

"I'm... I'm not sure." She admits, her voice croakier and lacking emotion.

She starts to turn around to face me, but hesitates. Quickly, I remove my arm and take a few steps back. The knife still remains in front of me.

She slowly turns. I drop the knife.