Dating After the End of the World - 9

My eyes snap open, and I jolt up in bed, panting, my body drenched in a cold sweat as I try to ground myself in reality. Where am I? I scan my surroundings, my heart hammering in my chest. There’s my bedroom door. My dresser. My desk. Home. I’m home. I inhale and stop short of exhaling when I remember I’m here because the world ended, and if that wasn’t bad enough, I somehow got bunked up with my archnemesis . . . Blake Morrison.

My gaze goes to his bed, pushed up against the far wall under the large window. It’s empty and perfectly made, military-style, with the corners tucked in, not a wrinkle to be seen.

“Loser,” I scoff.

I hop out of my bed and pad across the room to Blake’s, grabbing a fistful of his comforter and tossing it on the floor. I tug his sheets loose, even the fitted one, and roll them into a ball.

“Welcome to your nightmare, bitch.” I grin, and yes, I am well aware that I’m being petty, but Blake made . . . well, unmade his bed years ago, when he got his kicks from tormenting me. Now I get to return the favor.

I draw open the curtains above his bed, and the sunshine seeps in, bathing the room in a pinkish-orange light. In the city, I could never open the shades. It was too dangerous, so we kept them shuttered at all times, only peeking out when there was a commotion on the street. But this . . . this is nice.

A knock startles me, and I whip around, staring cautiously at my bedroom door. With a deep exhale, I calm my nerves, reminding myself that I’m not holed up in an apartment in Chicago anymore, where a knock from a stranger could be a death sentence. It almost was yesterday.

“Come in,” I yell.

The door creaks open, and a voice enters before a person. “Casey? Your dad told me you were here.”

“Tessa!” I cross the room in two quick steps, throwing my arms around her. “I’m so happy to see you,” I say, my face still pressed into the side of hers.

“Me too.” Her voice is warm with that special type of sadness that accompanies joy, a reminder of moments missed. “It’s been far too long,” she adds.

Tessa’s right about that. We’ve barely kept in touch since I started medical school, just texts here and there, and I haven’t seen her in years.

“You know, you could have warned me about Blake,” I tease.

“I sent a message by carrier goose. Did it not get to you?”

We laugh and let go of one another. I take a step back, examining her from head to toe—my doctor instincts kicking in. She sports a head of hay-colored hair, straight and flowing down past her shoulders. Her face is soft, giving off a girl-next-door look, thanks to her light-hazel eyes and a smattering of freckles across her nose and cheeks. She’s lost weight like everyone else; however, she didn’t have much to lose in the first place.

“You look good, healthy.”

“Thanks, Doc. And you look like you’ve seen better days,” Tessa says, giving me a once-over. I’m dressed in an oversized T-shirt that stops midthigh, so the bruises and cuts on my legs are visible along with the ones on my neck and face.

“Yeah, well, getting out of the city was no walk in the park, but you should see the other guys,” I say with a small smile, hiding the pain and trauma of what happened behind a thin veil of humor.

She squints, clearly determining whether to question me any more, but instead tosses me a grin, deciding against forcing me to relive the details. “I can only imagine,” Tessa says, plopping down on my bed and folding her legs into a pretzel. “So, what’s new?” She tilts her head to the side.

I fish out a pair of black leggings from my bag, thread my legs into them, and pull them up. “You mean, like, before the world ended, or recently?”

“Obviously before. I know what you’ve been up to since everything went to shit. Terror, blood, fear, running, starving, filth, and worst of all . . . bunking with Blake Morrison.” She smirks, fanning her arm across the room to showcase all Blake’s belongings. He has more than I would expect for someone who fled during an apocalypse. There’s a locked chest the width of his bed pushed up against a wall. I only know it’s his because Morrison is written in Sharpie along the side of it. The windowsill is lined with items that aren’t mine, so they must be his.

“I won’t argue with you on that.” I pull open the top drawer of my dresser, where I find a brush and a ponytail holder. I run the bristles through the length of my hair. “Before this, my whole life was working at the hospital, sunup to sundown, but I love it . . . or loved it,” I say, tying my hair up.

“So, this is basically a vacation for you?” She chuckles.

“First one in, like, ten years. I wish I would have picked someplace more tropical, though.” I shrug and let out a laugh.

“There is a little creek that runs through this compound, and I’m sure I could find a margarita glass around here somewhere,” she teases.

“All we’re missing is a cute cabana boy.”

“Speaking of boys, where’s yours?” Tessa glances around the room as though she’s searching for him. I practically flinch at the question. Tessa never met Nate, but she knew I was dating a doctor in the city from the little bit we did keep in touch. Thankfully, I wasn’t into social media, and I hadn’t gotten around to telling her Nate and I were engaged, so there’s even less I have to explain.

I rummage around in another dresser drawer, giving myself time to think of what to say. I select a sports bra and a T-shirt before slowly closing it. Honestly, I’m embarrassed to admit that Nate ditched me—far too embarrassed to even tell Tessa. I still can’t believe it myself. We were together for more than two years, and he asked me to marry him. How could you just leave the person you’d planned to spend your life with?

“We went our separate ways,” I finally land on without looking at her. It’s not a complete lie. We did. I just didn’t know “our separate ways” would be him abandoning me in the middle of being attacked by a trio of burners.

“Oh, I’m sorry, Casey. Going through a breakup and then the world ending . . . that couldn’t have been easy.”

I don’t correct her timeline. Instead, I nod and make an mm-hmm sound. “What about you? Weren’t you dating someone?”

“Yeah, I was,” she says, shaking her head. “But I had to kill him.”

My mouth forms a muted O as I search her face for any signs of humor, waiting for a just kidding . But she stares back at me with a stoic look, shrugging off her statement with a quick lift of her shoulders.

“Wait, what?”

“Yeah, he turned into one of those zombie things, so I . . .” She falls silent and finishes her sentence by dragging her pointer finger across her neck.

“Jesus, Tessa! I’m so sorry.” I step closer to her, kneeling on the ground and placing my hand over the one she has resting on her knee.

“Don’t be.” She flicks our hands up together, rejecting any need for sympathy. “I found out he was cheating a few days before the outbreak, and I was going to confront him and dump him, but I put it off, and then he turned into a zombie, so I had to kill him,” Tessa says matter-of-factly, like she’s sharing a recipe or giving me directions. “I’m actually glad it worked out that way, though. Otherwise, he would have denied it, then gaslit me, then tried to convince me to stay with him, and I probably would have. Then he’d be faithful for a while, and once he got comfortable, he’d cheat again. That cycle would continue until I got fed up and realized my worth. Then I’d have to go to therapy to rebuild my confidence and deal with the trust issues he infected me with. So I think it’s better that our relationship ended the way it did, and by that, I mean me decapitating him,” Tessa says, picking at her fingernails.

“And you’re sure he was a zombie?” I get to my feet and squint, frowning as I tuck my chin in.

She nods. “Pretty sure.”

We both erupt in laughter at a situation that a mere two months ago would have been entirely psychotic, but now is seemingly normal.

The door flies open, bouncing against the wall with a thud and putting an end to our amusement. I grimace at the sight of Blake strolling into my bedroom. He’s dressed in a dirty pair of jeans and a white T-shirt that clings to his sculpted chest and abs. A gun is nestled in a shoulder holster below his left armpit like a detective would wear beneath a suit jacket. Another pistol is tucked in a hip holster. Blake eyes me, then Tessa, and then his bed.

“Thanks for that,” he says, gesturing to the mess I made of it.

“You’re welcome. Didn’t look up to regulation standards to me, so I figured it was best to start from scratch,” I say. Tessa and I share a look of contempt toward him.

His lip snarls, and he begins remaking his bed.

“There’s a ton to be done around here, so I don’t appreciate you creating extra work for me.”

“And I don’t appreciate you at all,” I say, throwing my hands on my hips.

“That sounds like a you problem.” He briefly looks at me with squinty eyes as he moves to the other end of the bed, folding and tucking his sheets.

I hold my chin high as I walk toward him, stopping right in front of his bed. “No, it’s your problem,” I say, ruffling the tucked sheet and messing it up again.

“Should I leave you two alone?” Tessa teases.

Blake and I snap our heads in her direction and say, “No,” in unison.

He groans, turning to face me. I stand a little taller and stare up at him. Being this close to Blake, I start to notice things I didn’t before. The small mole above his right eyebrow. The smoothness of his lips. A thin scar emerging an inch or so from his tightly trimmed beard. And then there’s an intensity he holds in his eyes that I think just might be anger. Maybe I can get him to throw a punch at me. My dad would definitely kick him out for that. I shuffle even closer to him, my bust practically touching his body. His eyes flicker, and the muscles in his neck and pecs flex. Come on, Blake. Push me. Throw me on the ground. Touch me with those big hands. Do something. Give my dad a reason to toss you out on your ass.

He exhales noisily and shakes his head. “Doomsday, I don’t have time . . .”

“It’s Dr. Pearson,” I say with an air of authority, or at least that’s what I’m trying to say it with. I cross my arms over my chest and press my lips firmly together.

Blake glances over at Tessa, as if she’s going to give him any sort of support, but she’s on Team Casey. Always has been, always will be.

“Casey,” he lands on, not respecting my request but making a large improvement over his juvenile nickname. If I’m being honest, I don’t even like being called Dr. Pearson unless I’m at the hospital; otherwise it just comes off as pompous.

“Like it or not,” Blake continues, “we’re going to be bunking together, so . . .”

Bang. Bang. Bang.

Three gunshots ring from outside, making their way up through the window and into our clustered trio. It changes all our demeanors in an instant. Dropping my arms to my side, I freeze, and my eyes widen with worry. Tessa’s on her feet and standing next to me, reacting the same way. Blake turns and lunges himself across his bed to look out the window.

“God dammit!” he yells. He wastes no time, pushing past us and darting out of the room, his heavy footsteps echoing throughout the house.

Tessa and I leap onto his bed and smush our faces up against the window to try to get a look at what’s going on. There’s a clearing hacked through the trees, giving us a small unobstructed view of the front fence line. A lone biter is tangled up in the barbed wire, snapping his jaw and swinging his arms wildly in the air. My cousin Greg stands a mere four feet from it, firing rounds at the creature. He’s either missing or only hitting limbs.

“What is he doing?” I shake my head.

“Looks like he’s trying not to kill it.” Tessa snickers.

I slide the window open. The screen is missing, so we’re able to pop our heads out and get a better look. Suddenly, Blake appears, sprinting across the front yard toward Greg. He wields a sword in one hand, yelling, “Hold your fire.”

I look to Tessa. “Where the hell did he get that thing?”

“He either picked it up on the way, or he’s a master of hiding long hard things down his pants.” She chuckles.

Thinking back to the night before, the image of Blake wearing only a pair of boxer briefs flashes before my eyes, as well as the bulge that took me by surprise. Part of me wants to tell Tessa that she isn’t wrong, but I save that detail for myself.

With one quick swing, Blake lops the biter’s head clean off. Black sludge sprays and oozes from its neck. The creature’s arms and legs convulse for a few brief seconds before its body goes limp.

“What the hell were you doing!?” Blake yells, his voice carrying all the way back to the house, as clear as if he were in the room with us.

Greg’s hands are animated, like he’s trying to explain himself, but in a normal voice that’s too quiet to hear.

“It was one zombie!” Blake continues at full volume, the conversation being served up in only a half portion for Tessa and me.

Greg continues talking with his hands, with the pistol still clutched in one of them.

“Give me that!” Blake takes the gun from him. “I don’t want to hear it. How dumb can you be? Wasting ammo and making noise that could attract more of them here?”

“Pfft, if he was really worried about loud noises attracting more biters, he would shut up,” I say.

“He can’t do that, Casey.” Tessa looks to me. “Remember, the louder he yells, the more authority he has and the bigger his penis becomes, so . . .” She flips her palms flat up, lifting them up and down to mimic a scale. “Priorities.”

We laugh, while Blake continues to very loudly reprimand my younger cousin. Greg hangs his head, but I can’t tell whether he’s ashamed of his actions or just tired of being screamed at. My gaze returns to Blake. The muscles in his back are pumped up and flexed, stretching out his tight white T-shirt. The bloody sword is at his side, clutched in his hand.

“Blake’s kinda hot when he’s mad.” The words tumble out of my mouth before I can stop them, and I wish I could suck them back in. Objectively, he is a very, very good-looking man, but that doesn’t matter, because he’s a dick.

Tessa slowly swivels her head, her eyebrow already raised. “Are you lusting after the enemy?”

“Absolutely not.” I give her a light shove.

She laughs and pushes me back. “You sure about that?”

“A thousand times, yes. He’s the worst.”

“You’re right about that. You remember that crap he pulled with you in high school?”

I crawl across his bed and get to my feet. “Which time?”

“Senior year.”

I pulled into the student parking lot and hopped out of my truck. It was the first day of senior year, and I had really grown into myself over the summer—a glow-up, as some would call it. I was tan and toned from working outside in the sun on all Dad’s projects. I had learned how to apply makeup and style my hair thanks to a combination of YouTube and Elaine. The braces were off, and I wore clothes my size rather than a size too big. Plus, my boobs had come in, and even if that were the only change, any high school boy would still consider it a glow-up. I didn’t feel any different. I just looked different.

I remember hating that school had started up again. I dreaded it because all that meant was another year of torment from Blake and his friends. At least it would be my last before heading off to college. I couldn’t help but worry, though. What would they call me this year? What cruel pranks would they play on me? Would they go out with a bang and try to top all the hazing they had done before? I was late for first period because I had had trouble getting into my locker. I thought Blake had already started his reign of terror, but it was just an old, screwy lock that I eventually got open. I was also relieved to find my locker wasn’t stuffed with canned goods or dirt or garbage or rotten bananas—like he and his friends had done to me several times before.

When I finally made it to first period, there was only one desk open, and of course, it was right next to Blake Morrison. A mix of nerves and anger made my pulse race. I hadn’t had a class with him since freshman year, but it looked like my luck had run out. That class had been absolute hell because Blake embarrassed me every chance he got.

I stood there, frozen at the front of the classroom, until the teacher told me to take a seat. I didn’t want to, and the awkward tension in the room got Blake’s attention. He lifted his head, and his mouth slightly parted, like he was surprised to see me. His eyes traveled the length of my body and then made a round trip before meeting my gaze. I’m sure I was scowling at him. But surprisingly, he didn’t return it. Instead, Blake smiled. What scared me was that it seemed genuine. But what scared me even more was that I couldn’t help but smile back.

I quickly change my top and glance over at Tessa, rolling my eyes as she climbs out of his bed. “How could I forget?”

“You should do it back to him, ya know, give him a taste of his own medicine.” She double raises her brows and smirks. “Could be fun, or at the very least, it could help pass the time.”

“No way. I’d rather dig holes or kill biters.”

“Fine, maybe I’ll do it for you,” she adds with a coy look.

I feel a tightness in my chest, and I tug at my sports bra to give myself some room to breathe. My stomach somersaults, and my heart seems to skip a beat. I grab the glass bottle of water from my nightstand and chug the rest of it.

“You all right?” Tessa asks.

“Yeah.” My head bobs as I force a tight smile. “But don’t do that,” I say.

“Do what?”

“Mess with Blake.”

Her eyes slightly taper. “Why?”

“Because we’re better than that.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Tessa grins. “But if you change your mind, I’m not opposed to taking the low road.”

I match her amused expression and say, “I’ll let you know if I do,” knowing full well I won’t. Blake’s an asshole, but he’s my asshole.