ecstasy | corpse husband

chapter 20.

7-Eleven
day eight

"cooper, get back inside, man. you really think this is a bright idea?"

eddie, correction: flare, follows his non-friend outside of the 7-eleven where they'd been holed up for the past two days. the faint sun makes his eyes squint. It is currently up to him to control the situation—he isn't sure how he got that responsibility but it might have had something to do with him provoking cooper. he isn't doing a very good job, anyway, due to his lack of "giving a fuck."

cooper, a bulky man built like an ox with stubble for hair, struts out to the middle of the empty street. in his hand, he holds a can of beer, which he's waving around the air carelessly as he speaks. "fuck you guys. none of yous know shit, and I'm sick and tired of hiding in this goddamned store. you're cowards, all of you."

"sure, we're the cowards. we're also still alive, which god knows your halfwitted friends can't say the same."

to this, cooper curls his lip into a snarl. "you watch your mouth, godfrey. don't talk about my people."

you have no people anymore, he wants to jab. flare knows it's a touchy subject for him, but he stuck his thumb in the wound anyway. It was difficult not to; this is hypocrisy at its finest. If he remembers correctly, it was cooper who'd chickened out of helping his friends when they got attacked trying to raid the police station. they'd brought it upon themselves with how careless they were—cooper in particular. the only reason cooper made it out alive was because of flare and his friends.

yet, flare forces himself to stay quiet now.

"none of this is fucking real, anyway. how many times do I gotta tell ya that?" cooper starts to rant about the same thing he hasn't shut up about since he joined them. "the government's fucking with you all! I ain't falling for their bullcrap."

flare merely scoffs. "right, right. none of this is real. that's why people are actually dying, hm? that's why your fucking pal got murdered in front of your eyes?" he stares at him incredulously. "how can you say that?"

"people don't eat people!" cooper shouts, and spit flies from his lip. "zombies aren't real! It's all a scheme! It has to be! I mean, c'mon, do you think the president actually died? do you really think it would've been that easy? the government's toying with us!"

flare doesn't satisfy that with a response; merely shakes his head and laughs under his breath.

"open your eyes, godfrey!" the beer in the can he's holding sloshes while he outstretches his arms. "we're being tested by our pissy founding fathers. that's all this is."

flare's lanky body bends over as he's rubbing his hands over his thin face, failing at stifling his laughter. "my eyes are open just fine, coop. and you know what they see? an incomprehensibly idiotic dumbass that's yearning for attention. you've seen the infected yourself. what they are, what they're capable of. what are you going on about?"

"you think you're so smart, don't you?" cooper interrupts in an attempt to turn the tables.

flare shrugs at this. "not particularly, but I like to think so."

"I know you do," he agrees, taking a stride closer to him until he's able to grab flare by the collar of his shirt and bring them face to face. "you know it all—no one can prove you wrong." he slits his eyes at the man half his weight. "you're a naive prick is what you are."

"hey!" the door to the 7-eleven bursts open behind them. monroe appears, flare's friend with light brown hair and a glare that could kill, and wedges them apart. "that's it, you're done. this isn't funny. haven't you had enough?"