ecstasy | corpse husband

chapter 37.

Elowen isn't sure how much time passes while she sits with her knees to her chest in the corner of the bunker, arms wrapped tightly around herself in a futile attempt to quell the hole forming in her chest.

All this time, a bigger part of her than she'd care to admit believed he would be here. It shouldn't be such a slap in the face that he isn't, she understood the odds, but it is and every inch of her aches terribly. Her mind is racing with grim possibilities and dreadful thoughts of what could have happened to him. She's reminded of the nightmare she had about her father only days ago, on the ferry. Surprisingly, the nightmare did not entail him being mauled apart by cannibals or being one himself. It was much more cruel than that.

She dreamt him sitting in his leather chair in his bedroom, alone and in the dark with a creased photo in his lap, a revolver barrel pointed at his own head. She recognized the photo pinched between his finger and thumb from her own dresser. It seemed like it pained him to look at the picture but at the same time he was making sure it was the last thing he'd see. The daughter he broke his promise to, the daughter he never found. It was like he would rather die than suffer the guilt of losing her.

That's how she knew it was a dream. He wouldn't have given up until he witnessed her lifeless corpse himself.

Still, every time she attempts to get up, to go see if it's real, her legs don't seem to have any bones left in them.

"Looks like we've got this place locked down. You have nothing to fear anymore, kitten, we've made sure of it." Flare is landed at the bottom of the ladder when she lifts her head from where her cheek rested atop her knees, her neck hurting a bit with the action. Elowen doesn't follow what he means, and he sees the confusion swelling her eyes. "The window. We fixed it."

"You 'fixed' it?" She reiterates.

"Well, that might be a stretch. We boarded it up with some plywood from your garage—which was convenient. Nothing is getting in through there."

Elowen looks away from his languid smile. "It's not the pales I'm afraid of." There are worse things than death.

"Careful what you say. You may be eating those words soon enough." When he doesn't receive a response from her, only muteness, he moves to sit on the floor beside her, his long legs stretching out in front of him. "If we're lucky, we'll get this virus and become one of them before that happens."

"If we're lucky?" Elowen mumbles dejectedly.

He sighs. "Well, it just seems like a waiting game at this point, doesn't it? We humans are tragically outnumbered. You'll either become one or be eaten by one. I know which side I'd rather fare." He looks at her, but she's occupied staring at a blood stain on his jeans, wondering momentarily if there are spare clothes of her father's she can get the boys. At the very least, she'll offer them all showers—if they're even working.

"I wouldn't want that," Elowen eventually responds to his thought. She'd rather go painfully than live trapped in a body that isn't hers anymore. If she can't have her sanity, much less her soul, it wouldn't be worth it anymore.

"What would you want then?" He asks, curious. "A miraculous cure? To nuke the country?"

Her voice is barely audible when she murmurs, "Nothing." To feel nothing, to be nothing. She wonders if she's asking for the impossible; it's all she's ever known to feel.

Flare is quiet in response to that, probably sensing her dejection, and she feels the weight of his eyes on her. She expects him to drop it and move on to more pressing matters like how they're going to get electricity to even see tonight, priorities first—though she thinks there are candles in the closet beside the laundry room which should solve that problem—but he doesn't. He hugs her instead, his hands folding around her shoulder, and her body stills in his arms to let him.